"I know!" she said. "The Popular Cafe."
The park-keeper said he was convinced he would know the lady again,
having taken particular notice of her. She had brown eyes and was
wearing a black hat supplemented with poppies.
* * *
Arthur Horton, waiter at the Popular Cafe, states as follows:
I know Mr. John Parable by sight. Have often heard him speak at public
meetings. Am a bit of a Socialist myself. Remember his dining at the
Popular Cafe on the evening of Thursday. Didn't recognise him
immediately on his entrance for two reasons. One was his hat, and the
other was his girl. I took it from him and hung it up. I mean, of
course, the hat. It was a brand-new bowler, a trifle ikey about the
brim. Have always associated him with a soft grey felt. But never
with girls. Females, yes, to any extent. But this was the real
article. You know what I mean--the sort of girl that you turn round to
look after. It was she who selected the table in the corner behind the
door. Been there before, I should say.
I should, in the ordinary course of business, have addressed Mr.
Parable by name, such being our instructions in the case of customers
known to us. But, putting the hat and the girl together, I decided not
to. Mr. Parable was all for our three-and-six-penny table d'hote; he
evidently not wanting to think. But the lady wouldn't hear of it.
"Remember Miss Clebb," she reminded him.
Of course, at the time I did not know what was meant. She ordered thin
soup, a grilled sole, and cutlets au gratin. It certainly couldn't
have been the dinner. With regard to the champagne, he would have his
own way. I picked him out a dry '94, that you might have weaned a baby
on. I suppose it was the whole thing combined.
It was after the sole that I heard Mr. Parable laugh. I could hardly
credit my ears, but half-way through the cutlets he did it again.
There are two kinds of women. There is the woman who, the more she
eats and drinks, the stodgier she gets, and the woman who lights up
after it. I suggested a peche Melba between them, and when I returned
with it, Mr. Parable was sitting with his elbows on the table gazing
across at her with an expression that I can only describe as quite
human. It was when I brought the coffee that he turned to me and asked:
"What's doing? Nothing stuffy," he added. "Is there an Exhibition
anywhere--something in the open air?"
"You are forgetting Miss Clebb," the lady reminded him.
"For two pins," said Mr. Parable, "I would get up at the meeting and
tell Miss Clebb what I really think about her."
I suggested the Earl's Court Exhibition, little thinking at the time
what it was going to lead to; but the lady at first wouldn't hear of
it, and the party at the next table calling for their bill (they had
asked for it once or twice before, when I came to think of it), I had
to go across to them.
When I got back the argument had just concluded, and the lady was
holding up her finger.
"On condition that we leave at half-past nine, and that you go straight
to Caxton Hall," she said.
"We'll see about it," said Mr. Parable, and offered me half a crown.
Tips being against the rules, I couldn't take it. Besides, one of the
jumpers had his eye on me. I explained to him, jocosely, that I was
doing it for a bet. He was surprised when I handed him his hat, but,
the lady whispering to him, he remembered himself in time.
As they went out together I heard Mr. Parable say to the lady:
"It's funny what a shocking memory I have for names."
To which the lady replied:
"You'll think it funnier still to-morrow." And then she laughed.
Mr. Horton thought he would know the lady again. He puts down her age
at about twenty-six, describing her--to use his own piquant
expression--as "a bit of all right." She had brown eyes and a taking
way with her.
* * *
Miss Ida Jenks, in charge of the Eastern Cigarette Kiosk at the Earl's
Court Exhibition, gives the following particulars:
From where I generally stand I can easily command a view of the
interior of the Victoria Hall; that is, of course, to say when the
doors are open, as on a warm night is usually the case.
On the evening of Thursday, the twenty-seventh, it was fairly well
occupied, but not to any great extent. One couple attracted my
attention by reason of the gentleman's erratic steering. Had he been
my partner I should have suggested a polka, the tango not being the
sort of dance that can be picked up in an evening. What I mean to say
is, that he struck me as being more willing than experienced. Some of
the bumps she got would have made me cross; but we all have our
fancies, and, so far as I could judge, they both appeared to be
enjoying themselves. It was after the "Hitchy Koo" that they came
outside.
The seat to the left of the door is popular by reason of its being
partly screened by bushes, but by leaning forward a little it is quite
possible for me to see what goes on there. They were the first couple
out, having had a bad collision near the bandstand, so easily secured
it. The gentleman was laughing.
There was something about him from the first that made me think I knew
him, and when he took off his hat to wipe his head it came to me all of
a sudden, he being the exact image of his effigy at Madame Tussaud's,
which, by a curious coincidence, I happened to have visited with a
friend that very afternoon. The lady was what some people would call
good-looking, and others mightn't.
I was watching them, naturally a little interested. Mr. Parable, in
helping the lady to adjust her cloak, drew her--it may have been by
accident--towards him; and then it was that a florid gentleman with a
short pipe in his mouth stepped forward and addressed the lady. He
raised his hat and, remarking "Good evening," added that he hoped she
was "having a pleasant time." His tone, I should explain, was
sarcastic.
The young woman, whatever else may be said of her, struck me as
behaving quite correctly. Replying to his salutation with a cold and
distant bow, she rose, and, turning to Mr. Parable, observed that she
thought it was perhaps time for them to be going.
The gentleman, who had taken his pipe from his mouth, said--again in a
sarcastic tone--that he thought so too, and offered the lady his arm.
"I don't think we need trouble you," said Mr. Parable, and stepped
between them.
To describe what followed I, being a lady, am hampered for words. I
remember seeing Mr. Parable's hat go up into the air, and then the next
moment the florid gentleman's head was lying on my counter smothered in
cigarettes. I naturally screamed for the police, but the crowd was
dead against me; and it was only after what I believe in technical
language would be termed "the fourth round" that they appeared upon the
scene.
The last I saw of Mr. Parable he was shaking a young constable who had
lost his helmet, while three other policemen had hold of him from
behind. The florid gentleman's hat I found on the floor of my kiosk
and returned to him; but after a useless attempt to get it on his head,
he disappeared with it in his hand. The lady was nowhere to be seen.
Miss Jenks thinks she would know her again. She was wearing a hat
trimmed with black chiffon and a spray of poppies, and was slightly
freckled.
* * *
Superintendent S. Wade, in answer to questions put to him by our
representative, vouchsafed the following replies:
Yes. I was in charge at the Vine Street Police Station on the night of
Thursday, the twenty-seventh.
No. I have no recollection of a charge of any description being
preferred against any gentleman of the name of Parable.
Yes. A gentleman was brought in about ten o'clock charged with
brawling at the Earl's Court Exhibition and assaulting a constable in
the discharge of his duty.
The gentleman gave the name of Mr. Archibald Quincey, Harcourt
Buildings, Temple.
No. The gentleman made no application respecting bail, electing to
pass the night in the cells. A certain amount of discretion is
permitted to us, and we made him as comfortable as possible.
Yes. A lady.
No. About a gentleman who had got himself into trouble at the Earl's
Court Exhibition. She mentioned no name.