“Well, there's nothing more to be said.”
“America—” Maurice began.
“Is several thousand miles away.”
“Not if you reckon from Vienna.”
“I'd rather not reckon, if it's all the same to you. Your friend—I might say, your very valuable friend—takes the matter too much to heart.”
“He's not a talkative man.”
Fitzgerald looked straight ahead, stern and impassive.
“But now that we are talking,” said Maurice, “I should like to know how the deuce you got hold of my name and dragged me into this affair?”
“Simple enough. A card of yours was given to me; on it was your name and address. The rest was easy.”
Maurice grew limp in the saddle.