“Worried,” she said simply. And then, in the old automatic way: “Excuse me, Sir. There’s someone in the bar.” And with all the fresh, stupid innocence of her first entrance upon the scene, she hurried across the passage.

Wolf surveyed the admirable preparations for tea that lay spread before him. There were two teacups, two knives, two plates, and two chairs.

“Jesus⁠ ⁠… Jesus⁠ ⁠… Jesus⁠ ⁠… Jesus.”

“What on earth shall I talk about with the old man?” he thought. “I wish he’d hurry up. This tea will have stood much too long.”

He had not long to wait. There were shuffling steps in the passage, and the bookseller came in. Wolf rose and shook him by the hand.

“Just in time, Mr. Malakite,” he said. “I was afraid our tea would get too strong.”