Gunnar O'Grady: I don't want the books, but we did not finish our conversation. Will you come back?
He had caused this to be inserted in the New York World and the New York Times this very morning. In the meantime Paul's perplexity increased, and it would have afforded him infinite solace to lunch with Campaspe in order to discuss ways and means for unravelling this exceedingly tangled skein. Campaspe, however, apparently had been in no mood to receive anything less than exact information. She had definitely rejected his proposal. Palpably, he must go it alone.
Nevertheless, Paul was fully aware that pacing the floor, in the manner of an unhappy tiger in the zoo, would not help him to a solution of the mystery. He would end by suffering a splitting headache. As a matter of fact—and Paul was by no means ignorant of this idiosyncrasy—any attitude of mind save nonchalance was bad for him, morally, spiritually, and constitutionally. He determined, therefore, to make an effort to rid himself of this unpleasant mental condition. At least, while he paced, he might breathe fresh air. It was a warm day for the season of the year. The sun was shining and the pavements were dry. Paul drew on a light coat, grasped a Malacca stick, and ventured forth.
