The voice of Bryany in his ear continued:
"Look here! I've got Miss Euclid here and some friends of hers. Of course she wants to see you at once. Can you come down?"
"Er—" He hesitated.
He could not come down. He would have no evening wear till the next day but one.
Said the voice of Bryany:
"What?"
"I can't," said Edward Henry. "I'm not very well. But listen. All of you come up to my rooms here and have supper, will you? Suite 48."
"I'll ask the lady," said the voice of Bryany, altered now, and a few seconds later: "We're coming."
"Joseph," Edward Henry gave orders rapidly, as he took off his coat and removed the pocket-book from it. "I'm ill, you understand. Anyhow, not well. Take this," handing him the coat, "and bring me the new dressing-gown out of that green cardboard box from Rollet's—I think it is. And then get the supper menu. I'm very hungry. I've had no dinner."
Within sixty seconds he sat in state, wearing a grandiose yellow [88] dressing-gown. The change was accomplished just in time. Mr.. Bryany entered, and not only Mr.. Bryany but Mr.. Seven Sachs, and not only these, but the lady who had worn a red hat at lunch.