He understood something of the difficulties that presented themselves. He knew scarcely anything of the woman whom he sought; his only clews were her name and the name of the rose; he must first find to what country those names belonged, and to find that country he might have to seek through all the world. He could not ask help of the police; he would not summon to his assistance those vile rats who call themselves private-detectives. It was a task for himself alone; it was a task that must occupy his every working-hour; but it was a task that he would accomplish.
A second cable-message interrupted him at his ablutions. It was from his uncle, and it read:
“Cora wires me received no reply from you. Do you accept trust’s offer stated in her cable? Advise you say yes. Better come home and attend to business.”
This brought Cartaret to the realization that he was in a paradoxical position: he was a penniless millionaire. He went to Fourget’s and borrowed some money. Thence he went to the cable-office in the Avenue de l’Opera. There had been, he now recalled, an offer—a really dazzling offer—mentioned in his sister’s message; but more practical matters had driven it from his mind. He therefore sent his uncle this:
“I accept trust’s offer. Advise Cora to agree. Don’t worry: New York’s not the only place for business. There’s business in Paris—lots of it.”
His uncle had been very annoying: Charlie should have been at work at the Bibliothèque Nationale a full half-hour ago. He had resolved to begin with the floral clew.
He went there immediately and asked what books they had about flowers; they told him that they had many thousand. Cartaret narrowed his field; he said what he wanted was a book on roses, and he was told that he might choose any of hundreds that were at hand. In despair, he ordered brought to him any one that began with an “A”; he would work through the alphabet.
By closing-time he had reached “Ac.” He hurried out into the fresh breeze that blew down through the public square and the narrow rue Colbert, and so cut across to the cable-office.
He wanted to send a message mentioning a little matter he had forgotten that morning. As it happened, the operator had just received a message for Charlie. It was again from his uncle, and said that the sale would be consummated early next day. There was about it a brevity more severe than even cables require: the elder Cartaret patently disapproved of the communication that his nephew had sent him. Still, the sale seemed to be assured, and that was the main thing, so Charlie put the word “Five” in place of the word “One” in the message he was drafting, and sent it off:
“Cable me five thousand.”