Free Pursuit of a Parcel by Patricia Wentworth

Merridew’s comfortable chairs. He altered the angle of it so that he could talk to Delia without losing sight of the suit-case he had brought with him. It was one of the expanding kind, and it contained a great deal of crumpled up newspaper and a parcel which was addressed to Antony Rossiter, Esq.
    â€œWhat did you want to see me about, Mr. Holt?”
    Emanuel reached for the suit-case and opened it. In the middle of its newspaper nest sat the square brown parcel. After allowing Delia a moment to take it in he shut the lid and snapped the catches down.
    Delia looked at him with a puzzled smile.
    â€œWhat is it, Mr. Holt?”
    â€œA parcel, Miss Delia—for Mr. Antony—I should say Mr. Rossiter.”
    â€œI like Mr. Antony so much better. It sounds much more friendly, don’t you think so? What’s inside the parcel, Mr. Holt?”
    â€œI haven’t the very slightest idea, Miss Delia.”
    The puzzled look deepened.
    â€œDo you know who it’s from?”
    â€œNo, I don’t, Miss Delia.”
    â€œIt says ‘By hand,’” said Delia in a doubtful voice.
    â€œThat’s what I’ve come about, Miss Delia. Can you tell me where Mr. Antony is?”
    She stared at him. “Oh, no—I can’t.”
    Emanuel leaned forward. “Does that mean that you don’t know, Miss Delia, or that you can’t say?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Delia, her eyes very dark in a face that was suddenly pale.
    Emanuel sat and looked at her. “I’d like to tell you about it if I may, Miss Delia. A seafaring kind of man brought this parcel into the office no more than a quarter of an hour before it was wrecked by the bomb—the man hadn’t been gone more than five minutes. You know what happened—Mr. Peterson killed and two of the other clerks, and as likely as not I’d have been killed too, only I was in with Mr. Merridew. And after I’d got him out I tried to save what I could, and one of the things I picked up off his table was this parcel for Mr. Antony. When I mentioned it to Mr. Merridew in the hospital he said to keep it by me and give it to Mr. Antony by hand.”
    Delia said, “Yes, Mr. Holt?”
    A kind of quiver went over him.
    â€œWell, Miss Delia, that is what has brought me here. Mr. Merridew said to keep it by me, but it doesn’t look as if I was going to be able to, and I wondered—”
    â€œWhy don’t you think you’ll be able to keep it?” said Delia in a surprised voice.
    Emanuel quivered again. “Well, Miss Delia, it looks as if someone was trying to steal it.”
    â€œTo steal it?”
    â€œYes, Miss Delia.” He paused, and added, “Mrs. Holt and I, that was the opinion we formed.”
    â€œBut why?”
    He leaned nearer, dropped his voice so much that she could only just follow him, and told her about the house having been ransacked. “Everything all over the place, just thrown out on the floor, Miss Delia. You wouldn’t credit it—I’m sure I hardly could myself—Mrs. Holt’s clothes and mine, and the bedding torn off the beds, and the books out of the book-case, but nothing taken, though there was money in one of the drawers.”
    â€œBut if nothing was taken, Mr. Holt, then they didn’t take the parcel.”
    â€œNo, Miss Delia. But it’s my opinion and Mrs. Holt’s that they would have if they could.”
    â€œAnd why couldn’t they?”
    â€œBecause the parcel was out in the shelter, Miss Delia.”
    Delia said, “Oh—” Then she said, “Why should anyone want to take it? What’s inside?”
    Emanuel looked worried. “I’ve no idea.”
    â€œDoes Uncle Philip know?”
    â€œHe didn’t say, Miss Delia, and they won’t let me see him again, not on any account.”
    Delia propped her chin on her hand. “I know—they won’t let me see him