Of course, I went straight down to Basingstoke, and called at once at Chubb’s Cottages. It was a squalid little row on the outskirts of the town. I found Charlotte Churtwood herself exactly such a girl as Hilda, with her quick judgment of character, might have hit upon for such a purpose. She was a conspicuously honest and transparent country servant, of the lumpy type, on her way to London to take a place as housemaid. Her injuries were severe, but not dangerous. “The lady saw me on the platform,” she said, “and beckoned to me to come to her. She ast me where I was going, and I says, ‘To London, miss.’ Says she, smiling kind-like, ‘Could you post a letter for me, certain sure?’ Says I, ‘You can depend upon me.’ An’ then she give me the arf-sovering, an’ says, says she, ‘Mind, it’s very par-tickler; if the gentleman don’t get it, ’e’ll fret ’is ’eart out.’ An’ through ’aving a young man o’ my own, as is a groom at Andover, o’ course I understood ’er, sir. An’ then, feeling all full of it, as yu may say, what with the arf-sovering, and what with one thing and what with another, an’ all of a fluster with not being used to travelling, I run up, when the train for London come in, an’ tried to scramble into it, afore it ’ad quite stopped moving. An’ a guard, ’e rushes up, an’ ‘Stand back!’ says ’e; ‘wait till the train stops,’ says ’e, an’ waves his red flag at me. But afore I could stand back, with one foot on the step, the train sort of jumped away from me, and knocked me down like this; and they say it’ll be a week now afore I’m well enough to go on to London. But I posted the letter all the same, at Basingstoke station, as they was carrying me off; an’ I took down the address, so as to return the arf-sovering.” Hilda was right, as always. She had chosen instinctively the trustworthy person,—chosen her at first sight, and hit the bull’s-eye.
“Do you know what train the lady was in?” I asked, as she paused. “Where was it going, did you notice?”
“It was the Southampton train, sir. I saw the board on the carriage.”
That settled the question. “You are a good and an honest girl,” I said, pulling out my purse; “and you came to this misfortune through trying—too eagerly—to help the young lady. A ten-pound note is not overmuch as compensation for your accident. Take it, and get well. I should be sorry to think you lost a good place through your anxiety to help us.”
The rest of my way was plain sailing now. I hurried on straight to Southampton. There my first visit was to the office of the Castle line. I went to the point at once. Was there a Miss Wade among the passengers by the Dunottar Castle?
No; nobody of that name on the list.
Had any lady taken a passage at the last moment?
The clerk perpended. Yes; a lady had come by the mail train from London, with no heavy baggage, and had gone on board direct, taking what cabin she could get. A young lady in grey. Quite unprepared. Gave no name. Called away in a hurry.
What sort of lady?
Youngish; good-looking; brown hair and eyes, the clerk thought; a sort of creamy skin; and a—well, a mesmeric kind of glance that seemed to go right through you.
“That will do,” I answered, sure now of my quarry. “To which port did she book?”
“To Cape Town.”
“Very well,” I said, promptly. “You may reserve me a good berth in the next outgoing steamer.”
It was just like Hilda’s impulsive character to rush off in this way at a moment’s notice; and just like mine to follow her. But it piqued me a little to think that, but for the accident of an accident, I might never have tracked her down. If the letter had been posted in London as she intended, and not at Basingstoke, I might have sought in vain for her from then till Doomsday.