“Quadling—Quadling? I cannot say that I have. The name is familiar somehow, but I cannot recall the man.”
“Have you never heard of the Roman bankers, Correse & Quadling?”
“Ah, of course. Although I have had no dealing with them. Certainly I have never met Mr. Quadling.”
“Not at the Countess’s?”
“Never—of that I am quite sure.”
“And yet we have had positive evidence that he was a constant visitor there.”
“It is perfectly incomprehensible to me. Not only have I never met him, but I have never heard the Countess mention his name.”
“It will surprise you, then, to be told that he called at her apartment in the Via Margutta on the very evening of her departure from Rome. Called, was admitted, was closeted with her for more than an hour.”
“I am surprised, astounded. I called there myself about four in the afternoon to offer my services for the journey, and I too stayed till after five. I can hardly believe it.”
“I have more surprises for you, General. What will you think when I tell you that this very Quadling—this friend, acquaintance, call him what you please, but at least intimate enough to pay her a visit on the eve of a long journey—was the man found murdered in the sleeping-car?”