“Excuse me, Mr—er—” I stopped short with an admirable air of inquiry.
“My name is Maplestone.”
“Thank you! I presume, Mr Maplestone, that you are aware of Miss Wastneys’ wish to keep her address private for the moment. Do you consider yourself justified in acting in direct opposition to her wishes?”
“I do,” he said sturdily. “I warned her that I would do everything in my power to find her. I am only sorry that I have been so long in doing it.”
“I am afraid she would not share your regret. In any case, I cannot take the responsibility of helping you any further.”
“You refuse to tell me where to find her?”
“I am sorry to appear discourteous, Mr Maplestone, but I have no choice.”
He looked at me, a cool, casual glance, and impatiently frowned. There was no flicker of recognition in his look. To him I was obviously a mere figure-head, an obstinate, elderly woman who stood as an obstacle in his path. He hesitated for a moment, and then said emphatically:—
“My business is imperative. It is absolutely necessary to see Miss Wastneys.”
“I think she must decide this point.”