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"A visitor for you, Mister Frodot."
"Is that so, Miss Lemon?" M. Frodot turned about in his chair to look at her, demi-tasse poised halfway between his lips and the saucer on the desk in front of him. "You did not tell me, did you, that I had further appointments aujourd'hui?"
"The gentleman does not have an appointment, Mister Frodot." She pressed her lips together disapprovingly. "I suggested he might make one, but he insisted it is a most urgent matter."
"I say!" exclaimed Pippin from the sofa, in between puffs of pipeweed. "What dashed rotten luck, to arrive unexpectedly in the middle of tea-time and demand..."
"Tais-toi, you fool of the Took," Frodot said, though not ungently. He replaced the cup in its saucer and laced his fingers together over his waistcoat. "Alors, Miss Lemon, you may show him in."
Miss Lemon stood aside and allowed the tall, bearded man in the pointed hat to enter the room. "Mister Gandalf LeGrey." Behind his back she wrinkled her nose faintly in distaste.
The gentleman so announced strode across the room, staff thumping against the carpet. "Thank you for seeing me, Mister Frodot," he said. His well-spoken, well-mannered voice was quite at odds with his disheveled appearance and long, unkempt beard rather like a charicature of a Balliol College professor which had gotten out of hand.
Instinctively Frodot began to stroke his perfectly groomed moustaches, and contemplated the gloriousness of his equally well-groomed barefeet beneath the desk. "Not at all, m'sieur. Won't you please sit down?"
"Would the gentleman care for some tea?" Miss Lemon inquired sharply from the doorway. "Or a coffee, perhaps?"
LeGrey sat down and shook his head. Frodot raised one eyebrow at her and said, "Merci, Miss Lemon, that will be all. You may return to your making of the filing system which perfectly organizes the -- comme on dit? -- 'sundering' of the elves." She pressed her lips together once again and shut the door behind her as Frodot's attention returned to his visitor. "Now, my good sir, how may I be of service?"
"I have a job for you, Mister Frodot."
"And what sort of job is it you have, m'sieur?"
"I want you to lose something for me."
Frodot did not respond immediately. "A most intriguing proposition, but I do not see how I can help. You do understand that I have the skill at finding that which is missing, not the other way around?"
"That I do indeed, Mister Frodot," LeGrey replied, leaning over the desk. "I realize that this is not your speciality, but if anyone can figure out how to lose this particular. . . item, with no one being the wiser, it is you. You have a reputation for being the cleverest elvish detective that ever --"
"Bon Dieu," Frodot interrupted, fuming, "I am not elvish, I am an 'alfling!"
"Whatever you say, Mister Frodot, but you come very highly recommended. Will you take the job?"
"Et bien, what is it you wish me to lose for you, then?"
"This." LeGrey drew a wad of cloth from his sleeve and, laying it on the desk, carefully unfolded it without touching the contents. Within the mass of white silk lay a plain gold ring.
Pippin joined them at the desk. "I say, that's a jolly handsome ring. But why on earth can't you lose it yourself?"
"Do not tempt me, Master Took!" LeGrey thundered.
"Oui, Pippin, you must exercise the little grey cells," Frodot berated him. "It is clear from M. le Grey's behavior that this is one of the rings de puissance -- a ring of Power."
LeGrey jumped to his feet and stared down at him in amazement. "That's incredible, Mister Frodot; you're absolutely right. How did you know?"
"Order and method, my dear M. le Grey," Frodot replied with a wink, tapping his forehead. "Now, you must tell me one more thing: where is it you should like for it to be disposed?"
LeGrey collapsed into his chair and pulled a face. It was some moments before he spoke. "The Land of Mordor," he intoned.
"Murder?" Pippin squeaked. "I say, that's smashing. If there's one thing Frodot knows, it's murder! When do we leave?"