I do not mean to submit that we had cause for complaint. If Adèle was not lying at Lass, she was in the neighbourhood: our quest, from being desperate, had become full of promise; and we had passed, so to speak, at one stride into the running. Yet, but for the train’s delay, we might well have been led clean up to the prison gates and, taking Rose Noble unawares, have had his prisoner out before he knew we were there. And there was the rub. To have lost Rouse was tiresome: to have shown him that we were at Lass, and that in full force, was nothing less than a disaster. There is an old saying that a miss is as good as a mile; but, unless we could overtake Rouse without his knowledge, we were like to lose half the ground we had been at such pains to win.
Such thoughts and the like slid into and out of my mind, as the cars went about in the yard and, waiting a favourable moment, I boarded the second and took my seat by Bell.
Only pausing to take up Rowley, we tore after Mansel and Carson, now well under way.
Had the town lain further away, we must have come up with the bus, but the road this had taken was crooked and after a quarter of a mile ran into the streets. These were as narrow and faithless as any I know, for almost at once Carson was in a blind alley, and, though I saw his mistake in time to save Bell, the way we took brought us into a miniature market and left us there to get out as best we could.
At once I jumped out of the car and, calling to Bell to follow, began to run back. A passage presenting itself, I took this at once, in the hope of striking that quarter which we had failed to find, but, though it led into a street, I had to turn right or left, whereas, to my way of thinking, I needed to hold straight on. I ran to the right and turned up the first street I saw, but this curled round in a hoop, and, as soon as I had the chance, I turned again.
It follows that within five minutes I knew neither where I was nor how I had come, and, since I could speak no German, I had no means of obtaining any direction. Bell I must have outrun, for he was not to be seen.
Now why I called Bell to follow, instead of Rowley, I never can tell: it was against all reason, for Bell could handle the Rolls, but Rowley could not, and we had left the car so blocking the jaws of the market that nothing could come or go. It was, indeed, so unnatural a mistake to have made that I have often wondered whether Providence itself did not put his name into my mouth, for, had I called Rowley instead, we should have lost a chance which would not have come again.
I had walked for another five minutes, without result, and was standing at a corner, where a very ancient fountain was playing behind a grill, wondering which way to take and thinking how childish it was to be lost in a town the size of St. James’s Park, when a soft, green fig fell suddenly down at my feet. I at once looked up and around, to see Hanbury’s face at a window and Bell’s behind.
As our eyes met, George beckoned to me to come up, but, before I could give any sign, they had disappeared.
The window at which I had seen them was that of a handsome oriel, serving a fine, old house, which must once, I think, have lodged persons of high degree, for a coat of arms had been cut above the doorway and each of the oriel’s corbels was charged with some device. The floor below was now used as a bookseller’s shop, and little but the doorway remained to show what it had been.
I immediately crossed the street and entered the shop, when an old man at once came forward and, using very fair English, inquired of what service he could be. Before I could answer, Bell came from behind a bookcase and said that I was a friend, whereupon I was ushered upstairs without a word.
A moment later we entered a handsome room, more than half of which was loaded with books, while the hither or oriel end was curtained off and made an agreeable parlour, full of light.
George was sitting on a table, gazing out of the window from which he had beckoned me up: this was commanding a close, at the corner of which played the fountain by which I had stood.
“Bill,” said George, “where’s Mansel?”
“God knows,” said I. “Where’s Rouse?”
“Down in that close,” said George. “He went into one of those houses, but I’ve no idea which.”
“How on earth did you do it?” said I, clapping him on the back.
“I don’t know,” said George. “I couldn’t stand up when I got here, but just fell down in the shop. The old fellow was quite upset. By the grace of God he speaks English, and, when I could breathe, I pointed to Alison’s Europe and asked him how much it was. He said ‘Two pounds—English money.’ So I said I’d give him five if he’d let me sit up in this window as long as I pleased. He threw the figs in, but don’t touch them—they’re the only munitions I’ve got. And not everyone stands by that fountain: I had to throw three at Bell. And now what’s to be done? I know how to hurry, but I look to you for the brains.”
Standing well back from the window, I stared at the close.
How many houses there were I
