Who's sorry now?

taking the only taxi in town. We’d probably have to have waited for ages for the driver to turn up, and he wouldn’t have helped with the luggage.”
    When the birthday books were hidden and Robert was again alone, he checked the deep pocket inside his sport coat for the things he’d bought himself while he was in New York City. The small metal items jingled against each other. He’d have to find somewhere at home to hide them and the little brochure that had come with them. Before he headed home, he went to see Howard Walker, the Voorburg chief of police, at the jail building. Howard spent most of his days working there, but he also had an office in a boardinghouse in town. He had a phone line there and often he took the notes home that he’d made on cases so he could study them in his free time.
    ”Are you busy?” Robert asked Howard.
    ”Just tidying up the files for storage on that case a month ago. I’ll store them at the bank in Fishkill as I usually do.”
    ”I’m just here to ask you a question. I don’t expect you to do anything about it except tell me to whom I should talk.”
    About what?” Howard rose from his desk and stretched his aching back.
    ”The Voorburg mail situation. I was expecting a package and went down to the station to wait for the train. There were three old ladies going through the mailbags from the earlier train. The train was a little late and I overheard them saying things like, ‘It looks as if Bernice might have a boyfriend.... This envelope is pink and I can feel some beading inside.’ Another of them was examining someone else’s mail and said, ‘Here’s something from that no-good man who writes to you-know-who. I’m tempted to take it home and throw it away. That man isn’t worth her time.’”
    ”Nosy old women,” Howard remarked with distaste.
    ”Here’s my suggestion. See what you think. Edwin McBride, the porter at the train station, only works when someone’s seriously traveling. The ones who are just going to New York City for the day don’t carry luggage. He doesn’t make many tips. I understand the Harbinger boys fixed up that shed behind your old house near the river. Heat and water. That’s where he lives, probably for free.”
    Howard sighed. ”Robert, get to the point.”
    ”Couldn’t whoever controls the public funds kick in just a little money to give the porter a cheap job sorting the mail between trains? I’m sure the Harbinger boys could make up something with a lot of little boxes or drawers. A sorting structure with names at the bottom of each partition. The Harbingers always have a big supply of surplus wood left over from other jobs. It doesn’t need to be pretty. They might contribute the wood, but expect to be paid for their time, which is how it should be.”
    ”Okay. You’re making sense. It might put a slight crimp in the gossip mill. But the old ladies could still rummage through other people’s sections.”
    ”Not if McBride and the stationmaster keep an eye on them and tell them to use only their own sections. How can I go about this?”
    ”There are five volunteers who have to vote on the city budget. Three of the five, in rotation, are reelected every other year. But there’s no pay, except for the permanent treasurer.”
    ”How often do they meet?”
    ”I’m not sure. Maybe every six months. But you could ask them to consider this sooner, I suppose.”
    ”Who should I start with?”
    ”Robert, are you sure you want to turn into a do-gooder? Tattling on old ladies?”
    ”In this case, I do.”
    ”Okay. Here are the names of the town council members. The treasurer’s name is underlined. Peter Winchel is a good man and really cares about the welfare of the citizens. I’d suggest you drop a note at each of their houses. Don’t name the ladies you heard though. It would get around town like a rabid dog.”
    ”I don’t even know who two of them are. And I’ve only seen another one as I passed the city dump once.”
    ”Good luck,” Howard said. He poured himself another cup of coffee and added, as Robert went out the door, And watch out for Arnold Wood. He’s a nasty person.
    Robert was going to ask more but Howard sat back down to file the reports in chronological order. ”Let me know what they say. If you want me to look over your letters before you deliver them, I’d be glad to help.”
    Robert sat in the Duesie thinking over what Howard had suggested; then he returned to the jail.
    ”What