“No,” said George. “We got there at three, and William telephoned from the station.”
“But damn it all!” cried Edward, “what was the name of the station?”
“I don’t know,” said George, “I didn’t notice.”
Edward tried another approach. “Were there houses round it?”
“Oh yes, lots,” said George, “lots—and they had laurels, and there was a lot of gas lamp-posts, and there was a tramway—oh it was a beastly place!”
Then Evans understood and Kent, the Garden of England, was in his mind: Kent and one of its deeply bosomed towns, Chislehurst haply or St. Mary Cray. “But why did you go to Liverpool Street when you got in at Cannon Street?” he said.
“How did you know I got in at Cannon Street?” asked George with wide-open eyes like a child who sees the secretly marked card come out of the pack.
“Never mind. Why did you go to Liverpool Street?”
“William told me to,” answered George simply.
“You’ll make a good front benchman,” said Edward half to himself. “Do you know why he told you to go to Liverpool Street?”