The aged and forbidding servant appeared at the door.
‘Tea for two, Mrs Goldie.’
Mrs Goldie looked round the room suspiciously. ‘The other gentleman’s gone, has he?’ she asked. And having assured herself of his absence, she renewed her complaint. ‘Shoving in like that,’ she said. ‘Bolshevism, that’s what I—’
‘All right, all right, Mrs Goldie. Let’s have our tea as quickly as possible.’ Mr Mercaptan held up his hand, authoritatively, with the gesture of a policeman controlling the traffic.
‘Very well, Master Paster.’ Mrs Goldie spoke with resignation and departed.
‘But tell me,’ Mr Mercaptan went on, ‘if it isn’t indiscreet—what does your friend look like?’
‘W—well,’ Rosie answered, ‘he’s fair, and though he’s quite young he wears a beard.’ With her two hands she indicated on her own
