I felt quite grateful for Moxon's entrance. He opened the door, and the look of astonishment that leapt into his face was ludicrous to behold.
"I beg pardon, sir," he said quickly.
"I rang," said I. "I want you to whistle for a 'taxi' for this lady. She's been caught in the rain outside."
He went out obediently, closing the door. Another moment and we heard his whistle blowing violently in the street.
"Is that Moxon?" she asked, when he had gone.
"It is."
"What's he think of you bringing me in here?"
"I shouldn't attempt to say," said I. "Moxon's mind is one of the riddles I shall never solve. Sometimes I feel inclined to believe that he never thinks at all."
She sat silent for a moment or two staring at the fire, and then suddenly looked up quickly at me.
"Why did you bring me in here?" she asked.