Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. "An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. “I am not sure,” Anna answered. . There's nothing on the card to indicate it, but I'm a detective.
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