“When did you leave the Mews?” Christina Alberta asked Fay.
“Half-past eight.... Not a sign of him.”
“Have you been far?” Harold asked Lambone.
“Far!” said Lambone and for a time was incapable of more.
His voice seemed to recede in perspective. “Asking policemen for a small, hatless man. Over great areas of London. On and on—from one policeman to another.... She’s a most determined young woman. God help the man who wins her love! Not a soul had seen him. But I can’t talk yet....”
Harold clawed his chin softly with long artistic fingers. “It is just possible,” he said slowly, “that he went in somewhere and bought a hat.”
“Of course he must have got a hat,” said Fay.
“It never occurred to either of us that he would do anything so sane.”
“We never thought of asking in the hatters’ shops,” said Christina Alberta.
“Happily,” said Lambone, and turned to welcome his refreshment. “That would have been the last straw.”