“It’s all very well,” said Berry, “but what does a cook look like, or look least like, or least look like?  I suppose you know what you mean.”  Jill began to shake with laughter.  “She’ll probably be all dressed up to give us a treat, and, for all we know, she may have a child with her, and, if she’s pretty, it’s a hundred to one some fellow will be seeing her off the boat.  You can’t rule out any one.  And to accost strange women indiscriminately is simply asking for trouble.  Understand this:  when I’ve been knocked down twice, you can count me out.”

This was too much for Jill, who made no further efforts to restrain her merriment.  Fixing her with a sorrowful look, my brother-in-law sank back in his corner with a resigned air.

Jonah’s telegram had certainly complicated matters.

We had received it too late to prevent the dispatch of the cook whose services he had apparently enlisted.  After a prolonged discussion we had decided that, while Daphne must stay and interview Pauline Roper, the rest of us had better proceed to Dover with the object of meeting the boat.  It was obvious that Jill must go to deal with the immigrant when the latter had been identified, but she could not be expected to effect the identification.  I was unanimously chosen for this responsible task, but I refused point-blank to make the attempt single-handed.  I argued with reason that it was more than one man could do, and that the performance of what was, after all, a highly delicate operation must be shared by Berry.  After a titanic struggle the latter gave in, with the result that Jill and he and I had left London by the eleven o’clock train.  This was due to arrive at Dover at two minutes to one, so that we should have time for lunch and to spare before the boat came in.

But that was not all.

The coming of Jonah’s protegee made it impossible for my sister to engage Pauline Roper out of hand.  Of course the latter might prove impossible, which, in a way, would simplify the position.  If, as was more probable, she seemed desirable, the only thing to do was to pay her fare and promise to let her know within twenty-four hours whether we would engage her or not.  That would give us time to discover whether Camille Francois was the more promising of the two.

Whatever happened, it was painfully clear that our engagement of a cook was going to prove one of the most costly adventures of its kind upon which we had ever embarked.

The train steamed into Dover one minute before its scheduled time, and we immediately repaired to the Lord Warden Hotel.

Lunch was followed by a comfortable half-hour in the lounge, after which we decided to take the air until the arrival of the packet.