“No one here who can listen?”
Again taking matters into his own hands, he made a swift and thorough investigation, peering into the bathroom, stabbing draperies with his cane as with a sword, feeling behind clothes in cupboards. He left no corner uninspected in which an eavesdropper might be secreted. Last of all he approached the window near which Hindwood had dined. For a few seconds he stood there, staring down into the well of blackness and the mysterious fairyland of shifting lights. Laying aside his hat and gloves, but still retaining his cane, he remarked:
“Beautiful! Very beautiful! Exquisite with the witchery of a woman's face, which masks a hidden wickedness!”
Hindwood had been regarding him in silence. “I have yet to learn your name and business,” he reminded him.
The stranger chuckled. “My name! I have almost forgotten it. I assume so many. As for my business, I'm a secret service agent in the employ of the British Government.”
“Have you credentials?”
“A letter.”
He produced from his breast pocket an envelope, containing this message, typed on American Embassy notepaper, “This will serve to introduce the gentleman who is anxious to consult you on the subject of which we spoke this afternoon.”
“Satisfactory?”
“Quite. Perhaps now you'll be seated. If you smoke, I can recommend these cigars.”