"That's just what I can't tell you. I know her voice, but not her countenance. Her name is Dot—Lady Dot. She drives in a blue limousine and she's here to-night."
Maisie assumed a serious air.
"This," she said, "is terrible. Does your life depend upon finding her? I mean ... it's worse than a needle in a bundle of hay, isn't it?"
"Infinitely."
"You can wash out the limousine, because you won't see it. And the voice, because you won't hear it. And her name, because she won't be labelled. There's really nothing left, is there?"
Gloomily I assented.
"I'm sorry," said Maisie. "I'd like to have helped." The music slowed up and died. "And now will you see me off?"
We made our way towards the exit.
I had found her footman and sent him to summon the car, and was standing within the main entrance, when a familiar figure began with difficulty to emerge from a car which had just arrived. Berry. Having succeeded in projecting himself on to the steps, he turned to hand his companion out of the car, as he did so presenting to the astonished doorkeepers a back of such startling dimensions that the one nearest to me recoiled, for all his seasoning.
I was wondering who was the muffled Samaritan that had brought him along, when the chauffeur leaned forward as if to receive instructions when to return. The light of the near-side lamp showed me the genial features of that communicative fellow who had restored my grey hat some nine days before.