"Because it's comfortable, I suppose," answered Gammon, reflecting for the first time that it was not very respectful to come to this rendezvous in a "bowler." Polly had never mentioned the matter before, though she had thought about it. "You like the chimney-pot better?"
"Why, of course I do. On a Sunday, too, who wouldn't?"
"I'll bear it in mind, my dear. My chimney-pot wants ironing. Have it done to-morrow if I can find time."
Polly scrutinized the costume of a girl walking with a soldier, and asked all at once indifferently:
"Do you know anybody called Gildersleeve?"
"Gildersleeve? Don't think so. No. Why?"
She searched his face to make sure that he did not simulate ignorance.
"Well, you wanted me to find out where that lady lived—you know—her as was with Mr. C—at the theatre."
"And you've got it?" cried Gammon excitedly.
Yes, she had got it, and by consulting a directory at a public-house she had discovered the name of the family residing at that address. Gildersleeve? The name conveyed nothing to Mr. Gammon; none the less he was delighted.