"That I was remiss, simply. It ought to have gone to you before."

Flamel's tone had been that of unaffected surprise, but at this
his accent changed and he asked, quickly: "On what ground?"

Glennard had moved away from the desk and stood leaning against
the calf-backed volumes of the bookcase. "On the ground that you
sold Mrs. Aubyn's letters for me, and that I find the intermediary
in such cases is entitled to a percentage on the sale."

Flamel paused before answering. "You find, you say. It's a
recent discovery?"

"Obviously, from my not sending the check sooner. You see I'm new
to the business."

"And since when have you discovered that there was any question of
business, as far as I was concerned?"

Glennard flushed and his voice rose slightly. "Are you
reproaching me for not having remembered it sooner?"

Flamel, who had spoken in the rapid repressed tone of a man on the
verge of anger, stared a moment at this and then, in his natural
voice, rejoined, good-humoredly, "Upon my soul, I don't understand
you!"

The change of key seemed to disconcert Glennard. "It's simple
enough--" he muttered.