“We don’t, as a rule, sir, give the names of sitters, without their express permission.”
“This is one of the exceptions to the rule. Here is the portrait—who is the lady it represents?”
I handed him the photograph which I had taken off Edwin Lawrence’s mantelshelf. So soon as he saw it he smiled; looking up at me with what was suspiciously like a twinkle in his eye.
“As you say, this is one of the exceptions to the rule. I certainly have no objection to tell you who this lady is; that is, if you don’t know already. In which case I should imagine that you are one of the few persons in London who does not.”
“What on earth do you mean? Who is the lady?”
“You are not a theatre-goer, sir?”
“Why do you say that? I suppose I go to the theatres as often as other people.”
“You haven’t been to the Pandora lately.”
“The Pandora? I’ve been there three times within the last month or so.”
“Then, on the occasion of your visits was Miss Bessie Moore not acting?”