Mr. Haslitt did not smile over this letter. He rubbed the palms of his hands softly together.
"Then we shall have to make some awkwardnesses too," he said hastily, and he locked this second letter away with the first. But Mr. Haslitt found it a little difficult to settle to his work. There was that girl out there in the big house at Dijon and no one of her race near her! He got up from his chair abruptly and crossed the corridor to the offices of his junior partner.
"Jim, you were at Monte Carlo this winter," he said.
"For a week," answered Jim Frobisher.
"I think I asked you to call on a client of ours who has a villa there—Mrs. Harlowe."
Jim Frobisher nodded. "I did. But Mrs. Harlowe was ill. There was a niece, but she was out."
"You saw no one, then?" Jeremy Haslitt asked.
"No, that's wrong," Jim corrected. "I saw a strange creature who came to the door to make Mrs. Harlowe's excuses—a Russian."
"Boris Waberski," said Mr. Haslitt.
"That's the name."