PAGE 5
His Evening Out
by
Fortunately, our representative, on his way out through the drying ground, was able to obtain a brief interview with Mrs. Tupp.
Mrs. Tupp remembers admitting a young lady to the house on the morning of Friday, the twenty-eighth, when she opened the door to take in the milk. The lady, Mrs. Tupp remembers, spoke in a husky voice, the result, as the young lady explained with a pleasant laugh, of having passed the night wandering about Ham Common, she having been misdirected the previous evening by a fool of a railway porter, and not wishing to disturb the neighbourhood by waking people up at two o’clock in the morning, which, in Mrs. Tupp’s opinion, was sensible of her.
Mrs. Tupp describes the young lady as of agreeable manners, but looking, naturally, a bit washed out. The lady asked for Mr. Tupp, explaining that a friend of his was in trouble, which did not in the least surprise Mrs. Tupp, she herself not holding with Socialists and such like. Mr. Tupp, on being informed, dressed hastily and went downstairs, and he and the young lady left the house together. Mr. Tupp, on being questioned as to the name of his friend, had called up that it was no one Mrs. Tupp would know, a Mr. Quince–it may have been Quincey.
Mrs. Tupp is aware that Mr. Parable is also a Socialist, and is acquainted with the saying about thieves hanging together. But has worked for Mr. Parable for years and has always found him a most satisfactory client; and, Mr. Tupp appearing at this point, our representative thanked Mrs. Tupp for her information and took his departure.
* * *
Mr. Horatius Condor, Junior, who consented to partake of luncheon in company with our representative at the Holborn Restaurant, was at first disinclined to be of much assistance, but eventually supplied our representative with the following information:
My relationship to Mr. Archibald Quincey, Harcourt Buildings, Temple, is perhaps a little difficult to define.
How he himself regards me I am never quite sure. There will be days together when we will be quite friendly like, and at other times he will be that offhanded and peremptory you might think I was his blooming office boy.
On Friday morning, the twenty-eighth, I didn’t get to Harcourt Buildings at the usual time, knowing that Mr. Quincey would not be there himself, he having arranged to interview Mr. Parable for the Daily Chronicle at ten o’clock. I allowed him half an hour, to be quite safe, and he came in at a quarter past eleven.
He took no notice of me. For about ten minutes–it may have been less–he walked up and down the room, cursing and swearing and kicking the furniture about. He landed an occasional walnut table in the middle of my shins, upon which I took the opportunity of wishing him “Good morning,” and he sort of woke up, as you might say.
“How did the interview go off?” I says. “Got anything interesting?”
“Yes,” he says; “quite interesting. Oh, yes, decidedly interesting.”
He was holding himself in, if you understand, speaking with horrible slowness and deliberation.
“D’you know where he was last night?” he asks me.
“Yes,” I says; “Caxton Hall, wasn’t it?–meeting to demand the release of Miss Clebb.”
He leans across the table till his face was within a few inches of mine.
“Guess again,” he says.
I wasn’t doing any guessing. He had hurt me with the walnut table, and I was feeling a bit short-tempered.
“Oh! don’t make a game of it,” I says. “It’s too early in the morning.”
“At the Earl’s Court Exhibition,” he says; “dancing the tango with a lady that he picked up in St. James’s Park.”
“Well,” I says, “why not? He don’t often get much fun.” I thought it best to treat it lightly.