“Hupfeldt?” suggested David, suddenly.
“Hupfeldt? It might have been Hupfeldt. I really can’t say now. I’ll ask Jenny.”
“At any rate,” said David, calming himself with a great effort, “we have that certain fact that Gwendoline Mordaunt was a wife. Good, to begin; most excellent, to begin. You can’t say where the marriage took place? No other information at all.”
“I’m sorry, since it is so mighty important, but I’m afraid not. However, I’ll do my best for you. I’ll see if I or Jenny can remember anything. When we left the flat, there was a great overflowing with my torn-up letters, and Jenny may have thrown the certificates on that grate, or the bits of them, or she may have dropped them on the floor, or, just possibly, she put them in her pocket and may have them still. She will be here in less than half an hour, so, if I may offer you a cigar, and a whisky and soda—”
“You are very good. I won’t stay now, as I am in a hurry to do something. But, if I may come back—may I?”
“Modest request! As often as you please, and welcome. This is Liberty Hall, you know.”
“Thank you, I will, then. There is one thing I have to ask you. Could you point out to me Mr. Johann Strauss?”
“Of course, if I saw him. But I never knew where he lived, and have never seen him since the day I left the flat.”
“Well, that may come in time,” said David, putting out his hand; “and meantime you will do your best for me in finding out about the two certificates. Thank you for all your goodness, and I will be here again soon.”