Opening it, he lit the lamp and sat down in the chair by the window, although the day had faded into dusk.

Rutledge,

You’re a marvel. I’ve considered everything you’d uncovered, and I decided (having the free time to do so) to drive to East Anglia and visit my grandfather’s house. It was sold shortly after his death, but I remember it quite clearly. The present owners have kept it up amazingly well, even to the gardens that were his pride, and I sat for some minutes in my motorcar, remembering a very happy childhood. The man who lives there now happened to see me as he came back from marketing and he asked if I were looking for someone. I explained about my grandfather, and to my surprise, this stranger invited me inside. I must have an honest face!

He allowed me to walk about and reminisce, then to my even greater surprise told me he had something he thought belonged to me. He was gone several minutes while I strolled in the back garden, and then he reappeared with an envelope. He handed it to me, and I was stunned to see my name on the outside. I asked where in hell he’d got this, and he said that in 1908, a young man came to the door. His mother was living at the time, and said he was quite polite, asking if my grandfather still lived here. She told him that he had died. The man explained that he was looking for me, the grandson of the previous owner, and he asked if he might leave a letter here for me, in the event I came back to the house one day. She told the young man that she’d be glad to take the letter, but considered it was unlikely that I would ever return. But he claimed he might miss me in London, and it would be a kindness to know that one day I’d find the letter and know that he cared. And so, being the trusting soul that she was, she took the letter and kept it. Before she died, she mentioned it to her son—this was nearly ten years later, and the letter was still in her possession—and asked what to do about it. The son wondered if I’d been abroad, and felt that someday if I retired from whatever post it was that had taken me away, I might come here looking for it. And so he took on that charge in his mother’s stead, and she died a few months later. He and his wife then moved into the house, and the letter waited. I could hardly believe anyone would have been that considerate of a stranger’s request, but apparently the mother had been quite taken with him.