Thwaites, ‘with diverse pills and potions, to heal thine ills?’

Mrs. Barratt did not reply to this.

‘As for me,’ said Mr. Thwaites, ‘I betake myself unto the House of a Thousand Volumes – there to acquire a novel, detective, or of other vulgar sort, to beguile the passing hour.’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Barratt, ‘I want to change my book, too.’

‘And what of my Lady of the Roach?’ asked Mr. Thwaites. ‘How doth she disport herself this morning?’

‘I haven’t really made up my mind,’ said Miss Roach, as agreeably as she was able.

‘She goeth, perchance, unto the coffee-house,’ said Mr. Thwaites, ‘there to partake of the noxious brown fluid with her continental friends?’

Ah – here we were, thought Miss Roach. He had to get nasty sooner or later. This was a reference to Vicki Kugelmann, and her habit of having a cup of coffee with her on a Saturday morning.

‘How do you mean?’ she said, ‘my continental friends?’

‘Why,’ said Mr. Thwaites, ‘dost thou not forgather, of a Saturday morning, with a certain dame of Teutonic origin?’

‘Oh,’ said Miss Roach, ‘you mean Vicki Kugelmann. Yes – I do have coffee with her.’

‘Is that her name?’ said Mr. Thwaites, and here Miss Steele, at her table alone, cut in.

‘Yes. I’ve seen you with her,’ she said. ‘Is it true that she’s coming here?’

‘What?’ said Mr. Thwaites, his amazement knocking him back into plain English. ‘Did I hear you say coming here?’

Miss Roach had for some time been wondering when this news was going to break. She herself had had a word about the matter with Mrs. Payne, but had not, for some reason, quite had the courage to mention it to anyone else. Though actually the whole thing had been arranged independently of her by Vicki Kugelmann and Mrs. Payne, she still felt that, because she was known in the boarding-house as the friend of the German girl in the town, she was in fact responsible and would have to bear the brunt of any shocked or resentful sentiment amongst the guests which the news might possibly cause.

Now, bracing herself to face this alone, she found succour from an unexpected source.

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Barratt, in the most matter-of-fact way. ‘She’s coming in next Wednesday.’

‘What?’ said Mr. Thwaites. ‘Coming in here – coming into the house?’

‘Yes – that’s right,’ said Mrs. Barratt. ‘I know, because she’s coming into my room. I’m going over the way to a room at the back – away from the noise.’

‘Well,’ said Mr. Thwaites, after a pause, and staring at Miss Roach, ‘this is pretty good. I must say this is pretty good.’

‘What’s pretty good?’ Miss Roach was suddenly defiant. ‘How do you mean, Mr.