The Lampreys lived in two flats which occupied the entire top story of a building known as Pleasaunce Court Mansions. Pleasaunce Court is merely a short street connecting Cadogan Square with Lennox Gardens and the block of flats stands on the corner. To Roberta the outside seemed forbidding but the entrance hall had lately been redecorated and was more friendly. Pale green walls, a thick carpet, heavy armchairs and an enormous fire gave an impression of light and luxury. The firelight flickered on the chromium steel of a lift-cage in the centre of the hall and on a slotted framework that held the names of the flat owners. Roberta read the top one: No. 25 & 26. LORD AND LADY CHARLES LAMPREY. IN. Henry followed her gaze, crossed quickly to the board and moved a chromium-steel tab.
“LORD AND LADY CHARLES LAMPREY. OUT, I fancy,” muttered Henry.
“Oh, are they!” cried Roberta. “Are they away?”
“No,” said Henry. “Ssh!”
“Ssh!” said Frid.
They moved their heads slightly in the direction of the door. A small man wearing a bowler hat stood on the pavement outside and appeared to consult an envelope in his hands. He looked up at the front of the flats and then approached the steps.
“In to the lift!” Henry muttered and opened the doors. Roberta in a state of extreme bewilderment entered the lift. A porter, heavily smart in a dark green uniform and several medals, came out of an office.
“Hullo, Stamford,” said Henry. “Good morning to you. Mayling’s got some luggage out there in the car.”
“I’ll attend to it, sir,” said the porter.
“Thank you so much,” murmured the Lampreys politely, and Henry added, “His lordship is away this morning, Stamford.”