But you can't go in that get-up, or you'll have a crowd of small boys at your heels. Couldn't you raise the sort of costume respectable elderly gentlemen go about in nowadays?
Fakrash.
I hear and obey. To assume such garb as is worn by aged dwellers in this city will be the simplest affair possible!
Horace.
All right, then. And you must go to No. 47 Cottesmore Gardens, Kensington, and ask whoever lets you in if you may see Professor Futvoye. Think you can remember all that?
Fakrash.
[Rising.] Indelibly is it inscribed upon the tablet of memory. To-morrow, then, at the appointed hour, will I repair to the abode of this sage.
Horace.
[Who has risen at the same time as Fakrash, and thrown the cushions back on the divan.] Good! And you'd better come on to me afterwards and let me know how you got on. Not here—at my office, Great College Street, Westminster. Got that down on your tablet?
Fakrash.