"He shook his head and echoed, 'Not quite perfect!' in a voice as flat as that of his robot.
"'Are you going to perfect him?' I asked.
"'Would you?' he asked.
"'Sure,' I said. 'I'd make him better and better.'
"'Beyond one point you couldn't go,' he said.
"'And what's that?'
"'You couldn't give him a soul—unless you could slip him your own,' he said.
"This time he did back well into the house. I stuck my foot into the doorway so that he couldn't close the door. At the same time I got a glimpse past him. His front door opened directly into his main room, his living room, and I could see that someone was standing there waiting for him—a tallish fellow with one arm folded across his chest and supporting his elbow, one hand cupping his chin. He seemed impatient but of course I couldn't see that clearly.
"If it hadn't been so absurdly impossible I'd have sworn the fellow was Herman. But of course it was undoubtedly Maugham's new assistant. For once the local gadabouts had the story straight."