"Cahmehra Squah?" John repeated.
The policeman put his hand in his pocket, and John thought he was going to whistle for help; but it was really to get out a handkerchief to blow his nose and give him time to guess what John wanted to know.
"Say it again, will yer?" the policeman requested.
John repeated his Gallic rendering of Camera.
"I ain't seen it round here. Where do you say you dropped it?"
What slow-witted oafs the English were, thought John with a compassionate sigh for the poor foreigners who must be lost in London every day. However, this policeman was so loutish that he felt he could risk an almost perfect pronunciation.
"Oh, Kemmerer Squer," said the policeman with a huge smile of comprehension. "Why, you're looking at it." He pointed along the road.
"Damn," thought John. "I needn't have asked at all. Sank you. Good-evening," he said aloud.
"The same to you and many of them, Napoleon," the policeman nodded.