“I suppose he didn’t think of that.”
“Not like Manning Pollard’s way. One more thing. Isn’t Mr Pollard a careful dresser?”
“Is he! The finest ever. He’s so particular, he’s an old fuss.”
“You know a lot about him, don’t you?”
“I can’t help it. A telephone operator gets side-lights on people who are continually discussing their affairs over her lines. I don’t have to listen in, but I can’t help knowing how often Mr Pollard telephones to cleaners and tailors and haberdashers and all that. Can I?”
“No, honey, of course you can’t. Good-by.”
And as Zizi left the hotel she met Manning Pollard coming in. He looked at her curiously, for though they had never met, Phyllis had told him of the queer girl, and he felt sure this was she.
To confirm it he went directly to the telephone girl and inquired of her, and the obliging young woman repeated to him the whole of her conversation with Zizi.
“H’m,” Pollard observed to himself, “h’m—exactly so.”
And he turned on his heel and went out again.