She had taken up Marjorie Phelps' figurine of himself, and was twisting it over in her fingers.
"Is this you?"
"Yes—rather good of me, don't you think?"
"What do you want?"
"Want?"
"You've come here to have a look at me, haven't you?"
"I came to see Miss Phelps."
"I suppose the policeman at the corner comes to see Miss Phelps too."
Wimsey glanced out of the window. There was a man at the corner—an elaborately indifferent lounger.
"I am sorry," said Wimsey, with sudden enlightenment. "I'm really awfully sorry to seem so stupid, and so intrusive. But honestly, I had no idea who you were till this moment."