“Mr. Belknap! God rest you merry gentleman!” Belknap had approached Nadia where she stood alone, in an alcove of the great East Room. She had been trying to concentrate on a specimen of modern French art. The fog pressed a whited face against the windows near her.
“Your mood is a difficult one, Nadia. I want to talk to you.”
“Let nothing you dismay.”
Belknap threw out his hands in a helpless gesture.
“You’re not kind,” he said. “Shall we go outside?”
“No, thank you. Remember your Mr. Dorn.” Her dim smile, secretive, came and went.
“Come now, what would you have had me do? Tell them about the code—or have you conveniently forgotten the message? By the way, did I give it back to you? I haven’t been able to find it.”
She whirled on him.
“Didn’t you destroy it?”
“Perhaps. I can’t remember. Mrs. Crawford rather upset our tête-à-tête.”