An electric coffee-pot was perking on the table by the time he had his clothes on. The man reached into the pocket of the vest that hung over the back of a chair. He brought out a card and Jake took it questioningly. The man’s name--John Singer--was engraved in the center, and beneath this, written in ink with the same elaborate precision as the engraving, there was a brief message.
I am a deaf-mute, but I read the lips and understand what is said to me. Please do not shout.