He interrupted his library-researches the next day to make a sporadic raid upon florist-shops along the boulevards, but found no florist that had ever heard of the Azure Rose.
The answer to his latest cable-message came the next day at noon. He had resumed his search at the Bibliothèque and instructed the cable-clerk to hold all messages until he should call for them. He called for this at lunch-time:
“Sale completed, thanks to power-of-attorney you left me when sailing. Do you mean dollars?”
Cartaret groaned at this procrastination.
“And my uncle brags of his American hustle!” he cried.
He filed his reply:
“Of course I meant dollars. What did you suppose I meant? Francs? Pounds sterling? I mean dollars. Hurry!”
“Be sure to put in the punctuation marks,” he admonished the pretty clerk.
He dashed back to the library. During the next hundred and twenty hours, he divided his time between botanical researches and one side of the following cable-conversation:
“Come home.”