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Updated: May 13, 2025
"Ay know most of the naice people living round about here," replied the lady, "but for the moment, ay cannot recollect... was it one of the larger houses on the hill, do you know?" "I'm afraid I don't know," said Desmond. "You see, I've lost the address!" "Quayte!" returned Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. "Ay can't say ay know the name!" she added.
And so Desmond and his man installed themselves at Santona Road. The house was clean and comfortable, and Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe, for all her "refaynement," as she would have called it, proved herself a warm-hearted, motherly soul.
Viljohn-Smythe. That lady having duly answered the summons, Desmond asked whether, in consideration of terms to be mutually agreed upon, she could accommodate his soldier servant. He explained that the last-named was of the most exemplary character and threw out a hint of the value of a batman for such tasks as the cleaning of the family boots and the polishing of brass or silver.
"May husband is also an officer," replied the woman, "Captain Viljohn-Smythe; you may have met him. No? Of course, had you not been of commissioned rank, ay should not..." She trailed off vaguely. Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her somewhat by accepting them on the spot. "But you have not seen the bedroom!" protested Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe.
In reply to a casual inquiry, Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe had informed him that the house was a nursing home kept by a Dr. Radcombe, a nerve specialist. "It is quite like spring!" replied Desmond, wondering if this were the doctor. Doctors get about a good deal and Dr. Radcombe might be able to tell him something about Mrs. Malplaquet.
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