So their thoughts ran. Each one was full of tender pity for the other. Towards bedtime, however, conscious that the time for colloquy was running short, they fell into more practical discourse.
“I wonder,” said Mr. Greyne, “whether I shall find any difficulty in gaining the information you require, my darling. I suppose these places”—he spoke vaguely, for his thoughts were vague—“are somewhat awkward to come at. Naturally they would avoid the eye of day.”
Mrs. Greyne looked profound.
“Yes. Evil ever seeks the darkness. You will have to do the same.”
“You think my investigations must take place at night?”
“I should certainly suppose so.”
“And where shall I find a cicerone?”
“Apply to Rook.”
“In what terms? You see, dearest, this is rather a special matter, isn’t it?”
“Very special. But on no account hint that you are in Algiers for ‘Catherine’s’ sake. It would get into the papers. It would be cabled to America. The whole reading world would be agog, and the future interest of the book discounted.”