“Not unwelcome, I hope,” said Rollison.

“Great Scott, no! You’re just what Hilda’s been praying for —she’s convinced that the police aren’t trying to find out who our lost lady is. An aura of mystery surrounds her, and Hilda’s revelling in it. I’m warning you what to expect.”

“I can face it,” said Rollison.

Barrington-Ley put a hand on his arm and a foot on the Rolls, and said earnestly:

“As a matter of fact I feel troubled about the woman—she is what you’ve come about, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Mainly out of curiosity.”

“Good! If you can help her, I’ll be really delighted.” Barrington-Ley squeezed Rollison’s arm and got into the car, while Rollison walked up the four stone steps and went into the hall, where a footman was waiting with the door open. The footman did not recognize him, and Rollison gave him his card. When he looked at it, he seemed startled.

“Mr. Richard Rollison, sir?”

“Yes,” said Rollison.

“Only a few moments ago there was a telephone call for you, sir, and the caller gave me his number, in the hope that you would be able to ring him back. Would you care to do so before I see whether Madam is at home?”

“Yes, I think I will,” said Rollison. “What’s the number?”

“Mayfair 03121, sir.”

That was his own number. As he went to the telephone in a small room to the right of the hall. Rollison thought with a smile of Jolly’s resourcefulness, for he had not said that he was going to visit Barrington House.

He dialled the flat, and after a moment Jolly said:

“This is the residence of the Hon. Richard Rollison.”

“Hallo, Jolly,” said Rollison. “What’s the trouble?”

“There is no trouble, sir, as far as I know, but I am very glad that I’ve found you. Have you discussed the matter with Mrs. Barrington-Ley yet?” He sounded faintly apprehensive.

“No,” said Rollison.

“Then I wonder if it will be possible to avoid doing so for the time being, sir,” said Jolly. “Miss Barrington-Ley is here.”