Part 29 (2/2)

If he did not, why, she could summon Warrisden to her aid. She looked at Millie, who was reading a book in a garden-chair close by. Did she know, Pamela wondered? But Millie gave no sign.

Meanwhile, Warrisden travelled to London upon that particular business which made a visit there in August so imperative. It had come upon him while he had been talking with Pamela that it would be as well for him to know the whereabouts of Tony Stretton at once; so that if the need came he should be ready to set out upon the instant. On the following evening, accordingly, he drove down to Stepney. It was very likely that Chase would be away upon a holiday. But there was a chance that he might find him clinging to his work through this hot August, a chance worth the trouble of his journey. He drove to the house where Chase lodged, thinking to catch him before he set out for his evening's work at the mission. The door of the house stood open to the street. Warrisden dismissed his cab, and walked up the steps into the narrow hall. A door upon his right hand was opened, and a young man politely asked Warrisden to step in. He was a fair-haired youth, with gla.s.ses upon his nose, and he carried a napkin in his hand. He had evidently been interrupted at his dinner by Warrisden's arrival. He was not dining alone, for a youth of the same standing, but of a more athletic mould, sat at the table. There was a third place laid, but not occupied.

Warrisden looked at the third chair.

”I came to see Mr. Chase,” he said. ”I suppose that he has gone early to the mission?”

”No,” said the youth who had opened the door. ”He has not been well of late. The hot weather in these close streets is trying. But he certainly should have something to eat by now, even if he does not intend to get up.”

He spoke in a pedantic, self-satisfied voice, and introduced himself as Mr. Raphael Princkley, and his companion as Mr. Jonas Stiles, both undergraduates of Queen's College, Oxford.

”We are helping Chase in his work,” continued Mr. Princkley. ”It is little we can do, but you are no doubt acquainted with the poetry of Robert Browning: 'The little more, and how much it is'? In that line we find our justification.”

The fair-haired youth rang the bell for the housekeeper. She was an old woman, fat and slow, and she took her time in answering the summons.

”Mrs. Wither, have you called Mr. Chase?” he asked when the old lady appeared at the door.

”No, Mr. Princkley, sir,” she replied. ”You told me yesterday evening not to disturb him on any account until he rang.”

Mr. Princkley turned to Warrisden.

”Mr. Chase was unwell all yesterday,” he said, ”and at dinner-time he told us that he felt unequal to his duties. He was sitting in that empty place, and we both advised him not to overtax his strength.”

He appealed with a look to Mr. Stiles for corroboration.

”Yes; we both advised him,” said Stiles, between two mouthfuls; ”and, very wisely, he took our advice.”

”He rose from his chair,” continued Princkley. ”There was some fruit upon the table. He took an apple from the dish. I think, Stiles, that it was an apple which he took?”

Mr. Stiles agreed, and went on with his dinner.

”It was certainly an apple which he took. He took it in his hand.”

”You hardly expected him to take it with his foot!” rejoined Warrisden, politely. Warrisden was growing a little restive under this detailed account of Chase's indisposition.

”No,” replied Princkley, with gravity. ”He took it in quite a natural way, and went upstairs to his sitting-room. I gave orders to Mrs.

Wither that he must not be disturbed until he rang. That is so, Mrs.

Wither, is it not? Yes. I thank you.”

”That was yesterday evening!” cried Warrisden.

”Yesterday evening,” replied Mr. Princkley.

”And no one has been near him since?”

Then Mrs. Wither intervened.

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