“Yes,” he answered. “I never thought it would rain. It was a lovely morning.”
I began to fear he had overworked himself into a brain fever.
“Why don’t you go home?” I asked.
“I can’t,” he replied. “I don’t know where I live. I’ve forgotten the address.”
“For heaven’s sake,” he said, “take me somewhere, and give me something to eat. I’m literally starving.”
“Haven’t you any money?” I asked him, as we turned towards the hotel.
“Not a sou,” he answered. “We got in here from York, the wife and I, about eleven. We left our things at the station, and started to hunt for apartments. As soon as we were fixed, I changed my clothes and came out for a walk, telling Maud I should be back at one to lunch. Like a fool, I never took the address, and never noticed the way I was going.
“It’s an awful business,” he continued. “I don’t see how I’m ever going to find her. I hoped she might stroll down to the Spa in the evening, and I’ve been hanging about the gates ever since six. I hadn’t the threepence to go in.”
“But have you no notion of the sort of street or the kind of house it was?” I enquired.
“Not a ghost,” he replied. “I left it all to Maud, and didn’t trouble.”