Some intimate friend of my husband’s? I considered with myself. There was but one friend of his whom I knew of—my uncle’s correspondent, Major Fitz-David. My heart beat fast as the name recurred to my memory. Suppose I followed Benjamin’s advice? Suppose I applied to Major Fitz-David? Even if he, too, refused to answer my questions, my position would not be more helpless than it was now. I determined to make the attempt. The only difficulty in the way, so far, was to discover the Major’s address. I had given back his letter to Doctor Starkweather, at my uncle’s own request. I remembered that the address from which the Major wrote was somewhere in London—and I remembered no more.
“Thank you, old friend; you have given me an idea already,” I said to Benjamin. “Have you got a Directory in your house?”
“No, my dear,” he rejoined, looking very much puzzled. “But I can easily send out and borrow one.”
We returned to the villa. The servant was sent at once to the nearest stationer’s to borrow a Directory. She returned with the book just as we sat down to dinner. Searching for the Major’s name under the letter F, I was startled by a new discovery.
“Benjamin!” I said. “This is a strange coincidence. Look here!”
He looked where I pointed. Major Fitz-David’s address was Number Sixteen Vivian Place—the very house which I had seen my husband leaving as we passed in the carriage!
CHAPTER VII. ON THE WAY TO THE MAJOR.
“YES,” said Benjamin. “It is a coincidence certainly. Still—”
He stopped and looked at me. He seemed a little doubtful how I might receive what he had it in his mind to say to me next.