"We'll get the writing translated. You have it with you?" he said.
His eyes ran over the pages Lane handed him. "I know a Jap we can get to read it for us, a reliable man, one who won't talk if we ask him not to."
The broker's desk buzzer rang. He talked for a moment over the telephone, then hung up again.
"Sorry," Cunningham said, "I'm going to be busy for an hour or two. Going to lunch with Miss Phyllis Harriman. She was Uncle James's fiancée, perhaps you know. There are some affairs of the estate to be arranged. I wonder if you could come back later this afternoon. Say about four o'clock. We'll take up then the business of the translation. I'll get in touch with a Japanese in the meantime."
"Suits me. Shall I leave the writing here?"
"Yes, if you will. Doesn't matter, of course, but since we have it
I'll put it in the safe."
"How's the arm?" Kirby asked, glancing at the sling his cousin wore.
"Only sprained. The doctor thinks I must have twisted it badly as I fell. I couldn't sleep a wink all night. The damned thing pained so."
James looked as though he had not slept well. His eyes were shadowed and careworn.
They walked together as far as the outer office. A slender, dark young woman, beautifully gowned, was waiting there. James introduced her to his cousin and Sanborn as Miss Harriman. She was, Kirby knew at once, the original of the photograph he had seen in his uncle's rooms.