On ascending to the third floor, Simes, my man, opened the door and she
advanced timidly down the tiny passage to my sitting-room. It was not a
very large apartment, but I had furnished it comfortably a couple of
years before, and it presented a rather cosy appearance with the
table-cover and velvet _portieres_ of sage green to match, a couple of
big roomy saddlebag chairs of club dimensions, a high, carved-oak
buffet, with its strip of white cloth spread as daintily as in the
dining-room of any well-appointed house, for Simes was an excellent man,
as natty as a chamber-maid. He took a pride in keeping my rooms spick
and span. An ex-trooper of Hussars, he had seen service with me in
Egypt before I left the Service, and was a model servant, obeying with
military precision, and was eminently trustworthy, save where whiskey
was concerned. He could not be expected to resist the temptation of
taking a drop from my tantalus on odd occasions.
Upon the walls of my room were a few choice pictures which I had
purchased from time to time, together with a pencil caricature of myself
drawn by one of the _Punch_ artists who was an old friend, and a couple
of plaques which had been given me by the lady who painted them. In the
middle of the room stood the square table with a bowl of flowers in the
centre, on one side of the fireplace a revolving bookstand, and on the
other nearest the window, which looked down upon Charing Cross Road, a
small triangular table of rosewood, whereon stood some curios which I
had picked up during my pleasure trip round the world.
I give this detailed description of my own quarters because it will be
found necessary in order to properly understand the story.
"What a pretty room!" was my fair unknown's first exclamation.
"Do you think so? I'm glad you like it," I laughed, for most of my
visitors were in the habit of making similar observations. "Do sit
down," and I drew forward one of the big armchairs.
With a word of thanks she seated herself, and when I placed a hassock at
her feet she stretched out one tiny foot upon it coquettishly, although
with such natural grace that there was nothing fast about her.
I stood upon the hearthrug looking at her, and when our eyes met she
laughed a bright, merry laugh, all the misgivings she had previously
entertained having now vanished.
"First, you must be faint, for it is so late," and touching the bell
Simes instantly answered, and I ordered port wine and glasses.
She protested instantly, but on being pressed sipped half a glass and
left the remainder.
We chatted on as Simes, who had been waiting on us, with a glance of
wonder, left and closed the door.
Then, rising, I took down the Directory from the bookcase and opened it
at the "Streets." She rose from her chair, and gazed eagerly upon the
great puzzling volume until I came to Ellerdale Street.
"Ellerdale Street, Lewisham," I read aloud. "From Porson Street to
Ermine Road. Do those names bring back to you any recollection of the
whereabouts of your friends' house?"
"No," she reflected, with a perplexed expression. "I've never heard of
them."
"The street is apparently near Loampit Vale," I said. "That would be
the principal thoroughfare. You no doubt came from Lewisham Road
Station by the Chatham and Dover Railway to Victoria--or perhaps to
Ludgate Hill?"
She shook her head. Apparently she had not the slightest idea of the
geography of London. Upon this point her mind was an utter blank.
"How long have you been in London?" I inquired.
"Nearly a week; but I've not been out before. My aunt has been ill,"
she explained.
"Then you live in the country, I suppose?"
"Yes, I have lived in Warwickshire, but my home lately has been in
France."
"In France!" I exclaimed, surprised. "Where?"
"At Montgeron, not far from Paris."
"And you have come to London on a visit?"
"No. I have come to live here," she replied; adding, "It is absurd that
the first evening I go out I am so utterly lost. I know my way about
Paris quite well."
"But Paris is not London," I said. "The suburbs of our metropolis are
veritable Saharas, with their miles and miles of streets where the
houses are exactly similar, as if the jerry-builders had not two ideas
of architecture."
It certainly was extraordinary that none of the thoroughfares which I
had named gave her any clue to this remote street in which was situated
her temporary home. She read down the names of the occupiers of the
houses, but could not find her aunt's name. True, there were some
omissions, as there always are, and I began to fear that the Directory
would not help us.
On turning over the page, however, I saw in italics: "_Ellerdale Road.
See Hampstead_."
"Ah!" I cried, "there is another; but it's Ellerdale Road," and after a
few moments' eager search I discovered it. "This road runs from
Fitzjohn's Avenue to Arkwright Road in Frognal. Have you ever heard of
them before?"
It was really remarkable that a young girl should thus be so utterly
lost in London. I, a man-about-town, knew the West End as I knew the
way around my own chambers; and I thought I knew London; but now, on
reflection, saw how utterly ignorant I was of the great world which lies
beyond those few thoroughfares wherein are situated the theatres, the
clubs, and the houses of the wealthy. For the bachelor who lives the
life of London the world revolves around Piccadilly Circus.
My pretty companion stood puzzled. It was apparent that she had never
heard of any of the thoroughfares I had mentioned, yet it was equally
extraordinary that any persons living in London should be entirely
ignorant of the district in which they resided.
"The thoroughfare in Hampstead is Ellerdale Road, while that in Lewisham
is Ellerdale Street. It must be either one or the other, for they are
the only two in London?" I said.
"How far are they apart?" she inquired, looking up from the book,
dismayed.
"I don't know the distance," I was compelled to admit. "But the one is
on one side of London, and the other is in the opposite direction--
perhaps nearly eight miles away."
"I believe it's Ellerdale Street. I've always called it that, and
neither of my aunts has corrected me." Then suddenly, as she glanced
round the room, she started as if in terror, and pointing to the little
side-table, cried--
"Oh, look!"