IV
I invaded the portals of Flower Studies Ltd. with some trepidation¹. Anoverpowering smell of gardenia² nearly knocked me backwards³. A numberof girls, dressed in pale green sheaths and all looking exactly like Poppy,confused me. Finally I identified her. She was writing down an addresswith some difficulty, pausing doubtfully over the spelling of FortescueCrescent. As soon as she was at liberty, after having further difficultiesconnected with producing the right change for a five- pound note, Iclaimed her attention.
“We met the other night—with David Ardingly,” I reminded her.
“Oh yes!” agreed Poppy warmly, her eyes passing vaguely⁴ over my head.
“I wanted to ask you something.” I felt sudden qualms⁵. “Perhaps I’d bet-ter buy some flowers?”
Like an automaton⁶ who has had the right button pressed, Poppy said:
“We’ve some lovely roses, fresh in today.”
“These yellow ones, perhaps?” There were roses everywhere. “Howmuch are they?”
“Vewy vewy cheap,” said Poppy in a honeyed persuasive⁷ voice. “Onlyfive shillings each.”
I swallowed and said I would have six of them.
“And some of these vewy special leaves with them?”
I looked dubiously⁸ at the special leaves which appeared to be in an ad-vanced state of decay. Instead I chose some bright green asparagus fern,which choice obviously lowered me in Poppy’s estimation.
“There was something I wanted to ask you,” I reiterated⁹ as Poppy wasrather clumsily draping the asparagus fern round the roses. “The otherevening you mentioned something called the Pale Horse.”

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