A Letter

The letter had fallen on the mat address side down. He didn’t bother to turn it over before ripping it open with his finger. Inside was a single sheet of paper. There was no sender‘s address at the top, and the writing was in careful block capitals. “Mister Williams”, he read. But this wasn’t him: Mr Williams was the previous occupant of the house. Really the man should have informed the Post Office of his change of address, not to mention telling his correspondents!

“Mister Williams: you still haven’t paid us the ten thousand. We will be sending people round to collect it”

He read the message three times, by which time he was shaking. What had this man Williams been involved in? He knew nothing about him at all. He hadn’t even met him. The property had been vacant when he moved in; the agent had shown him round an empty house. Now Williams’s misdeeds, whatever they might have been, were catching up. That must have been why he’d left, without a forwarding address. And here HE was, trapped and helpless, having to answer for someone else! Cold crawled up his spine. He could envisage what would happen. A couple of thugs would come knocking on the door: he’d try to explain to them that he wasn’t Williams, but they wouldn’t believe him, and ……….. No; he couldn’t bear even to imagine it.

For the first time, he turned over the envelope. On the front was just the single word “Williams”, again in capitals. There was no address, and no stamp. Suddenly, the implications of this dawned upon him. It had been delivered by hand! One of THEM had pushed it through his letterbox! This meant that, almost certainly, they were watching his house even now! There wasn’t a moment to be lost! He must escape! Without even bothering to pick up his coat, he ran to the kitchen door and outside to the rear garden, with some thought of getting away through the back hedge. But already he was too late! There was a figure, dark under the shadow of the trees, coming round the corner of the house and advancing towards him.

He stood there, trembling and quite incapable of movement, as time froze, and then the figure spoke.
“Morning, Nigel! How are you?”
“Michael! Oh, thank goodness! You can’t imagine how relieved I am that it’s you! Come on in! But it was a rotten trick to play on me, with that letter! You know how nervous I am!”
“What trick? What letter?”
The cold panicky feeling started to crawl up him again, but at least he wasn’t isolated and on his own any more. “I got a letter just now, threatening me. Or, not exactly me, but …… Wait; I’ll get it and show you”.

But the letter wasn’t there. He scrabbled around ineffectually, with increasing confusion, then finally said, lamely, “I don’t seem to be able to find it. But it was here”.
“That’s all right, Nigel”, said Michael. “I am your doctor, and I quite understand”. Yes indeed: it was becoming more complex and fascinating by the day, the case of Nigel Williams.