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Updated: June 22, 2025
The next afternoon he was detained late at his office, and as he was preparing to leave he heard someone asking for him in the outer room. He seated himself again and Flamel was shown in. The two men, as Glennard pushed aside an obstructive chair, had a moment to measure each other; then Flamel advanced, and drawing out his note-case, laid a slip of paper on the desk.
"I want to publish them," said Glennard, swinging round with sudden energy "If I can " "If you can? They're yours, you say?" "They're mine fast enough. There's no one to prevent I mean there are no restrictions " he was arrested by the sense that these accumulated proofs of impunity might precisely stand as the strongest check on his action. "And Mrs. Aubyn had no family, I believe?" "No."
What if, in her hurried inspection of the papers, she had passed it over as related to the private business of some client? What, for instance, was to prevent her concluding that Glennard was the counsel of the unknown person who had sold the "Aubyn Letters." The subject was one not likely to fix her attention she was not a curious woman.
I don't often have the luck of seeing you here." "I'm rather driven just now," said Glennard, vaguely. He found himself seated again, and Flamel had pushed to his side a low stand holding a bottle of Apollinaris and a decanter of cognac.
Some of the men who had paused to listen were already in evening clothes, others on their way home to dress; and Glennard, with an accustomed twinge of humiliation, said to himself that if he lingered among them it was in the miserable hope that one of the number might ask him to dine.
They had not met for over a year, but of course he could not let her sail without seeing her. She came to New York the day before her departure, and they spent its last hours together. Glennard had planned no course of action he simply meant to let himself drift.
"Where have you been?" Glennard asked, moving forward so that he obstructed her vision of the books. "I walked over to the Dreshams for tea." "I can't think what you see in those people," he said with a shrug; adding, uncontrollably "I suppose Flamel was there?" "No; he left on the yacht this morning."
The change brought Glennard the immediate relief of seeing less of his wife, and of being protected, in her presence, by the multiplied preoccupations of town life. Alexa, who could never appear hurried, showed the smiling abstraction of a pretty woman to whom the social side of married life has not lost its novelty.
Flamel," she said, indifferently. "Flamel? Again?" She answered without show of surprise. "He left just now. His yacht is down at Laurel Bay and he borrowed a trap of the Dreshams to drive over here." Glennard made no comment, and she went on, leaning her head back against the cushions of her bamboo-seat, "He wants us to go for a sail with him next Sunday." Glennard meditatively stirred his tea.
To a man of less than Flamel's astuteness it must now be clear to whom the letters were addressed; and the possibility once suggested, nothing could be easier than to confirm it by discreet research. An impulse of self-accusal drove Glennard to the window. Why not anticipate betrayal by telling his wife the truth in Flamel's presence?
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