He reached London, somewhat dazed, in time for dinner, and by nine o’clock he was driving out to Kensington to pay a visit to Mrs. Darling. Now that Dolly knew that he was alive, it would be as well for him to enlist the services of her mother as soon as possible. He could, perhaps, make it worth her while to aid him in regard to the divorce.
Upon arriving at the small private hotel where she was staying he was shown into an unoccupied sitting-room.
“What name, sir?” asked the page.
“Mr. Tundering-West,” said Jim, apprehensive of the jolt the announcement would cause, but feeling that since a shock could not be avoided, it would be better for her to receive it before she entered the room.
He had not long to wait: after a few minutes of uncomfortable fiddling with his hat, Mrs. Darling suddenly bounced in, as though she had been kicked from behind. Then, with astonished eyes fixed on Jim, she shut the door and stood staring at him in complete silence.
“Yes,” he said, nervously smiling, “it’s me, Mrs. Darling!”
“Good gracious!” she gasped. “Jim! You—you—you lunatic! What on earth are you doing in the land of the living? You’re supposed to be dead and buried.”
“No, not buried,” he corrected her. “I was knifed, you remember, and dropped into the sea.”
She passed her hand across her forehead. “You mean you swam back home?” Her voice was awed.