“What?” I said. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to tell him that?”
“If you’ll be so good.”
I waited with my hand on the knob. “I’ll see you again.”
“Oh, please do!” she invited; and, feeling flushed and mighty good, I stepped into the corridor and drifted to the rear.
My new baggage was still under my seat in my Pullman but George was lost to sight. I wouldn’t have put it past Dibley to have locked him up somewhere but that didn’t seem to be the case when I encountered old “Iron Age” in the door of the smoking room of one of the last Pullmans. Rather, he encountered me, reaching out and dragging me in behind the curtains.
“Now what have you found out?” he went after me with his delightful tact.
“She’s a charming girl,” I assured him. “I called at her compartment, as you suggested, and pretended we had mutual acquaintances and got away with it.”
“You probably did not,” said Dibley, to take me down from the hang-over of satisfaction which he detected on me.