She measured Desmond in a short glance and his appearance seemed to please her for she smiled as she said in rather a mincing voice:
"My (she pronounced it 'may') maid said you wished to see the rooms!"Desmond intimated that such was his desire.
"Pray be seated," said the little woman: "You will understand, I'm sure, that ay am not in the habit of taking in paying guests, but may husband being at the front, ay have a bedroom and this sitting-room free and ay thought..."She stopped and looked sharply at Desmond.
"You are an officer, I think" she asked.
Desmond bowed.
"May husband is also an officer," replied the woman, "Captain Viljohn-Smythe; you may have met him. No? Of course, had you not been of commissioned rank, ay should not..."She trailed off vaguely.
Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her somewhat by accepting them on the spot.
"But you have not seen the bedroom!" protested Mrs.
Viljohn-Smythe.
"I will take it on trust," Desmond replied, "and here," he added, pulling out his note-case, "is a week's rent in advance. I'll go along now and fetch my things. By the way," he went on, "I know some people here at Campden Hill but very foolishly, I've mislaid the address. Malplaquet... Mrs. Malplaquet. Do you happen to know her house""Ay know most of the naice people living round about here,"replied the lady, "but for the moment, ay cannot recollect... was it one of the larger houses on the hill, do you know?""I'm afraid I don't know," said Desmond. "You see, I've lost the address!""Quayte!" returned Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. "Ay can't say ay know the name!" she added.
However, she consented to consult the handmaiden, who answered to the name of Gladays, as to Mrs. Malplaquet's address, but she was as ignorant as her mistress.
Promising to return in the course of the evening with his things and having received exact instructions as to the shortest way to Holland Park Avenue, Desmond took his leave. He felt that he had embarked on a wild goose chase; for, even if the fugitives had made their way to Mrs. Malplaquet's (which was more than doubtful) he imagined they would take care to lie very low so that his chances of coming across any of them were of the most meager.
Following the directions he had received, he made his way easily back to the main road. He halted under a street-lamp to catch the eye of any passing taxi which might happen to be disengaged. Adirty faced man in a greasy old suit and a spotted handkerchief knotted about his throat came slouching along the pavement, keeping close to the wall. On catching sight of Desmond's face by the light of the lamp, he stopped irresolutely and then advanced slowly towards him.
"Excuse me, sir!" he said falteringly.
Desmond looked round at the sound of the man's voice and seeing a typical street loafer, asked the fellow to get him a taxi.
"It is Captain Okewood," said the loafer, "you don't remember me, sir?"Desmond looked at the dirty, rather haggard face with its unshaven chin and shook his head.
"I don't think I do," he answered, "though you seem to know my name!"The vagrant fumbled in his pocket for a minute and extracting a scrap of paper, unfolded it and held it out to Desmond.
"That's me, sir!" he said, "and, oh, sir! if you would kindly help me with a word of good advice, just for old times' sake, I'd be very grateful!"Desmond took the scrap of paper which the man tendered and held it so as to catch the rays of the lamp. It was a fragment torn from a newspaper. He had hardly set eyes on the cutting than he stretched out his hand to the vagrant.
"Why, Gunner Barling, " he cried, "I didn't know you! How on earth do you come to be in this state?"The man looked shamefacedly down on the ground.
"I'm a deserter, sir!" he said in a low voice.
"Are you, by George?" replied Desmond, "and now I come to think of it, so am I!"