'Unfortunately, I just missed him. No one here understands the sort of position he has made for himself--and indeed, for us--out there. It was the one country, till he came on the scene, where we were not only lacking in influence, but so lacking in prestige that we were being perpetually outwitted. Downing, as I reminded Rashleigh the other day, has always been pulling our chestnuts out of the fire. Of course, you can't expect such a man to have the virtues of a Sunday-school teacher.' Penelope still kept her eyes averted from Winfrith's face, still ruthlessly dug holes in her old friend's turf. 'And when in Persia, in Teheran, what sort of life does he lead there?' She tried to speak indifferently, but her heart was beating fast and irregularly. But Winfrith, seeing nothing, answered willingly enough: 'Oh, a most extraordinary sort of life. One of amazing solitariness. He has always refused to mix with the social life of the Legations. Perhaps that's why he acquired such an influence elsewhere. Of course, I heard a great deal about him, and I'll tell you what impressed me most of the various things I learned. They say that no man--not even out there--has had his life attempted so often, and in such various ways, as has Persian Downing. All sorts of people, native and foreign, have an interest in his disappearance.' Penelope's hand trembled. The colour left her cheek. 'How does he escape?' she asked. 'Has he any special way of guarding himself from attack?' 'If he has, no one knows what it is. He has never asked for official protection, but it seems that from that point of view his G.C.B. has been quite useful, for now there's a sort of idea that his body and soul possess a British official value, which before they lacked. He's been "minted" so to speak.' But Mrs. Robinson hardly heard him. She was following her own trend of thought. There was a question she longed, yet feared, to ask, and though desperately ashamed at what she was about to do, she made up her mind that she could not let pass this rare, this unique, opportunity of learning what she craved to know. 'I suppose that he really _has_ lived alone?' she asked insistently. And then, seeing that she must speak yet more plainly: 'I suppose--I mean, was there anything against his private character, out there, in Teheran?' A look of annoyance crossed Winfrith's face. He was old-fashioned enough to consider such questions unseemly, especially when asked by a woman. 'Certainly not,' he replied rather stiffly. 'I heard no whisper of such a thing. Had there been anything of the kind, I should, of course, have heard it. Teheran is full of petty gossip, as are all those sorts of places.' As they turned to meet old Mr. Winfrith and Cecily Wake, Penelope thought, with mingled feelings of relief and pain, of how easy it had all been, and yet how painful--at moments, how agonizing--to herself.