Thorpe had been looking with abstracted intentness at a set of green-bound cheap British poets just at one side of his sister's head. “You must find that card!” he told her now, with a vague severity in his voice. “I know the name well enough, but I want to see what he's written. Was it his address, do you remember? The name itself was Tavender, wasn't it? Good God! Why is it a woman never knows where she's put anything? Even Julia spends hours looking for button-hooks or corkscrews or something of that sort, every day of her life! They've got nothing in the world to do except know where things are, right under their nose, and yet that's just what they don't know at all!”
“Oh, I have a good few other things to do,” she reminded him, as she fumbled again inside the obscurity of the desk. “I can put my hand on any one of four thousand books in stock,” she mildly boasted over her shoulder, “and that's something you never learned to do. And I can tell if a single book is missing--and I wouldn't trust any shopman I ever knew to do that.”
“Oh of course, you're an exception,” he admitted, under a sense of justice. “But I wish you'd find the card.”
“I know where it is,” she suddenly announced, and forthwith closed the desk. Moving off into the remoter recesses of the crowded interior, she returned to the light with the bit of pasteboard in her hand. “I'd stuck it in the little mirror over the washstand,” she explained.
He almost snatched it from her, and stood up the better to examine it under the gas-light. “Where is Montague Street?” he asked, with rough directness.
“In Bloomsbury--alongside the Museum. That's one Montague Street--I don't know how many others there may be.”
Thorpe had already taken up his umbrella and was buttoning his coat. “Yes--Bloomsbury,” he said hurriedly. “That would be his form. And you say he knew nothing about my movements or whereabouts--nothing about the Company, eh?” He looked at his watch as he spoke. Evidently the presence of this stranger had excited him a good deal.
“No,” she assured him, reflectively; “no, I'm sure he didn't. From what he said, he doesn't know his way about London very well, or anywhere else, for that matter, I should say.”