Mr. Moropulos produced a folding kodak from his pocket. "Would this stop be wide enough?"
Ambrose took the camera in his hand. "Yes," he said. "What were you taking, a scene or a figure?"
"A figure," said Mr. Moropulos, "a lady in evening dress."
Ambrose smiled. "Eight o'clock is a funny time to photograph a lady in evening dress," he said.
"An amusing time—if one hadn't been waiting up all night to take it. I was here at five. Yes—I came back for the camera. I took a chance of missing the lady, but even if I had it wouldn't have mattered. But eight o'clock!" he laughed gleefully, "how very obliging. Sault, my Ambrosial man, I am going to sleep."
"I think you need it," said Ambrose.
He did all the work of the house, even to making Mr. Moropulos' bed and he was glad of the opportunity to "spring-clean" the sitting-room. He only interrupted his labors to cut a crust of bread and a slice of cheese for his lunch.
At five o'clock in the afternoon the telephone bell rang for the first time that day. "Is that Mr. Moropulos—is that you, Mr. Sault?"
"Yes, lady."
He recognized her voice instantly and his heart leaped within him.