The Postmaster of Market Deignton by E. Phillips Oppenheim

At three o'clock on the following afternoon I am in the shop to receive the second mails from Mitford Junction. They are brought to me for distribution in a sealed leather bag by a grey-haired old man whom the villagers know only by the name of Crazy Jack. My duty is then to sort them into two batches--one for the town of Market Deignton, to which David takes a leisurely promenade; the other is handed back to Crazy Jack, who carries it onto Little Deignton and the Court. This performance we go through twice a day.

This afternoon, as I am tying up the few Little Deignton letters, I am suddenly conscious of a touch on the wrist. Crazy Jack is leaning across the narrow counter, with his wizened features strangely contorted, and a frightened gleam in his bleared blue eyes.