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"Otterly, miss?" Bluett glanced up from his notes.

"Yes, I am at the Royal Air Force Hospital there. And so I arranged with Phil—Phillida Wentworth, another friend—to spend the night at her flat, which is quite near the house where the party was held. Well—" she smiled unmirthfully—"I can't account for it. But when I got there, the outer door was locked, and no amount of ringing was any good. Then, it began to rain—and at last I gave it up in despair. I walked all along Albemarle Street and into Piccadilly, but there simply wasn't a taxi in sight. I really had no idea what to do, especially as I had very little money with me. And then, I thought of you, Marcus."

"I am glad you did. Normally, you would have been most welcome. Indeed, you are welcome now."

"Oh, I didn't mean to disturb you by going upstairs."

She glanced in the direction of a marble stair which led from a corner of the lobby to upper apartments. "My idea was to sleep, or try to sleep—" her eyes turned fearfully in that direction—"on the couch. I didn't expect to find anybody up, you see."