"Do you recognise that?"
It was the familiar professional card of the unhappy Anastasius.
"Yes."
"Do you see the last line?"
I read "London Agents: Messrs. Conto and Blag, 172 Maiden Lane, W.C." I
looked up. "Well?" I asked.
"It has done the trick," said he triumphantly. "What fools we were not
to have thought of it before. I was rooting out a drawer of papers and
came across the card. You remember he handed us one all round the
first day we met him. I put it away--I'm rather a methodical devil with
papers, as you know. When I found it, I danced a hornpipe all round the
room and went straight off to Conto and Blag. I made certain she would
work through them, as they were accustomed to shop the cats, and I found
I was right. They knew all about her. Wouldn't give her address, but
told me that she was appearing this week at the Winter Garten at Berlin.
Why that pudding-headed quagga, Bevan, at the Embassy, hasn't kept his
eyes open for me, as he promised," he went on a while later, "I don't
know! I can understand Eugen Pattenhausen, the owl-eyed coot who
runs the International Aid Society, not doing a hand's turn to aid
anybody--but Bevan! For Heaven's sake, while you're there call at the
Embassy and kick him.
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