“Au contraire, I’m his sorrow.  My present trouble is that I’ve got to find a wife.”

“Nothin’ easier, old thing.  Your photo in the illustrated papers, with appropriate letterpress—­”

“You misunderstand me,” interrupted Percival.  “It’s someone else’s wife I’ve got to find. Ecoutez.  Teddy Roker has got permission for his wife to visit him out here.  He’s expecting her by this afternoon’s boat and has got a billet fixed up all right, but he’s been suddenly rushed away on a court-martial case, so he’s asked me to meet her, and I’ve never seen her before.”

“But didn’t he give you the specifications—­kind of descriptive return?”

“That’s just it!” groaned Percival.  “He was only married last leave, and his description goes like a Shakspearean sonnet.  I gather that I’ve got to look out for a combination of Titania, GLADYS COOPER and HELEN OF TROY.  I tried to nail him down to externals, but he only went off into another rhapsody.

“‘What does she wear?’ I asked.

“‘Wear?’ said he dreamily.  ’Oh! beautifully draped garments nebulous as summer clouds and filmy as gossamer webs.  Nothing really definite.’

“‘That sounds probable enough, as the present fashions go,’” said I.

“Seems to me,” said Frederick, “that this is a case to refer to higher authority.  The sleuth-hound instinct of one Frederick is indicated.  Having absorbed the available data I will e’en amble round myself to assist you.”

“There speaks my stout-hearted haricot!” said Percival.  “But be careful.  Teddy won’t like it if he gets the wrong wife.  He made a point of that.  So in case we miss each other your instructions are briefly these:  you will meet what you honestly think to be Mrs. Roker outside the Customs House, explain Teddy’s absence, take her to his rooms at 10 bis, Rue Dufay, make her comfortable and report to me here at 6.15.”

Punctually at 6.15 they met again in the Patisserie Delarue.  Both were radiant.

“’Tis done!” said Percival proudly; “and without the assistance of the puissant Frederick.  At 5.0 o’clock I was outside the Customs House and saw her looking round with an anxious eye.  ‘Mrs. Roker, I believe?’ said I. She confessed right away, so I rattled her off in a cab to 10 bis, Rue Dufay, and left her there nibblin’ biscuits and drinkin’ tea as happy as a flapper.”

“Percival,” replied Frederick slowly, “for sheer imbecility you have surpassed yourself.  I myself met Mrs. Roker outside the Customs House at 5.30, being detained en route.  I took her to 10 bis, Rue Dufay, where at the present moment she is partaking of coffee and chocolate caramels.  Shortly, no doubt, she will discover the spurious female that you have decoyed thither and the First Act of a triangle drama will be rung up.”

“By Jazz,” exclaimed Percival, “I’d stake my gratuity on the genuineness of my Mrs. Roker.  She knows Teddy’s favourite breakfast food.”