Part 115 (1/2)
”You've got his address.”
The words seemed a statement as he said them.
”Yes,” she said.
”Will you kindly write it down for me?”
”Yes.”
She got up, still wrapped up in shame, and went to the writing-table.
She took up a pen to write Arabian's address. But she could not remember the number of the flat. Her memory refused to give it to her.
”I can't remember the number,” she said, standing by the writing-table.
”If you can give me the address of the flats I can easily find out the number.”
”It is Rose Tree Gardens”--she began writing it down--”Rose Tree Gardens, Chelsea. It is close to the river.”
She came away from the writing-table, and gave him the paper with the address on it.
”Thank you!”
He took the paper, folded it up, drew out a leather case from an inner pocket of his braided black jacket, and consigned the paper to it. Miss Van Tuyn sat down again.
”I understand you met this man at the studio of Mr. Garstin, the painter?” said Sir Seymour.
”Yes. But he wasn't a friend of Mr. Garstin's. Mr. Garstin saw him at the Cafe Royal and wished to paint him, so he asked him to come to the studio.”
”And he has painted a portrait of him?”
”Yes.”
”Is it a good one?”
”Yes, wonderful!” she said, with a shudder.
”I mean really is it a good likeness?”
”Oh! Yes, it is very like in a way, horribly like.”
”In a way?”
”I mean that it gives the worst side. But it is like.”
”I suppose the portrait is still in Mr. Garstin's studio?”
”I suppose it is. I haven't seen Mr. Garstin for two or three days. But I suppose it's there.”
”Please give me Mr. Garstin's address--the studio address,” said Sir Seymour.