“Order it now,” said Below. “And let it wait.”
“As you please, sir.”
He touched a bell-push, and a gong stammered outside.
Peregrine stepped to the lift.
As he did so the gates were opened, and two people emerged—a gentle, white-haired woman and a tall, steady-eyed girl of thirty-four.
Idly Peregrine registered them as an English lady of title with an American niece.
Herein he was perfectly right.
That, as she passed him, the girl turned very pale he did not remark.
He had no idea who she was.
After all, he had not seen her for more than seven years.