Quain's was the second letter. Having merely glanced at the heading and signature, Labertouche had reserved the rather formidable document—for Quain had written fully—as probably of scant importance, to be dealt with at his absolute leisure. But as he read his expression grew more and more serious and perturbed. Finishing the last page he turned back to the first and went over it a second time with much deliberation and frequent pauses, apparently memorising portions of its contents. Finally he said, "Hum-m!" inscrutably and rang for Frank.
"He left New York by the Lusitania, eh?" said Mr. Labertouche aloud. The clerk entering interrupted his soliloquy. "Bring me, please," he said, "Bradshaw, the News—and the latest P. & O. schedule." And when Frank had returned with these articles, he desired him to go at once and enquire at Government House the whereabouts of Colonel Dominick James Farrell, and further to search the hotels of Calcutta for a Miss Farrell, or for information concerning her. "Have this for me to-night—come to the bungalow at seven," he said. "And … I shall probably not be at the office again for several days."
"Insects?" enquired the clerk.
"Insects," affirmed Mr. Labertouche gravely.
"In the Mofussil?"
"There or thereabouts, Frank."
"Yes, sir. I presume you don't feel the need of a capable assistant yet?"
"Not yet, Frank," said Labertouche kindly. "Be patient. Your time will come; you're doing famously now."
"Thank you."
"Good-afternoon. Lock the door as you leave."