At noon she began to ask her way to the Longminster Arms. After a diversion into an artist-colourman’s shop where she found a very nice old frame of the right size for her Signs of the Zodiac, she arrived at half past twelve. Troy was one of those people who can never manage to be unpunctual and was often obliged to go for quite extensive walks round blocks in order to be decently late or at least not indecently early.

However, she didn’t mind being early for her luncheon with Dr Natouche and his friends. She tidied up and found her way into a pleasant drawing-room where there were lots of magazines.

In one of them she at once became absorbed. It printed a long extract from a book written some years ago by a white American who had had his skin pigmentation changed by what, it appeared, was a dangerous but entirely effective process. For some months this man had lived as one of themselves among the Negroes of the Deep South. The author did not divulge the nature of this transformation process and Troy found herself wondering if Dr Natouche would be able to tell what it was. Could she ask him? Remembering their conversation in the wapentake, she thought she could.

She was still pondering over this and had turned again to the article when she became aware of a presence and found that Dr Natouche stood beside her, quite close, with his gaze on the printed page.

Her diaphragm contracted with a jolt and the magazine crackled in her hands.

‘I am so very sorry,’ he said. ‘I startled you. It was stupid of me. The carpet is thick and you were absorbed.’

He sat down opposite to her and with a look of great concern said: ‘I have been unforgivably clumsy.’

‘Not a bit of it,’ Troy rejoined. ‘I don’t know why I should be so jumpy. But as you say, I was absorbed. Have you read this thing, Dr Natouche?’

He had lifted his finger to a waiter who approached with a perfectly blank face.

‘We shall not wait for the Ferguses,’ Dr Natouche said. ‘You must be given a restorative. Brandy? And soda? Dry Ginger? Yes? Two, if you please and may I see the wine list?’

His manner was grand enough to wipe the blank look off any waiter’s face.

When the man had gone Dr Natouche said: ‘But I have not answered your question. Yes, I have read this book. It was a courageous action.’

‘I wondered if you would know exactly what was done to him. The process, I mean.’

‘Your colour is returning,’ he said after a moment. ‘And so, of course, did his. It was not a permanent change. No, I do not know what was done. Sir Leslie might have an idea, it is more in his line than mine. We must ask him.’

‘I would have thought—’