Part 9 (1/2)
”Hang it all!” he mused. ”That voice seems familiar. A trim little craft, too, I should imagine, although I can't see her face. Wonder who she is?”
”You are a naval officer, I see,” remarked the girl.
”Yes,” admitted Billy. ”On leave and going to a home I've never seen. This raid affair made me late.”
”And so it did me,” added his companion. ”By the bye, where was your home before?”
”At Alderdene in Kent,” replied Barcroft, somewhat taken aback at the question. ”Why do you ask?”
”I thought so,” was the composed reply. ”And your name is Barcroft--Billy Barcroft.”
”By Jove!” exclaimed the young officer. ”How on earth do you know that? I'm afraid I don't recognise you.”
”You always had a bad memory for certain things, Mr. Barcroft,” the girl laughingly reminded him. ”I felt almost positive it was you directly you spoke. You see, the uniform and you have a most characteristic helped me, manner of speaking.”
”Have I?” asked Billy, still mystified. ”And you have a good memory, I presume?”
”Fairly reliable,” admitted the girl.
”Then let us hope that your recollections of me are of a favourable character,” continued the flight-sub. ”Now, tell me; what is your name?”
”There is no immediate hurry for that,” she protested. ”Before I reveal my ident.i.ty suppose I remind you of some of your girl friends at Alderdene--Ada Forrester, for instance.”
Yes, Billy remembered Ada Forrester very well--a short, podgy kid, he reflected, who by no possible chance could have developed into the tall, graceful girl by his side.
”And Betty Deringhame,” continued his inquisitor. ”One of the n.o.ble army of flappers. Rather a shallow-headed kid and a bit of a tomboy, wasn't she?”
”A tomboy--yes,” agreed the flight-sub, ”but I cannot admit the other. We used to be good pals, but that was three years ago. I was in my Third Term at Dartmouth when her people left Alderdene.”
”You taught her to signal in Morse, I think,” pursued the girl. ”You used to exchange messages until that little pig, Pat o'Hara, the vicar's son, learnt it too and told tales to her mother.”
They walked in silence for some moments. Barcroft had almost forgotten his surroundings. His thoughts had taken him back to those far off, pre-war days in sunny Kent.
”Yes,” he said at length in his deep manly voice. ”It is absolutely great to be with Betty Deringhame again.”
”So you've guessed at last,” said Betty. ”It's a strange world, isn't it?”
”And a mighty pleasant one, barring the Huns and others of that crowd,” added Billy. ”Now, tell me, what are you doing here?”
”Walking with an old acquaintance upon a long road that leads to Two Elms and Tarleigh.”
”Obvious--we will not dispute the fact,” rejoined the young officer.
”To put the question in more exact terms: where are you living, and what brought you to this part of England?”
”I think I said I was living at Two Elms. To be more precise, at Mill View. That doesn't sound particularly cheerful, does it? We came here to live after we left Alderdene, shortly after war broke out. I am now employed in a munitions works.”
”Munitions works! Whatever are you doing that for?” asked Billy surprised beyond measure. It seemed incredible that the slim, light-hearted girl of his boyhood days should be toiling in this manner.