"
"It would take three weeks to make an ordinary catalogue; and that
would be quick work, even for me. I'm afraid you must give me rather
more time."
"I can't. I'm leaving England on the twenty-sixth."
"Couldn't I go on with it in your absence?"
"No, that would hardly do."
"If you could only give me another week--"
"I couldn't possibly. I have to join my father at Cannes on the
twenty-seventh."
So she was Sir Frederick Harden's daughter then, not his wife. Her
last words were illuminating; they suggested the programme of a family
whose affairs were in liquidation. They also revealed Sir Frederick
Harden's amazing indifference to the fate of the library, an
indifference that argued a certain ignorance of its commercial value.
His father who had a scent keen as a hound's for business had taken in
the situation. And Dicky, you might trust Dicky to be sure of his
game. But if this were so, why should the Hardens engage in such a
leisurely and expensive undertaking as a catalogue _raisonne_? Was the
gay Sir Frederick trying to throw dust in the eyes of his creditors?
"I see," he said, "Sir Frederick Harden is anxious to have the
catalogue finished before you leave?"
"No, he isn't anxious about it at all. He doesn't know it's being
done. It is entirely my affair."
So Sir Frederick's affairs and his daughter's were separate and
distinct; and apparently neither knew what the other was about.
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