to the door. The concierge was talking down-stairs. She was very angry. I heard my name and called down the stairs.
"Is that you, Monsieur Barnes?" the concierge called.
"Yes. It's me."
"There's a species of woman here who's waked the whole street up. What kind of a dirty business at this time of night! She says she must see you. I've told her you're asleep."
Then I heard Brett's voice. Half asleep I had been sure it was Georgette. I don't know why. She could not have known my address.
"Will you send her up, please?"
Brett came up the stairs. I saw she was quite drunk. "Silly thing to do," she said. "Make an awful row. I say, you weren't asleep, were you?"
"What did you think I was doing?"
"Don't know. What time is it?"
I looked at the clock. It was half-past four. "Had no idea what hour it was," Brett said. "I say, can a chap sit down? Don't be cross, darling. Just left the count. He brought me here."
"What's he like?" I was getting brandy and soda and glasses.
"Just a little," said Brett. "Don't try and make me drunk. The count? Oh, rather. He's quite one of us."
"Is he a count?"
"Here's how. I rather think so, you know. Deserves to be, anyhow. Knows hell's own amount about people. Don't know where he got it all. Owns a chain of sweetshops in the States."
She sipped at her glass.
"Think he called it a chain. Something like that. Linked them all up. Told me a little about it. Damned interesting. He's one of us, though. Oh, quite. No doubt. One can always tell."
She took another drink.
"How do I buck on about all this? You don't mind, do you? He's putting up for Zizi, you know."
