An Unexpected Clue.
Ten days passed by and brought no news of Barney. Steve devoted every spare moment to the search, the Hermit was unremitting in his efforts, but with the best will in the world they proved but poor detectives. The tobacconist remained stubbornly uncommunicative, and as Madge would not have recognised Barney’s companion if she had seen him, it was little use watching the shop. The insurance clerks were interviewed again and again, but Barney had been prudent in one respect at least—he had not breathed a word of his betting transactions in the office. He had vaguely mentioned “a friend of mine”—“a fellow I know,” but had given no names, and the consensus of opinion was that he must have picked up acquaintances in the luncheon hour, when, boy-like, he was fond of wandering about from place to place. The Hermit lunched diligently in all the principal restaurants in the neighbourhood of the office, and made a point of entering into conversation with his companions, but he failed to meet any one who remembered Barney.
“I am at a standstill. I don’t know what to do next. I am afraid there is very little of the Sherlock Holmes about me, Miss Philippa,” he said dejectedly on the tenth afternoon, as he detailed the history of the day’s search. It had become a custom for him to come upstairs to tell his story and to be refreshed with tea and scones, and the girls welcomed his advent as a break in the long, anxious day. So far he had brought no good news, but while he was devoting so much time to their service, they felt bound to cheer him for his disappointments, and the effort was good for themselves also.
“Never mind; if you were Sherlock Holmes you wouldn’t be yourself, and you are a much pleasanter neighbour as you are,” replied Philippa as she lifted the little copper kettle from its stand and poured the water into the teapot. She kept her face turned aside so that he might not see the disappointment written upon it, and reminded herself for the hundredth time that she could afford to be patient. Had not Barney promised to keep straight for her sake? Perhaps, after all, this separation from home might teach him its value as no amount of petting and spoiling would have done, and on his return he would show a gentler, more disciplined spirit. Philippa would never allow herself to believe that this absence was more than temporary. She handed the plate of home-made scones to the Hermit, smiling the while with some of her old mischievous brightness.
“Hungry?”
“I had steak to-day. I find, on the whole, that steak suits me best,” replied the Hermit, screwing up his eyes in judicial fashion. “It’s so tough that it takes a long time to despatch. Then, again, it takes ten minutes to prepare. I calculate that I can while away a good half-hour on a plate of steak, to say nothing of after-courses. In this way I get several changes of companions, and I manage to work round the conversation until I can bring in Barney’s name, and inquire if they happen to have met him. I am getting quite skilled in the exigencies of small-talk.”
“Poor thing, and you hate it so! It is noble of you to persevere as you do, for I am sure there is nothing you dislike more.”
“No, no; don’t say that. It is good for me. I have studied books too much, and men too little, in my life—to my own great loss. Before you took me in hand a year ago I was a veritable hermit, and the old habits cling about me still. I feel terribly rusty among all those bright, alert young fellows, and they treat me as if I belonged to a different species. Do you—do you notice anything pedantic in my manner?”
All four girls were in the room, but it was to Philippa that he addressed the question; he had a way of looking at her when he spoke, of which the girl herself was gratefully conscious. Theo and Madge—even Hope herself—had a way of treating her with affectionate patronage as a dear, kind, preoccupied Martha who could not be expected to understand their higher flights. She had suffered beneath this treatment, and was delighted that these fledglings should now see in what estimation she was held by a scholar of repute.
“You are the kindest man I ever met. There is no one else among our friends who would jeopardise his digestion by eating tough steak day after day in the hope of doing us a service,” she cried, deftly evading a direct answer, which, if honest, must needs have been in the affirmative. Theo’s hand advanced cautiously and gave a meaning pressure to Madge’s elbow. Madge stared into space, with wooden stolidity of feature. Hope looked wistfully from Philippa to the hermit, from the Hermit back to Philippa once more.