"
"I should be very glad to see him, madam," the man replied, as he
backed towards the door. "If I can be of any assistance, perhaps
you will ring."
The valet departed, closing the door behind him. Catherine looked
around the room into which they had been ushered, with a little
frown. It was essentially a man's sitting room, but it was well
and tastefully furnished, and she was astonished at the immense
number of books, pamphlets and Reviews which crowded the walls and
every available space. The Derby desk still stood open, there was
a typewriter on a special stand, and a pile of manuscript paper.
"What on earth," she murmured, "could Mr. Orden have wanted with a
typewriter! I thought journalism was generally done in the
offices of a newspaper--the sort of journalism that he used to
undertake."
"Nice little crib, isn't it?" Fenn remarked, glancing around.
"Cosy little place, I call it."
Something in the man's expression as he advanced towards her
brought all the iciness back to her tone and manner.
"It is a pleasant apartment," she said, "but I am not at all sure
that I like being here, and I certainly dislike our errand. It
does not seem credible that, if the police have already searched,
we should find the packet here."
"The police don't know what to look for," he reminded her. "We
do."
There was apparently very little delicacy about Mr. Fenn. He drew
a chair to the desk and began to look through a pile of papers,
making running comments as he did so.
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