“You can listen or not as you please, my dear Julien. But I advise you first to relax. You look as white as a ghost, and have been standing there for almost fifteen minutes talking to yourself like a lunatic. There’s nothing to be gained by experimenting with your nerves. I’ve told you that before.”
“You went to Rollo,” De Medici murmured.
“Excellent,” the doctor laughed. “I went to Rollo, Maine. And I’ll pass over the various details that led me to the conclusion that Floria was to be found in Rollo.”
“Thanks.”
“I arrived there around three in the morning,” the doctor continued unperturbed. “An abominable place. One rustic hotel. And it was closed. While you were sleeping peacefully in your bed, my dear Julien, I was parading the dark, chill streets of Rollo, Maine, in quest of comfort, clews and companionship.”
“While I slept comfortably in my bed,” smiled De Medici.
“What’s wrong?” Dr. Lytton asked abruptly.
“Nothing. Go on. You are in Rollo. The streets are dark and chill. And you search for clews.”
“I see. You are prepared to flout my story.”
“I’m listening, Hugo.”