For half an hour Desmond wandered in a desultory fashion along
the quiet roads of natty houses with brightly painted doors and
shining brass knockers. He had no definite objective; but he
hoped rather vaguely to pick up some clue that might lead him to
Mrs. Malplaquet's. He walked slowly along surveying the houses
and scrutinizing the faces of the passers-by who were few and far
between, yet without coming any nearer the end of his search.
It was now growing dusk. Enthroned on the summit of the hill the
water-tower stood out hard and clear against the evening sky.
Desmond, who hid lost his bearings somewhat in the course of his
wanderings, came to a full stop irresolutely, where two streets
crossed, thinking that he would retrace his footsteps to the
main-road on the chance of picking up a taxi to take him back to
town. He chose one of the streets at random; but it proved to be
a crescent and brought him back practically to the spot he had
started from. Thereupon, he took the other and followed it up,
ignoring various side-turnings which he feared might be pitfalls
like the last: But the second road was as bad as the first. It
was a cul de sac and brought Desmond face to face with a blank
wall.
He turned and looked about him for somebody of whom to ask the
way.
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