“Not me. Well, it's all cobblers, isn't it?”

“Cobblers?” he asked, his eyes starting to glaze.

“Rubbish. Royalty! Who needs it these days?”

“What about the British royal family?”

“Oh look, I don't mean them any harm,” Dottie explained hurriedly. “I don't want to see them exterminated or anything-just pensioned off.”

The waiter was hovering expectantly. After study ing the menu with bafflement Dottie accepted Randolph's suggestion that he order for her.

“Do you have any preference about wine?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“A half of beer will do me,” she said.

“I'm not sure that they do beer. How about-?” He named a French wine, not telling her that it cost nearly one hundred pounds a bottle, and Dottie smiled and said she guessed that would do.

When the food arrived she made slow progress because she seemed unable to talk without gesticulating, and her hands were seldom free to eat. But after a while she seemed to be enjoying herself.

“You're not English are you?” she said between mouthfuls. “You've got a funny voice. No, I mean-not funny exactly…”

“It's all right,” he said, rescuing her. “I do have an accent.” He tried to sound casual. “Actually, I come from Elluria.”

“What, that place we were just talking about?”

“The very same.”

“Cor! Fancy that!” She giggled. “You're not royal, are you?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I'm not.”

It was true, he told his conscience. It had been true for several weeks now.

“I don't know anything about Elluria,” she admitted. “Not even where it is.”

“It's in the center of Europe. It's quite small, about three million people. The traditional language is German, but everyone speaks English as well because it's the language of trade and tourism, and these are important to us.”

“Is that why you're here?”

“In a sense. You might say that I've come on a fact-finding expedition.”