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"We'll go with you to the hotel," Brian promised. "They'll know there about the hospitals. And if the Préfet's still up, he'll phone for us officially, I'm sure." "It's you who are the practical one, after all!" cried O'Farrell. And I guessed from a sudden uprush of Irish accent that his anxiety had grown sincere.
Brian was equally cordial to all three, and I feared that O'Farrell might be encouraged to offer his company. But his self-assurance stopped short of that. He went meekly into the darkened hotel with the old couple, and I turned away triumphant, with my arm in Brian's.
Somewhere in the distance Julian O'Farrell was singing, as he had sung on the first night we met, Mario's heartbreaking song in "La Tosca" the song on the roof, at dawn. Always in remembering Julian I must remember Mario's love and sacrifice! I knew that he meant it should be so with me. The voice was the voice of love itself, such love as mine for Jim, as Jim's for me, which can never die.
It was not I who cut his words short, though I was on the point of breaking in. Perhaps I should have flung at him the truth about Jim Beckett if something had not happened to snatch my thoughts from O'Farrell and his impudence. We had just passed the quarter of the town saved by Soeur Julie, when out from the gaping doorway of a ruined house stepped Paul Herter.
Julian O'Farrell jumped out to help Morel, our one-legged chauffeur, as he always does if anything happens, just to remind the Becketts how kind and indispensable he is. We knew that we should be hung up for a good twenty minutes, so the whole party, with the exception of Mother Beckett and me, deserted the cars. Brian was with Dierdre.
"Isn't it tea-time?" asked Timmy suddenly. "Yes, I suppose it is." As they walked towards the house together Janet was telling herself uneasily that unless Timmy had met Dr. O'Farrell, it was impossible for him to have learnt through any ordinary human agency that Godfrey Radmore was coming to Beechfield.
In O'Farrell street the Delmonico was one of the most famous of the French restaurants until the fire. It was several stories high, and each story contained private rooms. Carriages drove directly into the building from the street and the occupants went by elevator to soundproof rooms above, where they were served by discreet waiters.
"We were going down to Haas's for ice-cream sodas," Julia submitted hesitatingly. "Well, I will take you there," Mark said. And as the others, nodding good-naturedly at this, drifted on ahead, Julia found herself walking down O'Farrell Street on the arm of a tall and handsome man.
He was to have the command of the expedition in the launch I had charge of the first cutter O'Farrell of the second, and Swinburne had the charge of the jolly-boat. At dusk, the head of the brig was again turned towards St Pierre's, and we ran slowly in.
It vexed me that Brian should show concern. If only he knew how the girl had looked at him a few hours ago! "Couldn't they tell you in the hotel at what time she went out?" he enquired. But no! According to O'Farrell, his sister had not been seen. He had found her door unlocked, the room empty, and her hat and coat missing. "She told me she was going to bed," he added.
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