"Never mind opinions," answered Fullaway curtly. "They're no good. Is
this the maid you brought with you once or twice when you called at my
office some time ago, over the Pinkie Pell deal?"

"Yes--yes, the same!" she answered.

"A Frenchwoman?" said Fullaway.

"Yes--Lisette. Of course she went with me to your office--that was eight
or nine months ago, and I've had her a year. And I had excellent
testimonials with her, too. Oh, I can't think that--"

"Can't you make an effort to remember her address?" urged Fullaway.
"What can we do until we know that?"

Celia drew her fine eyebrows together in a palpable effort to think.

"I've got it somewhere," she said at last. "I must have it
somewhere--most likely in an address-book at my flat--I should be sure to
put it down at the time."

"Who is there at your flat?" asked Fullaway.

"My housekeeper and a maid," answered Celia. "They're always there,
whether I'm at home or not. But they couldn't get at what you want--all
my papers and things are locked up--and in a hopeless state of
confusion, too."

Fullaway pushed aside his plate.