“There was nothing noticeable about whereby I might recognise her again? Try and recollect.”
“No, sir,” answered the man. “She was a very beautiful young lady, and that’s all I noticed.”
“You’d know her again if you saw her?”
“I should just say I would,” laughed the man. “When a chap sees a woman as lovely as she is it ain’t likely he’ll forget her, even though he may have a wife and ’arf a dozen kids at ’ome.”
“You’re smitten by her beauty, it seems,” I laughed. “What’s your name?”
“West, sir—Tom West. Number L.C.432. I stand on the rank at Hyde Park Corner.”
“Well, West,” I said, taking a card out of my case, and handing it to him, “if you ever see that lady again, and can find out who and what she is, and where she lives, I’ll give you a present—say twenty pounds.”
“Twenty quid!” the man echoed with a whistle. “I’d like to touch the oof, sir, and you bet I’ll keep my weather eye open.”
“As soon as you’ve found her, let me know, and the money is yours. You understand that’s a bargain.”
“Right you are, sir. I’ll do my very best.”