“And?”
“Lionel Grantham.”
“Surely not!”
“Yes.”
“But he’s—” The diplomat realized he was looking into my eyes, hurriedly switched his gaze to my hair, and forgot what he had started to say.
“But he’s what?” I prodded him.
“Oh!”—with a vague upward motion of head and eyebrows—“not that sort.”
“How long has he been here?” I asked.
“Two months. Possibly three or three and a half or more.”
“You know him well?”
“Oh, no! By sight, of course, and to talk to. He and I are the only Americans here, so we’re fairly well acquainted.”
“Know what he’s doing here?”
“No, I don’t. He just happened to stop here in his travels, I imagine, unless, of course, he’s here for some special reason. No doubt there’s a girl in it—she is General Radnjak’s daughter—though I don’t think so.”
“How does he spend his time?”
“I really haven’t any idea. He lives at the Hotel of the Republic, is quite a favorite among our foreign colony, rides a bit, lives the usual life of a young man of family and wealth.”