“And where do the two Miss Honeywood live?” he asked with his engaging smile.
But English suburban parlour-maids are on their guard against smiles, no matter how engaging. She prepared to shut the door.
“I don’t know.”
“How can I find out?”
“You might enquire among the tradespeople.”
“Thank you, mademoiselle, you are a most intelligent young——”
The door shut in his face. Aristide frowned. She was a pretty parlour-maid, and Aristide didn’t like to be so haughtily treated by a pretty woman. But his quest being little Jean and not the eternal feminine, he took the maid’s advice and made enquiries at the prim and respectable shops.
“Oh, yes,” said a comely young woman in a fragrant bakers’ and confectioners’. “They were two ladies, weren’t they? They lived at Hope Cottage. We used to supply them. They left Chislehurst two years ago.”
“Sacré nom d’un chien!” said Aristide.
“Beg pardon?” asked the young woman.