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Updated: July 27, 2025
The last report from Polteed had hinted that there might be something soon. Could it be this? That fellow, with his beard and his cursed amused way of speaking son of the old man who had given him the nickname 'Man of Property, and bought the fatal house from him.
Polteed said in a tone of urgency, almost of pathos: "I assure you we have put it through sometimes on less than that. It's Paris, you know. Attractive woman living alone. Why not risk it, sir? We might screw it up a peg." Soames had sudden insight. The fellow's professional zeal was stirred: 'Greatest triumph of my career; got a man his divorce through a visit to his own wife's bedroom!
In the outer office, a room furnished so cosily that it might have been a money-lender's, he was attended by a lady who might have been a schoolmistress. "I wish to see Mr. Claud Polteed. He knows me never mind my name." To keep everybody from knowing that he, Soames Forsyte, was reduced to having his wife spied on, was the overpowering consideration. Mr. Claud Polteed so different from Mr.
"Expense?" Soames shrugged. "In reason," he answered curtly, and got up. "Keep it entirely in your own hands." "Entirely," said Mr. Polteed, appearing suddenly between him and the door. "I shall be seeing you in that other case before long. Good morning, sir." His eyes slid unprofessionally over Soames once more, and he unlocked the door.
Polteed's shoulders. "You can risk it," he murmured; "with what we have, and human nature, you can risk it." Soames rose. "You will ask for Mr. Linkman. Thanks; don't get up." He could not bear Mr. Polteed to slide as usual between him and the door. In the sunlight of Piccadilly he wiped his forehead. This had been the worst of it he could stand the strangers better.
You can't think how dreadful!" Her voice sank to a whisper: "Jolyon Jolyon, they say, has a has a fair beard, now." Two days after the dinner at James', Mr. Polteed provided Soames with food for thought. "A gentleman," he said, consulting the key concealed in his left hand, "47 as we say, has been paying marked attention to 17 during the last month in Paris.
Lewis Polteed was one of those men with dark hair, slightly curved noses, and quick brown eyes, who might be taken for Jews but are really Phoenicians; he received Soames in a room hushed by thickness of carpet and curtains. It was, in fact, confidentially furnished, without trace of document anywhere to be seen.
Polteed leaned forward, smiled, opened his hand, looked into it, and said softly: "I think we've done your business for you at last." "What?" ejaculated Soames. "Nineteen reports quite suddenly what I think we shall be justified in calling conclusive evidence," and Mr. Polteed paused. "Well?"
Linkman and Laver in Budge Row, perhaps reliable, not too conspicuous, only nodding acquaintances. But before he saw them he must see Polteed again. But at this thought Soames had a moment of sheer weakness. To part with his secret? How find the words? How subject himself to contempt and secret laughter? Yet, after all, the fellow knew already oh yes, he knew!
In short, the situation is promising, but requires patience." And, looking up suddenly, he added: "One rather curious point 47 has the same name as er 31!" 'The fellow knows I'm her husband, thought Soames. "Christian name an odd one Jolyon," continued Mr. Polteed. "We know his address in Paris and his residence here. We don't wish, of course, to be running a wrong hare."
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