A nervous laugh at the other end of the line and a strange snuffling noise (that foul habit of his, no doubt). “I beg your pardon, sir, but are you saying—”

“I’m saying—” Robert opened his eyes again and gazed at the framed photo of his wife in her wedding dress. Look at that face—the perfect English rose complexion. The fine, straight nose. She was mighty aristocratic, his Genevieve. Yes, sir. Mighty aristocratic. “I’m saying that I love and trust my wife. I don’t know what possessed me to hire you in the first place.”

“Mr. Shelby King. I beg of you to reconsider. Monsieur Cannes is a man of his word. If he tells me something big is coming in, then you can be sure something big is coming in.”

“I’ll settle your fee in full, of course,” said Robert. “Please send the invoice to me here at the office and mark the envelope ‘private and personal.’”

“But the net is closing, sir!”

“Aren’t you listening? I’m not interested.” As if to prove the point to himself, he started riffling impatiently through his in-tray.

“We’ll be hauling it in very shortly, I’m certain of it. If you could only wait a little longer—”

“Give up your fishing, Felperstone. Your net is empty and it always will be.” And now Robert’s eye lit on a small lilac envelope with his name and the office address inscribed on it in a slanting, feminine hand. Marie-Claire had neglected to open it, perhaps because it had the look of personal correspondence. He picked up his letter knife and slid the blade under the flap.

“I swear to you, sir—Cannes doesn’t make mistakes, and—”

But Robert had stopped listening.

Dear Sir,

Your wife is making a fool of you. That hobby of hers is not so harmless as you might think.

A WELL-WISHER

Aristocratic Genevieve was at that moment tying the low sash of her softly flowered rose chiffon dress with beaded banding worn over a pink satin slip. Shortly she would go to her shoe room and look out an as-yet-unworn pair of slippers by Michael Veil in unusual tapestry cloth. Narrow straps with a pearl-button fastening and pink astrolac kid heel and trim. The overall effect would be elegant but suitably low key. An outfit that would be conducive to inner calm and steadiness.

She had told Robert she would be seeing the doctor this morning. In fact, she was off to visit Norman Betterson.

The door was opened by Mrs. Betterson. Or was it the secretary? Genevieve wasn’t entirely sure. Both were tall and dark with shadows under their eyes.

“I was hoping to see Norman.”

The woman who might have been Mrs. Betterson smiled. “So kind of you to call by, Genevieve. It’ll quite cheer him up.”