A HOLIDAY TASK
Kenelm Jerton entered the dining-hall of the Golden Galleon Hotel in thefull crush of the luncheon hour. Nearly every seat was occupied, andsmall additional tables had been brought in, where floor space permitted,to accommodate latecomers, with the result that many of the tables werealmost touching each other. Jerton was beckoned by a waiter to the onlyvacant table that was discernible, and took his seat with theuncomfortable and wholly groundless idea that nearly every one in theroom was staring at him. He was a youngish man of ordinary appearance,quiet of dress and unobtrusive of manner, and he could never wholly ridhimself of the idea that a fierce light of public scrutiny beat on him asthough he had been a notability or a super-nut. After he had ordered hislunch there came the unavoidable interval of waiting, with nothing to dobut to stare at the flower-vase on his table and to be stared at (inimagination) by several flappers, some maturer beings of the same sex,and a satirical-looking Jew. In order to carry off the situation withsome appearance of unconcern he became spuriously interested in thecontents of the flower-vase.
“What is the name of these roses, d’you know?” he asked the waiter. Thewaiter was ready at all times to conceal his ignorance concerning itemsof the wine-list or menu; he was frankly ignorant as to the specific nameof the roses.
“_Amy Sylvester Partington_,” said a voice at Jerton’s elbow.
The voice came from a pleasant-faced, well-dressed young woman who wassitting at a table that almost touched Jerton’s. He thanked herhurriedly and nervously for the information, and made some inconsequentremark about the flowers.
“It is a curious thing,” said the young woman, that, “I should be able totell you the name of those roses without an effort of memory, because ifyou were to ask me my name I should be utterly unable to give it to you.”
Jerton had not harboured the least intention of extending his thirst forname-labels to his neighbour. After her rather remarkable announcement,however, he was obliged to say something in the way of polite inquiry.
“Yes,” answered the lady, “I suppose it is a case of partial loss ofmemory. I was in the train coming down here; my ticket told me that Ihad come from Victoria and was bound for this place. I had a couple offive-pound notes and a sovereign on me, no visiting cards or any othermeans of identification, and no idea as to who I am. I can only hazilyrecollect that I have a title; I am Lady Somebody—beyond that my mind isa blank.”
“Hadn’t you any luggage with you?” asked Jerton.
“That is what I didn’t know. I knew the name of this hotel and made upmy mind to come here, and when the hotel porter who meets the trainsasked if I had any luggage I had to invent a dressing-bag anddress-basket; I could always pretend that they had gone astray. I gavehim the name of Smith, and presently he emerged from a confused pile ofluggage and passengers with a dressing-bag and dress-basket labelledKestrel-Smith. I had to take them; I don’t see what else I could havedone.”
Jerton said nothing, but he rather wondered what the lawful owner of thebaggage would do.
“Of course it was dreadful arriving at a strange hotel with the name ofKestrel-Smith, but it would have been worse to have arrived withoutluggage. Anyhow, I hate causing trouble.”
Jerton had visions of harassed railway officials and distraughtKestrel-Smiths, but he made no attempt to clothe his mental picture inwords. The lady continued her story.
“Naturally, none of my keys would fit the things, but I told anintelligent page boy that I had lost my key-ring, and he had the locksforced in a twinkling. Rather too intelligent, that boy; he willprobably end in Dartmoor. The Kestrel-Smith toilet tools aren’t up tomuch, but they are better than nothing.”
“If you feel sure that you have a title,” said Jerton, “why not get holdof a peerage and go right through it?”
“I tried that. I skimmed through the list of the House of Lords in‘Whitaker,’ but a mere printed string of names conveys awfully little toone, you know. If you were an army officer and had lost your identityyou might pore over the Army List for months without finding out who yourwere. I’m going on another tack; I’m trying to find out by variouslittle tests who I am _not_—that will narrow the range of uncertaintydown a bit. You may have noticed, for instance, that I’m lunchingprincipally off lobster Newburg.”
Jerton had not ventured to notice anything of the sort.
“It’s an extravagance, because it’s one of the most expensive dishes onthe menu, but at any rate it proves that I’m not Lady Starping; she nevertouches shell-fish, and poor Lady Braddleshrub has no digestion at all;if I am _her_ I shall certainly die in agony in the course of theafternoon, and the duty of finding out who I am will devolve on the pressand the police and those sort of people; I shall be past caring. LadyKnewford doesn’t know one rose from another and she hates men, so shewouldn’t have spoken to you in any case; and Lady Mousehilton flirts withevery man she meets—I haven’t flirted with you, have I?”
Jerton hastily gave the required assurance.
“Well, you see,” continued the lady, “that knocks four off the list atonce.”
“It’ll be rather a lengthy process bringing the list down to one,” saidJerton.
