“It must have been another house,” she answered. “There are several in this road similar in appearance to mine.”
“No. Number sixteen,” I said. “I looked it up previously in the Directory and saw your name. There can be no mistake.”
“Well, sir,” snapped the old lady, “I am mistress of this house, and surely I ought to know whether I have a niece or not! What kind of lady was she?”
“She was young, fair-haired, blue-eyed, and very good-looking. She had lived in France previously, at Montgeron, near Paris.”
“Ah!” the old lady cried suddenly. “Why, of course, the hussy! Now I remember. It is quite plain that she duped you.”
“Tell me,” I exclaimed eagerly. “Where is she now?”
“How should I know? She wasn’t my niece at all. A few weeks ago I advertised in the Christian World for a companion, and engaged her. She came one afternoon, and said that coming from France she had left all her luggage at Victoria. She was exceedingly pleasant, took tea with me, and afterwards at her request I allowed her to go down to Victoria to see about her boxes. That was about six o’clock, but she did not return until nearly two o’clock in the morning, and when I questioned her she said that she had been unable to find the office where her luggage had been placed, and had been wandering about, having lost her way. I didn’t believe such a lame story, and the consequence was that she left after a week, and I haven’t seen her since.”
I stood dumbfounded.
“That’s a strange story, sir,” observed Ash, who was standing near.
“It’s amazing!” I said. “And it complicates matters very considerably.”