"Why shouldn't you recognize him?" Wolfe demanded.

"Because he had a beard, and he wore glasses, and his hair was slick and parted on the left side. That sounds like a freak, but Uncle Paul would know better than to look freaky. The beard was trimmed, and somehow it didn't make him conspicuous. It was lucky I didn't completely recognize him when I first saw him, or I would probably have stood and gawked at him. Later in the dressing room Polly Zarella asked Bernard – that's Bernard Daumery, Jean's nephew – who was the man that was growing his own wool, and Bernard said he didn't know, probably from the Daily Worker. Of course we know most of the guests at a press showing, but not all of them. When I modeled another number – a full-back calf-covering coat in tapestry tones of Kleinsell ratine – I took him in without being obvious about it, and all of a sudden I knew who it was – I didn't guess, I knew. It staggered me so that I had to get off quick, quicker than I should have, and in the dressing room it was all I could do to keep them from seeing me tremble. I wanted to run out and speak to him, but I couldn't because it would have ruined the show. I had four more numbers to model – one of them was our headliner, a tailored dress and jacket in black with white stripes, with slightly bouffant sleeves and a double hemline – and I had to go on to the end. When it was over I hurried out front and he was gone."

"Indeed," Wolfe muttered.

"Yes. I went outside, to the elevators, but he was gone."