"Now what's up, I do wonder," she said apostrophising the door through which they had vanished "is it police, or pleasures?—it can't be divorces 'cause they're both single—if her par only knowed as she was making appointments with male parties in the 'ouse, it mightn't be to his likings—well it ain't no biziness of mine," pursued Mrs. Bickles cheerfully, taking her way down to the nether regions, "their moralses and their quarrelses is their own businesses."
Meanwhile Olive Maunders was seated on a holland-covered chair in the library, talking earnestly to Teddy Rudall, who sat in a similar chair, with a puzzled look on his genial young face.
"I want you to understand plainly why I have asked you to come up with me to-day," explained Olive deliberately, "I put an advertisement in the paper concerning Adrian Lancaster, and it is about that advertisement I am here to-day."
"Has it been answered?" asked Rudall, with a look of interest.
"Yes—and in extremely bad English too," replied the girl, handing him a scrap of blue paper, "read it please, and see what you make of it."
Thus adjured, Teddy took the paper, and smoothing it out, read as follows in his slow, languid voice:
"The writter of this knows somthing of Mr. Adrian Lancaster—if there is muny, he will come and tell all he knowes, without preggyduce—adres D. Manor Court, Yew Street, Hampstead."
"Extraordinary document," commented Teddy, handing it back to Olive, "particularly the last words. I don't know which to admire the most, the legal knowledge, or the spelling—well, did you answer this?"
"I did, and told D., whosoever he or she may be, to call here at three o'clock to-day."
"Oh! it's nearly three now," said Teddy, glancing at his watch, "and what do you want me to do?"