THE PURSUIT OF THE GENTLEMAN
That was all.
Miss Broad's first blundering impression was that somebody was having
a joke with her--that she was mistaken, had read the words askew. She
looked again.
No; the error, if error there were, was, to that extent, certainly not
hers; the words were there as plain as plain could be, and they only.
'If you want Mr Guy Holland, inquire of Miss May Bewicke.'
They were typewritten, occupying a couple of lines. The rest of the
sheet was blank--no address, no date, no signature; not a hint to show
from whom the message could have come. She looked at the envelope. The
face of it was blank; there was nothing on it, inside or out. Where
was the boy who had brought it? She turned to see. He had gone, was
out of sight. So far as she could perceive, she had the immediate
neighbourhood entirely to herself. What did it mean?
The disappointment was so acute that, as she sank back upon the seat,
the earth seemed to be whirling round in front of her. She never quite
knew whether for a second or two she did not lose her senses
altogether. When next she began to notice things, she perceived that
the envelope had fallen to the ground, and that the half sheet of
paper would probably have followed it had it not been detained by a
fold in her dress. She examined them both again, this time more
closely, without, however, any satisfactory result.
Of the typewritten words she could make neither head nor tail. Were
they meant as a hint--a warning--what? Anyhow, from whom could they
have come--to her, there, in the Park? Why had she not asked the boy
who had instructed him to give the envelope to her? What a simpleton
she had been!
'"Inquire of Miss May Bewicke." What can it mean? "Inquire of Miss May
Bewicke." Unless--'
Unless it meant something she did not care to think of. She left the
sentence unfinished, even in her own mind.
She arrived at a sudden resolution. It was too late for church, or she
told herself it was, supposing her to have been in a church-going
mood, which she most emphatically was not. Instead of church she would
go to Mr Holland's rooms in Craven Street, and inquire for him there.
Under the circumstances, anything, including loss of dignity--and she
flattered herself that dignity, as a rule, was her strong point--was
better than suspense.
She had some difficulty in finding a cab. In that district of town,
cabs do not ply in numbers on Sunday morning. By the time she
discovered one she was hot, dusty and, she feared, dishevelled. As the
vehicle bore her towards the Strand, her sense of comfort did not
increase. If he was not in Craven Street, what should she do? Ye
saints and sinners! if he were in gaol!
He was not in Craven Street.
A matronly, pleasant-faced woman opened the door to her.
'Is Mr Holland in?'
'No, miss, he's not.'
'Has he been long gone out?'
'Well, miss, he hasn't been in all night.'
The young lady shivered. The landlady eyed her with shrewd, yet not
unfriendly, eyes. She hazarded a question,--
'Excuse me, miss, but are you Miss Broad?'
'That is my name.'
'Would you mind just stepping inside?'
The landlady led the way into a front room. The first thing the young
lady saw on entering was her photograph staring at her from the centre
of the mantelshelf. A little extra colour tinged her cheeks. The
landlady glanced from the original to the likeness, and back again.
'It's very like you, miss, if you'll excuse my saying so. You see, Mr
Holland has told me all about it. You have my congratulations, if I
might make so bold, for a nicer gentleman I never want to see. I was
that pleased when I saw him come walking in the other day. Did you
expect to see him, miss?'
'I had an appointment with him. He never kept it. As he has never done
such a thing before, I scarcely knew what to think.'
'Well, miss, the truth is, I hardly know what I ought to say.'
'Say everything, please.'
'It was only his nonsense, no doubt, but when he was going out last
night I asked him if he should be late. "Well, Mrs Pettifer," he said,
"if I am late, you'd better make inquiries for me at Westminster
Police Station, for that's where I shall be; they'll have locked me
up." When Matilda told me this morning that he hadn't been in all
night, I thought of his words directly, because he'd ordered his
breakfast for eight o'clock this morning, and, as you say, he's always
so dependable--Why, miss, whatever is the matter?'
Miss Broad, who had found refuge in an armchair, was looking very
queer indeed.
'Don't you take on, miss. It was only his fun. Mr Holland's full of
his jokes. Heaps of gentlemen stay out all night; nothing's happened.'
But the young lady was not to be comforted. She had her own reasons
for being of a different opinion. That allusion to Westminster Police
Station did not sound like a joke to her. When she quitted Craven
Street, she directed the cabman to drive her to a certain number in
Victoria Street. She was staring as she went at the two typewritten
lines which the mysterious boy had brought in the mysterious envelope.
'I will inquire of Miss Bewicke. It will be better to begin there
than--at the other place. There will be time enough for that
afterwards. If--if she should have locked him up!'
The potentiality was too horrible. She could not bear to contemplate
it. Yet, willy-nilly, it intruded on her fears.
She ascended in the lift to Miss Bewicke's apartments. She knocked
with a trembling hand at Miss Bewicke's door. She had to knock a
second time before an answer came. Then the door was opened by a tall,
thin, saturnine-looking woman, to whom the visitor took a dislike upon
the spot.
'Is Miss Bewicke at home?'
'Will you walk in?' It was only when Miss Broad had walked in that she
learned that her quest was vain. 'Miss Bewicke is not at home. She
went to Brighton this morning.'
'This morning? I thought she was going last night.'
'Who told you that?'
There was something in the speaker's voice which brought the blood to
Miss Broad's cheeks with a rush. She stammered.
'I--I heard it somewhere.'
'Your information was learned on good authority; very good. Oh, yes,
she meant to go last night, but she was prevented.'
'Prevented--by what?'
