"It's all right," she shouted, leaning over him, "you'll be able to move soon!" "My dearest Miss Simons, I am quite sure deafness wasn't part of the transference process," said Carruthers. "Oh, yes, sorry…" The man was incredibly old, his skin a mess of soft wrinkles and liver spots. Miles picked up a fedora hat from where it had fallen from the stranger's head. He dropped it on to his own at a rakish angle. "The name's…erm…" "Caulfield," said Penelope, rolling her eyes. "Sorry, still a bit shaky on that one. Ahem… the name's Caulfield… Miles Caulfield. What's a goodlooking dame like you doing in this joint?" "Socialising with mad limeys," she replied, "and that has to be the worst American accent I've ever heard." "Fair enough," Miles replied, taking the hat off and placing it next to the man. "Think we should take his coat off too?" "We don't have to strip the poor man," she replied, straightening the tails of his gaberdine across his legs, "just keep an eye on him while he comes around… Oh…" She held up a large handgun.
