She left with a lot of luggage
yesterday, and her maid, and now the flat is shut up."
"Impossible!" I cried aghast.
The porter smiled. "I can only tell you what has happened, sir."
"Where has she gone to?"
"I couldn't say, sir."
"Her letters? Has she left no address to which they are to be
forwarded?"
"Not with me, sir."
"Did she say when she was coming back?"
"No, sir. But she dismissed her cook with a month's wages, so it seems
as though she was gone for a good spell."
"What time yesterday did she leave?"
"After lunch. The cabman was to drive her to Victoria--London, Chatham
and Dover Railway."
"That looks like the 2.20 to Paris," said I.
But the lift-porter knew nothing of this. He had given me all the
information in his power. I thanked him and went out into the sunshine a
blinking, dazed, bewildered and piteously crushed man.
She had gone, without drum or trumpet, maid and baggage and all, having
dismissed her cook and shut up the flat. It was incredible. I wandered
aimlessly about Chelsea trying to make up my mind what to do.
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