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Anna the Adventuress

Page 31

Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled

the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy

old horse rapidly approaching its last days. Inside was Anna, leaning

a little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to the

brim of the insatiable curiosity of youth--the desire to understand

and appreciate this new world in which she found herself. She was

practically an outcast, she had not even the ghost of a plan as to her

future, and she had something less than five pounds in her pocket. She

watched the people and hummed softly to herself.

Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window.

"Please stop, cabman," she ordered.

The man pulled up. It was not a difficult affair.

"Is this Montague Street, W.C.?" she asked.

The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but could

not.

"Stay where you are for a moment," she directed. "I want to find an

address."

The man contented himself with a nod. Anna rummaged about in her

dressing-case, and finally drew out a letter. On the envelope was

written-Sydney Courtlaw, Esq.,

13, Montague St.

She put her head out of the window.

"Number 13, please, cabman."

"We've come past it, miss," the man answered, with a note of finality

in his gruff voice.

"Then turn round and go back there," she directed.

The man muttered something inaudible, and gathered up the reins. His

horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where

he was. After a certain amount of manoeuvring, however, he was

induced to crawl around, and in a few minutes came to stop again

before a tall brightly-painted house, which seemed like an oasis of

colour and assertive prosperity in a long dingy row. This was number

13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as

"White's."

Anna promptly alighted with the letter in her hand. The door was

opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several

sizes too large for him. The rest of his attire was nondescript.

"Does Mr. Courtlaw, Mr. Sydney Courtlaw, live here, please?" Anna

asked him.

"Not home yet, miss," the young man replied. "Generally gets here

about seven."

Anna hesitated, and then held out the letter.

"I think that I will leave this letter for him," she said. "It is from

his brother in Paris. Say that I will call again or let him know my

address in London."

The young man accepted the letter and the message, and seemed about to

close the door when a lady issued from one of the front rooms and

intervened. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams,

a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge

chatelaine. She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a very

creditable mixture of condescension and officiousness. Under the

somewhat trying incandescent light her cheeks pleaded guilty to a

recent use of the powder puff.

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