This letter, therefore, has a double object; first to acquaint you with these facts: and secondly to beg you of your courtesy to give me any information you may possess as to the fate of one whom I learned to hold in affectionate esteem.
Yours faithfully,
“Paul Boronowski.”
Olivia grew very pale. Her hand shook as she gave the letter back to Olifant.
“Something must have happened to him,” he said.
“What has always happened to him,” she replied bitterly. “He says one thing and does another. One more senseless extravagant lie.”
“He was obviously going to Poland,” said Olifant.
“But he never started!”
Olifant persisted: “How do you know?”
“What can one ever know about him except that truth has no meaning for him? If you suggest that he has perished by the way on a railway journey between here and Prague—” she laughed scornfully. “Really, my dear Blaise, you’re too good for this world. If you caught a man with his hand in your waistcoat pocket, and he told you he only wanted to see the time by your watch, you’d believe him! Haven’t I been through this before? All this elaborate preparation for missions abroad which never came off? Didn’t he leave you here to go off to Helsingfors, and John o’ Groats was the nearest to it he got?”