“A walk across the Downs would be the very thing for Bill ... he shall have it. He shall accompany me.”
“Which I hope will prove to be the end of a perfect day,” I grumbled.
“You look pretty tired, Bill, now I can gaze upon you properly,” he said, as we struck off across the Downs. “But I shan’t be able to rest till I’ve satisfied myself. Till then my eager excitement will keep me going.”
“I am tired,” I rejoined. “And I’ve a very shrewd idea that we are on a fool’s errand. I don’t suppose for one moment they keep copies of periodicals for five years.”
“Very likely you’re right, Bill. It’s a long shot, but it may strike home—there’s nothing lost if we don’t—we can easily turn up the files at the British Museum—but that will take time—whereas this is opportune.”
After about one hour and a quarter’s walking, we saw our objective. Anthony gave his card to the porter and after a brief period of waiting we were ushered into the presence of the Matron.
The atmosphere of Considine Manor worked wonders. I have always noticed that the Matron dearly loves a lord.
She could not say if she could help Mr. ... she referred to his card... Mr. Bathurst ... many periodicals and magazines were presented to the Hospital ... but she didn’t know quite what became of them. She would ring for the steward. Anthony thanked her. Yes, the steward could help us. Most of the books of that kind when finished with, were sold to a man named Clarke, who kept a shop in Brighton.
“What kind of a shop?” asked Anthony.
“A kind of second-hand bookseller’s, where old magazines and periodicals of all kinds were put in boxes in front of the shop and sold for twopence or threepence.”