Within a small room off the drawing-room, which was Sir Charles’ private den, many a diplomatic secret had been brewed, and many an important matter affecting the best interests of Servia had been decided. Surely the post of Belgrade was one of the most difficult in the whole range of British diplomacy abroad.
Before Charlie rose to go Sir Charles entered, a middle-aged, merry, easy-going man, who greeted him cheerily, saying:—
“Hullo, Rolfe! Who’d have thought of seeing you here? and how is Mr Statham? When will he buy us all up to-day?”
Rolfe briefly explained the nature of his mission to the ex-President, and then, after a few minutes’ chat, followed his host into the smaller room for a cigarette and chat. Eventually Rolfe, lying back in an easy-chair, said: “Do you know, Sir Charles, a very curious thing has happened recently in London?”
“Oh, I see by the papers that lots of curious things have happened,” was the diplomat’s reply, as he smiled upon his guest.
“Oh, yes; I know. But this is a serious matter. Doctor Petrovitch and his daughter Maud have disappeared.”
Sir Charles raised his eyebrows, and was in a moment serious.
“Disappeared! There’s been nothing about it in the papers.”
“No; it is being kept dark. The police haven’t been stirred about it. It was only a sudden removal from Cromwell Road, but both father, daughter, and household furniture disappeared.”
“How? In what manner did the furniture disappear?”