“What is it?” said Mrs. Milton.
“Something I’ve forgotten. I went right out from here, went to every other hotel in the place, and never thought—But never mind. I’ll ask when the waiter comes.”
“You don’t mean—” A tap, and the door opened. “Tea, m’m? yes, m’m,” said the waiter.
“One minute,” said Phipps. “Was a lady in grey, a cycling lady—”
“Stopped here yesterday? Yessir. Stopped the night. With her brother, sir—a young gent.”
“Brother!” said Mrs. Milton, in a low tone. “Thank God!”
The waiter glanced at her and understood everything. “A young gent, sir,” he said, “very free with his money. Give the name of Beaumont.” He proceeded to some rambling particulars, and was cross-examined by Widgery on the plans of the young couple.
“Havant! Where’s Havant?” said Phipps. “I seem to remember it somewhere.”
“Was the man tall?” said Mrs. Milton, intently, “distinguished looking? with a long, flaxen moustache? and spoke with a drawl?”
“Well,” said the waiter, and thought. “His moustache, m’m, was scarcely long—scrubby more, and young looking.”