"Well, tell me about it to-morrow," said Bundle, cutting him short rather unkindly. "In the meantime, what is Jimmy Thesiger's address?" "Jimmy Thesiger?" "That's what I said." "He's got rooms in Jermyn Street--do I mean Jermyn Street or the other one?" "Bring that class A brain to bear upon it." "Yes, Jermyn Street. Wait a bit and I'll give you the number." There was a pause. "Are you there still?" "I'm always there." "Well, one never knows with these dashed telephones. The number is 103. Got it?" "103. Thank you, Bill." "Yes, but I say--what do you want it for? You said you didn't know him." "I don't, but I shall in half an hour." "You're going round to his rooms?" "Quite right, Sherlock." "Yes, but I say--well, for one thing he won't be up." "Won't be up?" "I shouldn't think so. I mean, who would if they hadn't got to? Look at it that way. You've no idea what an effort it is for me to get here at eleven every morning, and the fuss Codders makes if I'm behind time is simply appalling. You haven't the least idea, Bundle, what a dog's life this is--" "You shall tell me all about it to-morrow night," said Bundle hastily. She slammed down the receiver and took stock of the situation. First she glanced at the clock. It was five and twenty minutes to twelve. Despite Bill's knowledge of his friend's habits, she inclined to the belief that Mr. Thesiger would by now be in a fit state to receive visitors. She took a taxi to 103 Jermyn Street. The door was opened by a perfect example of the retired gentleman's gentleman. His face, expressionless and polite, was such a face as may be found by the score in that particular district of London. "Will you come this way, madam?" He ushered her upstairs into an extremely comfortable sitting-room containing leather covered arm-chairs of immense dimensions. Sunk in one of those monstrosities was another girl, rather younger than Bundle. A small, fair girl, dressed in black. "What name shall I say, madam?" "I won't give any name," said Bundle. "I just want to see Mr. Thesiger on important business." The grave gentleman bowed and withdrew, shutting the door noiselessly behind him. There was a pause. "It's a nice morning," said the fair girl timidly. "It's an awfully nice morning," agreed Bundle. There was another pause. "I motored up from the country this morning," said Bundle, plunging once more into speech. "And I thought it was going to be one of those foul fogs. But it wasn't." "No," said the other girl. "It wasn't." And she added: "I've come up from the country too." Bundle eyed her more attentively. She had been slightly annoyed at finding the other there. Bundle belonged to the energetic order of people who like "to get on with it," and she foresaw that the second visitor would have to be disposed of and got rid of before she could broach her own business. It was not a topic she could introduce before a stranger.