The mention of Transley threw Grant’s mind back into old channels. He had almost forgotten Transley. He told himself he had quite forgotten Zen Transley, but once he knew he lied. That was when they potted him in No Man’s Land. As he lay there, waiting.... he knew he had not forgotten. And he had thought many times of Phyllis Bruce. At first he had written to her, but she had not answered his letters. Evidently she meant him to forget. Nor had she come to the station to welcome him home. Perhaps she did not know. Perhaps—Many things can happen in four years.
Suddenly it occurred to Grant that it might be a good idea to call on Phyllis. He would take Linder along. That would make it less personal. He knew his man well enough to keep his own counsel, and eventually they reached the gate of the Bruce cottage, as though by accident.
“Let’s turn in here. I used to know these people. Mother and daughter; very fine folk.”
Linder looked for an avenue of retreat, but Grant barred his way, and together they went up the path. A strange woman, with a baby on her arm, met them at the door. Grant inquired for Mrs. Bruce and her daughter.
“Oh, you haven’t heard?” said the woman. “I suppose you are just back. Well, it was a sad thing, but these have been sad times. It was when Hubert was killed I came here first. Poor dear, she took that to heart awful, and couldn’t be left alone, and Phyllis was working in an office, so I came here part time to help out. Then she was just beginning to brace up again when we got the word about Grace. Grace, you know, was lost on a hospital ship. That was too much for her.”
Grant received this information with a strange catching about the heart. There had been changes, after all.
“What became of Phyllis?” He tried to ask the question in an even voice.
“I moved into the house after Mrs. Bruce died,” the woman continued, “as my man came back discharged about that time. Phyllis tried to get on as a nurse, but couldn’t manage it. Then her office was moved to another part of the city and she took rooms somewhere. At first she came to see us often, but not lately. I suppose she’s trying to forget.”
“Trying to forget,” Grant muttered to himself. “How much of life is made up of trying to forget!”
Further questions brought no further information. The woman didn’t know the firm for which Phyllis worked; she thought it had to do with munitions. Suddenly Grant found himself impelled by a tremendous desire to locate this girl. He would set about it at once; possibly Jones or Murdoch could give him information. Strangely enough, he now felt that he would prefer to be rid of Linder’s company. This was a matter for himself alone. He took Linder to an hotel, where they arranged for lodgings, and then started on his search.