Part 3 She dismissed the first hotels she passed, she scarcely knew why, mainly perhaps from the mere dread of entering them, and crossed Waterloo Bridge at a leisurely pace. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. ’ ‘But this is idiot. . She went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of where he was. “Bother it all!” she swore. I’ve wanted you—always. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. There's nothing on the card to indicate it, but I'm a detective. don’t have time. I'll think no more about her.
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