`Yes,' said Hadley, `I was thinking just that.'
At the door of the flat the bell-buzzer rang. But before Rampole had time to reach the door, it was pushed open…,
'I'm so sorry we're fearfully late!' a girl's voice said, promptly, before, the owner saw anybody. `But it was the chauffeur's night off, and we didn't want to take the big car, and we tried to use the other car, and it got half-way out into the street and stopped. And so we had to use the big car, after all.'
Rampole found himself looking down at a small- face which was poked round the edge of the door. Then by degrees the new-comer' got into the room. She was a plump, very pretty little blonde, with two of the most beaming and expressive blue eyes the American had ever seen; she looked like a breathless doll.
`Er … Miss Bitton?' inquired Rampole.
`I'm Miss Bitton,' she explained, as though she were singling herself out of a group.
Dalrye, thin and blinking, towered over her in the doorway. His sandy hair was disarranged under a hat stuck on the side of his head, and there was a smear of grease under one eye.
Sheila Bitton's large eyes wandered about the room. A shocked look came into them when she saw the broken plaster image.
She looked at Rampole. `You're not… ooh no! I know — you. You're the one who looks like a football-player. Bob described all of you to me. And you're much better looking than I thought you'd be from what he said,' she decided, subjecting him to a peculiarly open and embarrassing scrutiny.
`And I, ma'am,' said Dr Fell, `am the walrus, you see. Mr Dalrye seems to have a flair for vivid description. In what delicate terms, may I ask, did he paint a word-picture of my friend Hadley, here?'