“I can’t quite believe that,” he said. “It would mean the straining of diplomatic relations with both countries. It is out of the question.”
“Then where does Bernadine come in?”
“I do not know,” Peter answered.
Violet laughed.
“What is it that you are going to try and find out?” she asked.
“I am trying to discover who it is that Bernadine and Kosuth are waiting to see,” Peter replied. “The worst of it is, I daren’t leave here. I shall have to trust to the others.”
She glanced at the clock.
“Well, go and dress,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve a little of your blood in me, after all. Life seems more stirring when Bernadine is on the scene.”
The shooting party broke up two days later and Peter and his wife returned at once to town. The former found the reports which were awaiting his arrival disappointing. Bernadine and his guest were not in London, or if they were they had carefully avoided all the usual haunts. Peter read his reports over again, smoked a very long cigar alone in his study, and finally drove down to the city and called upon his stockbroker, who was also a personal friend. Things were flat in the city, and the latter was glad enough to welcome an important client. He began talking the usual market shop until his visitor stopped him.
“I have come to you, Edwardes, more for information than anything,” Peter declared, “although it may mean that I shall need to sell a lot of stock. Can you tell me of any private financier who could raise a loan of a million pounds in cash within the course of a week?”