“Because he acts like one,” said Anthony, answering the last question first. “He must have been a retriever in his last incarnation, I think. He’s just brought me a piece of a letter which he says the foreign gentleman dropped. I suppose he means Lemoine.”
“I suppose so,” acquiesced Virginia.
“He’s always following me round,” continued Anthony. “Just like a dog. Says next to nothing. Just looks at me with his big round eyes. I can’t make him out.”
“Perhaps he meant Isaacstein,” suggested Virginia. “Isaacstein looks foreign enough, Heaven knows.”
“Isaacstein,” muttered Anthony impatiently. “Where the devil does he come in?”
“Are you ever sorry that you’ve mixed yourself up in all this?” asked Virginia suddenly.
“Sorry? Good Lord, no. I love it. I’ve spent most of my life looking for trouble, you know. Perhaps, this time, I’ve got a little more than I bargained for.”
“But you’re well out of the wood now,” said Virginia, a little surprised by the unusual gravity of his tone.
“Not quite.”
They strolled on for a minute or two in silence.