Nick was led through a couple of sumptuously furnished rooms into the great Swedish actress’ presence.
Helga Lund was a magnificently proportioned woman, well above medium height, and about thirty years of age.
She wore a loose, filmy negligee of silk and lace, and its pale blue was singularly becoming to her fair skin and golden hair. Two thick, heavy ropes of the latter hung down far below her waist.
She was not merely pretty, but something infinitely better—she had the rugged statuesque beauty of a goddess in face and form.
She was pacing the floor like a caged lioness when Nick entered. Her head was thrown back and her hands were clasped across her forehead, allowing the full sleeves to fall away from her perfectly formed, milk-white arms.
“Miss Lund, this is Mr. Carter, of whom I