'I am not at liberty to say. Are you a friend of Miss Bewicke's?'
There was something in the woman's manner which Miss Broad suspected
of being intentionally offensive. She stared at her with bold,
insolent eyes, with, in them, what the young lady felt was the
suggestion of an insolent grin. That she knew her, Miss Broad was
persuaded; she was sure, too, that she was completely cognisant of the
fact that she was not Miss Bewicke's friend.
'I am sorry to say that I am not so fortunate as to be able to number
myself among Miss Bewicke's friends. I have not even the pleasure of
her acquaintance.'
'That is unfortunate, as you say. About her friends Miss Bewicke is
particular.'
The suggestion was so gratuitous that Miss Broad was startled.
'Are you a friend of hers?'
'I am her companion; but not for long. You know what it is for one
woman to be a companion to another woman. It is not to be her friend.
Oh, no. I have been a companion to Miss Bewicke for many years; but
soon I go. I have had enough.'
The woman's manner was so odd that Miss Broad wondered if she was a
little touched in the head, or if she had been drinking. She looked
round the room, at a loss what to say. Her glance lighted on a large
panel photograph which occupied the place of honour on the
mantelpiece. It was Mr Holland. She recognised it with a start. It was
the best likeness of him she had seen. He had not given her a copy,
nor any portrait of himself, which was half as good.
Miss Bewicke's companion was watching her.
'You are looking at the photograph? It is Mr Holland, a friend of Miss
Bewicke's, the dearest friend she has in the world.'
'You mean he was her friend?'
'He was? He is--none better. Miss Bewicke has many friends--oh, yes, a
great many; she is so beautiful--is she not beautiful?--but there are
none of them to her like Guy.'
The woman's familiar use of Mr Holland's Christian name stung Miss
Broad into silence. That she lied she knew; to say that, to-day, Mr
Holland was still Miss Bewicke's dearest friend was to attain the
height of the ridiculous. That the young lady knew quite well. She was
also aware that, for some reason which, as yet, she did not fathom,
this foreign creature was making herself intentionally offensive. None
the less, she did not like to hear her lover spoken of in such fashion
by such lips. Still less did she like to see his portrait where it
was. Had she acted on the impulse of the moment, she would have torn
it into shreds. And perhaps she might have gone even as far as that
had she not perceived something else, which she liked, if possible,
still less than the position occupied by the gentleman's photograph.
On a table lay a walking-stick. A second's glance was sufficient to
convince her of the ownership. It was his--a present from herself. She
had had it fitted with a gold band; his initials, which she had had
cut on it, stared her in the face. What was his walking-stick--her
gift--doing there?
The woman's lynx-like eyes were following hers.
'You are looking at the walking-stick? It, also, is Mr Holland's.'
'What is it doing here?'
The woman shrugged her shoulders.
'He left it behind him, I suppose. Perhaps he was in too great a
hurry, or Miss Bewicke. Sometimes, when one is in a great hurry to get
away, one forgets little things which are of no importance.'
She called his walking-stick--her gift to him--a thing of no
importance! What was the creature hinting at? Miss Broad would not
condescend to ask, although she longed to know.
'As I tell you, Miss Bewicke is not at home. She is at the Hotel
Metropole at Brighton. Would you like to take Mr Holland's
walking-stick to--her?' There was an accent on the pronoun which the
visitor did not fail to notice. 'What name shall I give to Miss
Bewicke?'
'I am Miss Broad.'
'Miss Broad--Letty Broad? Oh, yes, I remember. They were talking and
laughing about you--Mr Holland and she. Perhaps, after all, you had
better not go down to Brighton.'
When the young lady was back in the street, her brain was a tumult of
contradictions. That the woman who called herself Miss Bewicke's
companion had, for reasons of her own, been trying to amuse herself at
her expense she had not the slightest doubt. That Mr Holland's
relations with Miss Bewicke were not what were suggested she was
equally certain. None the less she wondered, and she doubted. What was
his portrait doing there? Still more, what was his walking-stick? He
was carrying it when they last met. Under what circumstances, between
this and then, had it found its way to where it was? Where was Mr
Holland? That there was a mystery she was convinced. She was almost
convinced that Miss Bewicke held the key to it.
Should she run down to Brighton and find out? She would never rest
until she knew. She had gone so far; she might as well go farther. She
would be there and back in no time. The cabman was told to drive to
Victoria. At Victoria a train was just on the point of starting. Miss
Broad was travelling Brightonwards before she had quite made up her
mind as to whether she really meant to go. When the train stopped at
Clapham Junction, she half rose from her seat and all but left the
carriage. She might still be able to return home in time for luncheon.
But while she dilly-dallied, the train was off. The next stoppage was
at Croydon. There would be nothing gained by her alighting there; so
she reached Brighton, as she assured herself, without ever having had
the slightest intention of doing it. Therefore, and as a matter of
course, when the train rattled into the terminus she was not in the
best of tempers. She addressed sundry inquiries to herself as she
descended to the platform.
'Now what am I to do? I may as well go to the Metropole as I am here.
I am not bound to see the woman even if I go. And as for speaking to
her'--she curled her lip in a way which was intended to convey a
volume of meaning--'I suppose it is possible to avoid the woman, even
if I have the misfortune to be under the same roof with her. The
hotel's a tolerable size; at anyrate, we'll see.
She did see, and that quickly. As she entered the building, the first
person she beheld coming towards her across the hall was Miss May
Bewicke.
Which proves, if proof be necessary, that a building may be large, and
yet too small.