Vignoles (to his own surprise) offered his hand.
"It is very good of you," he said, rather awkwardly. "You are sure you have no other dinner engagement, Inspector?"
"None," replied the latter. "I am, strictly speaking, engaged upon official duty; but bodily nutriment is allowed—even by Scotland Yard!"
"You don't mind my presenting you to—the other guests—in your—ah—unofficial capacity—as plain Mr. Pepys? They might—think there was something wrong!"
He felt vaguely confused, as though he were insulting the visitor by his request, and with the detective's disconcerting eyes fixed upon his face was more than half ashamed of himself.
"Not in the least, Lord Vignoles. I should have suggested it had you not done so."
The host was resentfully conscious of a subtle sense of inward gratitude for this concession. Of the easy assumption of equality by the detective he experienced no resentment whatever. The circumstances possibly warranted it, and, in any event, it was assumed so quietly and naturally that he accepted it as a matter of course.
Since Lord Vignoles' marriage with an American heiress the atmosphere of his establishments had grown very transatlantic; so much so, indeed, that someone had dubbed the house in Cadogan Gardens "The Millionaires' Meeting House," and another wit (unknown) had referred to his place in Norfolk as "The Week-end Synagogue." Furthermore, Lady Vignoles had a weakness for "odd people," for which reason the presence of a guest hitherto socially unknown occasioned no comment.
Mr. Pepys having brought in Zoe Oppner, everyone assumed the late arrival to be one of Lady Vignoles' odd people, and everyone was pleasantly surprised to find him such a charming companion.
Zoe Oppner, for her part, became so utterly absorbed in his conversation that her cousin grew seriously alarmed. Zoe was notoriously eccentric, and, her cousin did not doubt, even capable of forming an attachment for a policeman.