doing here? Why, you're drenched
to the skin."

He was dressed in flannels and a tennis-coat.

"Yes," he answered. "I never thought it would rain. It was a lovely
morning."

I began to fear he had overworked himself into a brain fever.

"Why don't you go home?" I asked.

"I can't," he replied. "I don't know where I live. I've forgotten the
address."

"For heaven's sake," he said, "take me somewhere, and give me something
to eat. I'm literally starving."

"Haven't you any money?" I asked him, as we turned towards the hotel.

"Not a sou," he answered. "We got in here from York, the wife and I,
about eleven. We left our things at the station, and started to hunt for
apartments. As soon as we were fixed, I changed my clothes and came out
for a walk, telling Maud I should be back at one to lunch. Like a fool,
I never took the address, and never noticed the way I was going.

"It's an awful business," he continued. "I don't see how I'm ever going
to find her. I hoped she might stroll down to the Spa in the evening,
and I've been hanging about the gates ever since six. I hadn't the
threepence to go in."

"But have you no notion of the sort of street or the kind of house it
was?" I enquired.

"Not a ghost," he replied. "I left it all to Maud, and didn't trouble."

"Have you tried any of the lodging-houses?" I asked.

"Tried!" he exclaimed bitterly. "I've been knocking at doors, and asking
if Mrs. McQuae lives there steadily all the afternoon, and they slam the
door in my face, mostly without answering. I told a policeman--I thought
perhaps he might suggest something--but the idiot only burst out
laughing, and that made me so mad that I gave him a black eye, and had to
cut. I expect they're on the lookout for me now."

"I went into a restaurant," he continued gloomily, "and tried to get them
to trust me for a steak. But the proprietress said she'd heard that tale
before, and ordered me out before all the other customers. I think I'd
have drowned myself if you hadn't turned up."

After a change of clothes and some supper, he discussed the case more
calmly, but it was really a serious affair. They had shut up their flat,
and his wife's relatives were travelling abroad. There was no one to
whom he could send a letter to be forwarded; there was no one with whom
she would be likely to communicate. Their chance of meeting again in
this world appeared remote.

Nor did it seem to me--fond as he w