Should I
go to Paris and bring her back by main force? But how did I know that
she had gone to Paris? And if she was there how could I discover her
address? Suddenly an idea struck me. She would not have left Quast and
the cattery in the same unceremonious fashion to get on as best they
might. She would have given Quast money and directions. At any rate, he
would know more than the lift-porter of the mansions. I decided to go to
him forthwith.
By means of trains and omnibuses I arrived at the house in the little
street off Rosebery Avenue, Clerkenwell, where the maker of gymnastic
appliances had his being. I knocked at the door. A grubby man appeared.
I inquired for Quast.
Quast had left that morning in a van, taking his cages of cats with him.
He had gone abroad and was never coming back again, not if he knew
it, said the grubby man. The cats were poison and Quast was a low-down
foreigner, and it would cost him a year's rent to put the place in order
again. Whereupon he slammed the door in my face and left me disconsolate
on the doorstep.
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