Fay was impressed by the originality of that. “Now if it was a lost umbrella,” she said, “I could understand it. But I’d never have thought of going to Scotland Yard for a lost father.”
By six Mr. Preemby had been traced to Gifford Street. But there was no seeing him at Gifford Street. He had been certified as a lunatic and he was bound, the attendant thought but wasn’t quite sure, for Cummerdown Hill. Paul Lambone tried to be dignified and important and to prevail over the attendant and extract further information, but not very successfully. In the end he and Christina Alberta departed with little more than one immense discouraging fact. They would not be able to see Mr. Preemby nor to learn anything very material about his condition until the next visiting day, whenever that might be, at Cummerdown Hill. Then if he was “fit to be visited,” they might go and see him. The attendant was rigid in his statements and had the air of disliking both Lambone and Christina Alberta extremely.
As they came away from Gifford Street Christina Alberta observed that Lambone was angry. She had never seen him angry before. It was a very transitory phase. There was an unusual depth of pink in his cheeks.
“Dog in office,” he said. “Just there to annoy people—anxious people. One would think ... man in my position ... certain standing.... Some attention.... Any other country but this, Man of letters has respect.”
Christina Alberta agreed mutely.
“Manners in a public official—primary.”
“He was detestable,” said Christina Alberta.
“Not at the end of my resources,” said Lambone.
Christina Alberta waited.
“Ought to have gone to Devizes in the first place. Knows more about mental cases and lunacy law than any other man in London. Wonderful fellow. I’ll go back to my flat and I’ll ring him up and make an appointment. Then he’ll put us wise about the whole business. And I want you to meet him anyhow. You’ll appreciate Devizes. Come to think of it, you’re remarkably like him.”