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And, at the same time, a solicitor's recommendation being of some value, since it might mean a good many future customers, I handed the manager one of Wareham's cards. There was, I remember, some little difficulty at first in obtaining rooms, for the hotel was nearly full; but everything ended satisfactorily. I may mention, perhaps, that in describing Messrs.
Nevertheless, as other papers proceeded to copy the statements to which I have referred, I thought it well to communicate with our exile on the subject. Through the carelessness of one of M. Zola's friends, Wareham's name and address had lately been given to an English journalist usually resident in Paris, and this journalist had then come to London to try to discover the master's whereabouts.
Meantime, said I, Wareham had kindly offered to accommodate M. Zola at his residence at Wimbledon, while M. Desmoulin might sleep close by at the house of Mr. Further discussion of these matters was postponed, however, until Wareham's arrive at the Grosvenor in the afternoon.
But this gave me breathing time. The door was free, and so, leaving the refreshment I had ordered untouched, I bolted out of the house in much the same way as a thief might have done, and ran, as if for my life, right down the Alexandra Road until I reached Wareham's office. And there I seized the knocker in a frenzy, and made such a racket as might have awakened the dead.
I am without news from France. If you hear of anything really serious pray let me know about it. By this time proper arrangements had been made with regard to M. Zola's correspondence. His exact whereabouts were kept absolutely secret even from his most intimate friends. Everybody, his wife and Maitre Labori also, addressed their letters to Wareham's office in Bishopsgate Street.
My home is but a mile or so from the centre of Wimbledon, and M. Zola's proposal to make that locality his place of sojourn seemed to me such a dangerous course that when I returned to Wareham's house on the morning of Friday, July 22, I was determined to oppose it, in the master's own interests, as vigorously as might be possible. However, I found Messrs.
And, as regards M. Zola, I was sufficiently acquainted with his character to say that he would never join in any such enterprise. He intended to pursue his campaign by legal means alone, and it was useless to refer the matter to him. Then the interview ended rather abruptly. A French client of Wareham's happened to call at that very moment, and was heard speaking in French in the hall.
He had hitherto been rather chary of accepting Wareham's hospitality, for fear lest he should inconvenience him. But the offer now being renewed was promptly accepted, and it was agreed that I should take both Messrs. Zola and Desmoulin to Wimbledon that evening.
And at first the stranger, a tall and energetic looking man, with sunburnt face and heavy moustaches, had refused to disclose his business in Wareham's presence. If at last he did so, it was solely because I told him that before coming to any decision in the matters which he might have to submit to me I should certainly lay them before my solicitor.
The master, I thought, might like to see a little of the place pending Wareham's arrival. The journey through Lambeth, Vauxhall, and Queen's Road is not calculated to give the intelligent foreigner a particularly favourable impression of London. Still M. Zola did not at first find the surroundings very much worse than those one observes on leaving Paris by the Northern or Eastern lines.
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