ii

at the savoy hotel mr. amberiotis was picking his teeth with a toothpick and grinning to himself.

everything was going very nicely.

he had had his usual luck. fancy those few kind words of his to that idiotic hen of a woman

being so richly repaid. oh! well — cast your bread upon the waters. he had always been a

kindhearted man. and generous! in the future he would be able to be even more generous.

benevolent visions floated before his eyes. little dimitri … and the good constantopopolus

struggling with his little restaurant … what pleasant surprises for them….

the toothpick probed unguardedly and mr. amberiotis winced. rosy visions of the future faded

and gave way to apprehensions of the immediate future. he explored tenderly with his tongue. he

took out his notebook. twelve o’clock. 58, queen charlotte street.

he tried to recapture his former exultant mood. but in vain. the horizon had shrunk to six bare

words:

“58, queen charlotte street. twelve o’clock.”