"'What lady?' said I, wishing to head him off.
"'This is the address,' said he, and goes to the writing-table and writes it out."
He handed Bobby a sheet of the hotel paper. Simon's handwriting was on it, and a name and address supplied by that memory of his which clung so tenaciously to all things pleasant.
"Miss Rossignol, 10, Duke Street, Leicester Square."
Bobby whistled.
"Did I ever dream I'd see this day?" mourned Mudd. "Me! Sent on a message like that, by him!"
"This is a complication," said Bobby. "I say, Mudd, he must have been busy yesterday—upon my soul——"
"Question is, what am I to do?" said Mudd. "I'm goin' to take no flowers to hussies."
Bobby thought deeply for a moment.
"Did he recognise you this morning?" he asked.