"The chief of the detective agency informed me that it would be best not to let Mr. It’s an emerald. Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night.
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