'm sure I can't tell you."

"Do you remember whether they had a baby?"

"They were maiden ladies," said the young woman rebukingly.

"But anybody can keep a baby without being its father or mother. I want
to know what has become of the baby."

The young woman gazed through the window.

"You had better ask the policeman."

"That's an idea," said Aristide, and, leaving her, he caught up the
passing constable.

The constable knew nothing of maiden ladies with a baby, but he directed
him to Hope Cottage. He found a pretty half-timber house lying back from
the road, with a neat semi-circular gravelled path leading to a porch
covered thick with Virginia creeper. Even more than the red brick
residence of Colonel Brabazon did it look, with its air of dainty
comfort, the fitting abode of Miss Janet and Miss Anne. He rang the bell
and interviewed another trim parlour-maid. More susceptible to smiles
than the former, she summoned her master, a kindly, middle-aged man, who
came out into the porch. Yes, Honeywood was the name of the previous
tenants. Two ladies, he believed. He had never seen them and knew
nothing about a child. Messrs. Tompkin & Briggs, the estate agents in
the High Street, could no doubt give him information. Aristide thanked
him and made his way to Messrs. Tompkin & Briggs. A dreary spectacled
youth in resentful charge of the office--his principals, it being
Saturday afternoon, were golfing the happy hours away--professed blank
ignorance of everything. Aristide fixed him with his glittering eye and
flickered his fingers and spoke richly. The youth in a kind of mesmeric
trance took down a battered, dog's eared book and turned over the pages.

"Honeywood--Miss--Beverly Stoke--near St. Albans--Herts. That's it," he
said.

Aristide made a note of the address. "Is that all you can tell me?"

"Yes," said the youth.

"I thank you very much, my young friend," said Aristide, raising his
hat, "and here is something to buy a smile with," and, leaving a
sixpence on the table to shimmer before the youth's stupefied eyes,
Aristide strutted out of the office.

* * * * *

"You had much better have written," said I, when he came back and told
me of his experiences. "The post-office would have done all that for
you."

"You have no idea of business, _mon cher ami_"--(I--a successful
tea-broker of twenty-five years' standing!--the impudence of the
fellow!)--"If I had written to-day, t