"_Mon Dieu!_" said he taken aback for the moment, hypothesis having
entered his head. Then, with a wide gesture, he flung the preposterous
idea to the winds. "Of course. They have hearts, these English women.
They have maternal instincts. They have money." He looked at Bradshaw
again, then at his watch. "I have just time to catch a train. _Au
revoir, mon vieux._"

"But," I objected, "why don't you write? It's the natural thing to do."

"Write? _Bah!_ Did you ever hear of a Provencal writing when he could
talk?" He tapped his lips, and in an instant, like a whirlwind, he
passed from my ken.

* * * * *

Aristide on his arrival at Chislehurst looked about the pleasant, leafy
place--it was a bright October afternoon and the wooded hillside blazed
in russet and gold--and decided it was the perfect environment for Miss
Janet and Miss Anne, to say nothing of little Jean. A neat red brick
house with a trim garden in front of it looked just the kind of a house
wherein Miss Janet and Miss Anne would live. He rang the bell. A
parlour-maid, in spotless black and white, tutelary nymph of Suburbia,
the very parlour-maid who would minister to Miss Janet and Miss Anne,
opened the door.

"Miss Honeywood?" he inquired.

"Not here, sir," said the parlour-maid.

"Where is she? I mean, where are they?"

"No one of that name lives here," said the parlour-maid.

"Who does live here?"

"Colonel Brabazon."

"And where do the two Miss Honeywood live?" he asked with his engaging
smile.

But English suburban parlour-maids are on their guard against smiles, no
matter how engaging. She prepared to shut the door.

"I don't know."

"How can I find out?"

"You might enquire among the tradespeople."

"Thank you, mademoiselle, you are a most intelligent young----"

The door shut in his face. Aristide frowned. She was a pretty
parlour-maid, and Aristide didn't like to be so haughtily treated by a
pretty woman. But his quest being little Jean and not the eternal
feminine, he took the maid's advice and made enquiries at the prim and
respectable shops.

"Oh, yes," said a comely young woman in a fragrant bakers' and
confectioners'. "They were two ladies, weren't they? They lived at Hope
Cottage. We used to supply them. They left Chislehurst two years ago."

"_Sacre nom d'un chien!_" said Aristide.

"Beg pardon?" asked the young woman.

"I am disappointed," said Aristide. "Where did they go to?"

"I