The constable knew nothing of maiden ladies with a baby, but he directed him to Hope Cottage. He found a pretty half-timber house lying back from the road, with a neat semi-circular gravelled path leading to a porch covered thick with Virginia creeper. Even more than the red brick residence of Colonel Brabazon did it look, with its air of dainty comfort, the fitting abode of Miss Janet and Miss Anne. He rang the bell and interviewed another trim parlour-maid. More susceptible to smiles than the former, she summoned her master, a kindly, middle-aged man, who came out into the porch. Yes, Honeywood was the name of the previous tenants. Two ladies, he believed. He had never seen them and knew nothing about a child. Messrs. Tompkin & Briggs, the estate agents in the High Street, could no doubt give him information. Aristide thanked him and made his way to Messrs. Tompkin & Briggs. A dreary spectacled youth in resentful charge of the office--his principals, it being Saturday afternoon, were golfing the happy hours away--professed blank ignorance of everything. Aristide fixed him with his glittering eye and flickered his fingers and spoke richly. The youth in a kind of mesmeric trance took down a battered, dog's eared book and turned over the pages. "Honeywood--Miss--Beverly Stoke--near St. Albans--Herts. That's it," he said. Aristide made a note of the address. "Is that all you can tell me?" "Yes," said the youth. "I thank you very much, my young friend," said Aristide, raising his hat, "and here is something to buy a smile with," and, leaving a sixpence on the table to shimmer before the youth's stupefied eyes, Aristide strutted out of the office. * * * * * "You had much better have written," said I, when he came back and told me of his experiences. "The post-office would have done all that for you." "You have no idea of business, _mon cher ami_"--(I--a successful tea-broker of twenty-five years' standing!--the impudence of the fellow!)--"If I had written to-day, the letter would have reached Chislehurst on Monday morning. It would be redirected and reach Hertfordshire on Tuesday. I should not get any news till Wednesday. I go down to Beverly Stoke to-morrow, and then I find at once Miss Janet and Miss Anne and my little Jean! The secret of business men, and I am a business man, the accredited representative of Dulau et Compagnie--never forget that--the secret of business is no delay." He darted across the room to Bradshaw. "For God's sake," said I, "put that nightmare of perpetual motion in your pocket and go mad over it in the privacy of your own chamber." "Very good," said he, tucking the brain-convulsing volume under his arm. "I will put it on top of The Times and the family Bible and I will say 'Ha! now I am British. Now I am very respectable!' What else can I do?" "Rent a pew in a Baptist chapel," said I. * * * * *