what she would do. Finally, she walked to the telephone at the end of the hall. There was a grimness about her look indicative of a set purpose. Taking down the receiver she called "Gerrard 60000."
There was a pause.
"That the Quadrant Hotel?" she enquired. "Is Lord Peter Bowen in?"
The clerk would enquire.
Patricia waited what seemed an age.
At last a voice cried, "Hullo!"
"Is that Lord Peter Bowen?"
"Is that you, Patricia?" came the reply from he other end of the wire.
"Oh, so it is true then!" said Patricia.
"What's true?" queried Bowen at the other end.
"What I've just said."
"What do you mean? I don't understand."
"I must see you this evening," said Patricia in an even voice.
"That's most awfully good of you."
"It's nothing of the sort."
Bowen laughed. "Shall I come round?"
"No."
"Will you dine with me?"
"No."
"Well, where shall I see you?"
Patricia thought for a moment. "I will meet you at Lancaster Gate tube at twenty minutes to nine."
