Claudius laughed a little, but Barker did not smile. He was apparently occupied in inventing a patent transformation landscape on wheels. In reality, he was thinking out a menu for dinner whereby he might feed his friend without starving himself. For Mr. Barker was particular about his meals, and accustomed to fare sumptuously every day, whereas he had observed that the Doctor was fond of sausages and decayed cabbage. But he knew such depraved tastes could not long withstand the blandishments and caressing hypersensualism of Delmonico, if he ever got the Doctor so far.
Having successfully accomplished the business of dining, Mr. Barker promised to return in an hour, and sallied out to find the British aristocracy, whom he knew. The British aristocracy was taking his coffee in solitude at the principal café, and hailed Mr. Barker's advent with considerable interest, for they had tastes in common.
"How are you, Duke?"
"Pretty fit, thanks. Where have you been?"
"Oh, all over. I was just looking for you."
"Yes?" said the aristocracy interrogatively.
"Yes. I want you to introduce me to somebody you know."
"Pleasure. Who?"
"She has black eyes and dark hair, very dark complexion, middling height, fine figure; carries an ivory-handled parasol with a big M and a crown." Mr. Barker paused for a look of intelligence on the Englishman's face.
"Sure she's here?" inquired the latter.