“Oh, but, of course, there are heaps of them that I couldn’t possiblybe—women who’ve got grandchildren or sons old enough to have celebratedtheir coming of age. I’ve only got to consider the ones about my ownage. I tell you how you might help me this afternoon, if you don’t mind;go through any of the back numbers of _Country Life_ and those sort ofpapers that you can find in the smoking-room, and see if you come acrossmy portrait with infant son or anything of that sort. It won’t take youten minutes. I’ll meet you in the lounge about tea-time. Thanksawfully.”
And the Fair Unknown, having graciously pressed Jerton into the searchfor her lost identity, rose and left the room. As she passed the youngman’s table she halted for a moment and whispered:
“Did you notice that I tipped the waiter a shilling? We can cross LadyUlwight off the list; she would have died rather than do that.”
At five o’clock Jerton made his way to the hotel lounge; he had spent adiligent but fruitless quarter of an hour among the illustrated weekliesin the smoking-room. His new acquaintance was seated at a smalltea-table, with a waiter hovering in attendance.
“China tea or Indian?” she asked as Jerton came up.
“China, please, and nothing to eat. Have you discovered anything?”
“Only negative information. I’m not Lady Befnal. She disapprovesdreadfully of any form of gambling, so when I recognised a well-knownbook maker in the hotel lobby I went and put a tenner on an unnamed fillyby William the Third out of Mitrovitza for the three-fifteen race. Isuppose the fact of the animal being nameless was what attracted me.”
“Did it win?” asked Jerton.
“No, came in fourth, the most irritating thing a horse can do when you’vebacked it win or place. Anyhow, I know now that I’m not Lady Befnal.”
“It seems to me that the knowledge was rather dearly bought,” commentedJerton.
“Well, yes, it has rather cleared me out,” admitted the identity-seeker;“a florin is about all I’ve got left on me. The lobster Newburg made mylunch rather an expensive one, and, of course, I had to tip that boy forwhat he did to the Kestrel-Smith locks. I’ve got rather a useful idea,though. I feel certain that I belong to the Pivot Club; I’ll go back totown and ask the hall porter there if there are any letters for me. Heknows all the members by sight, and if there are any letters or telephonemessages waiting for me of course that will solve the problem. If hesays there aren’t any I shall say: ‘You know who I am, don’t you?’ soI’ll find out anyway.”
The plan seemed a sound one; a difficulty in its execution suggesteditself to Jerton.
“Of course,” said the lady, when he hinted at the obstacle, “there’s myfare back to town, and my bill here and cabs and things. If you’ll lendme three pounds that ought to see me
through comfortably. Thanks everso. Then there is the question of that luggage: I don’t want to besaddled with that for the rest of my life. I’ll have it brought down tothe hall and you can pretend to mount guard over it while I’m writing aletter. Then I shall just slip away to the station, and you can wanderoff to the smoking-room, and they can do what they like with the things.They’ll advertise them after a bit and the owner can claim them.”
Jerton acquiesced in the manœuvre, and duly mounted guard over theluggage while its temporary owner slipped unobtrusively out of the hotel.Her departure was not, however, altogether unnoticed. Two gentlemen werestrolling past Jerton, and one of them remarked to the other:
“Did you see that tall young woman in grey who went out just now? She isthe Lady—”
His promenade carried him out of earshot at the critical moment when hewas about to disclose the elusive identity. The Lady Who? Jerton couldscarcely run after a total stranger, break into his conversation, and askhim for information concerning a chance passer-by. Besides, it wasdesirable that he should keep up the appearance of looking after theluggage. In a minute or two, however, the important personage, the manwho knew, came strolling back alone. Jerton summoned up all his courageand waylaid him.
“I think I heard you say you knew the lady who went out of the hotel afew minutes ago, a tall lady, dressed in grey. Excuse me for asking ifyou could tell me her name; I’ve been talking to her for half an hour;she—er—she knows all my people and seems to know me, so I suppose I’vemet her somewhere before, but I’m blest if I can put a name to her.Could you—?”
“Certainly. She’s a Mrs. Stroope.”
“_Mrs._?” queried Jerton.
“Yes, she’s the Lady Champion at golf in my part of the world. An awfulgood sort, and goes about a good deal in Society, but she has an awkwardhabit of losing her memory every now and then, and gets into all sorts offixes. She’s furious, too, if you make any allusion to it afterwards.Good day, sir.”
The stranger passed on his way, and before Jerton had had time toassimilate his information he found his whole attention centred on anangry-looking lady who was making loud and fretful-seeming inquiries ofthe hotel clerks.
“Has any luggage been brought here from the station by mistake, adress-basket and dressing-case, with the name Kestrel-Smith? It can’t betraced anywhere. I saw it put in at Victoria, that I’ll swear.Why—there is my luggage! and the locks have been tampered with!”
Jerton heard no more. He fled down to the Turkish bath, and stayed therefor hours.