Opening of the book
I
LŧǵǵŧǡǪ Ljż Mĵǡƫ
Messrs. Frobisher & Haslitt, the solicitors on the east side of Russell
Square, counted amongst their clients a great many who had undertakings established in France; and the firm was very proud of this branch of its business.
“It gives us a place in history,” Mr. Jeremy Haslitt used to say.
“For it dates from the year 1806, when Mr. James Frobisher, then our very energetic senior partner, organised the escape of hundreds of British subjects who were detained in France by the edict of the first Napoleon. The firm received the thanks of His Majesty’s Government and has been fortunate enough to retain the connection thus made. I look after that side of our affairs myself.”
Mr. Haslitt’s daily batch of letters, therefore, contained as a rule a fair number bearing the dark-blue stamp of France upon their envelopes. On this morning of early April, however, there was only one. It was addressed in a spidery, uncontrolled hand with which
Mr. Haslitt was unfamiliar. But it bore the postmark of Dijon, and
Mr. Haslitt tore it open rather quickly. He had a client in Dijon, a widow, Mrs. Harlowe, of whose health he had had bad reports. The letter was certainly written from her house, La Maison Grenelle, but not by her. He turned to the signature.
“Waberski?” he said, with a frown. “Boris Waberski?” And then, as he identified his correspondent, “Oh, yes, yes.”
He sat down in his chair and read. The first part of the letter was merely flowers and compliments, but halfway down the second page its object was made clear as glass. It was five hundred pounds.
Old Mr. Haslitt smiled and read on, keeping up, whilst he read, a one-sided conversation with the writer.
“I have a great necessity of that money,” wrote Boris, “and —”
“I am quite sure of that,” said Mr. Haslitt.
“My beloved sister, Jeanne-Marie —” the letter continued.
Keep listening free
Readnara
