"I'd like to see Miss Rillette."
"She busy."
"Not too busy to see me," Frey said. "I'm coming in."
Japs are either very tough or they are very timid, and the servant was of the latter stamp. He stepped aside and Frey walked through a pale orange room, then through a burnt orange room and then into another pale orange room.
"Nice place you've got here, Miss Rillette," Frey said.
She was small and slim and even in the frock of a sculptress she looked delicate and graceful. In one hand she held a chisel. In the other she held a mallet. She was working on a chunk of marble and she had the forehead and general scalp contours almost completed.
When she turned around she showed a good looking set of features. She had dark brown hair coming in bangs to the eyebrows, and her eyes were gold-hazel. Her mouth was a little too wide, but still she was a good looking girl. She was in her late twenties.
"Just who are you and what is the meaning of this?" she said.
"My name is Frey, and I'm a friend of Harry Duggin."
"Is that so?" she said. "How is Harry?"