‘Yes,’ Richard mused, ‘this is all very well, and I am enjoying it, and nothing could be very much better; but the fact remains that I haven’t earned a cent this blessed day. The fact also remains that I am a bit of a frost. Further, and thirdly, the fact remains that the present state of affairs must be immediately altered.’
His pipe went out.
‘I’ll look in at the Empire,’ he said.
Now, by what process of reasoning a young man who, on his own confession, had drawn a blank day could arrive at the conclusion that the proper thing to do was to go to the Empire we cannot explain. But so it was. He looked at his watch. The hour was nine-fifteen. Half an hour yet, for no self-respecting man-about-town ever thinks of entering the Empire before a quarter to ten! At this point Richard probably fell into a doze. At any rate, a knock on his bedroom-door had to be repeated several times before it attracted his attention.
‘What is it?’ he answered at length.
‘A person to see you, sir,’ said a feminine voice, not without asperity.
‘A person to see me! Oh! ah! er!... Show him into the office. I’ll be down directly.’
He descended to the third-floor, and, instead of the Somerset House acquaintance whom he had expected, he found the very last person that by all the laws of chance ought to have been in his office—he found Mrs. Bridget.
Mrs. Bridget turned round and faced him as he went into the little paper-strewn room. She was dressed in black alpaca, with a curiously-shaped flat black bonnet. Her hands, which were decently covered with black gloves, she held folded in front of her.
Richard said nothing at first. He was too astounded, and—shall we say?—pleased. He scented what the reporters call ‘further revelations’ of an interesting nature.