Fool Errant by Patricia Wentworth

a friend, and I shall have to be dreadfully angry with him for being so late—and you mustn’t stay talking to me, because he’s ever so jealous, and if there is an awkward thing, it’s a man being jealous of you in a restaurant.” She pronounced the “t” at the end of this word.
    Hugo wondered if the friend was Hacker.
    â€œYou must go— reelly , Mr. Hugo.”
    â€œBut when am I going to s-see you again?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know. Do you reelly want to see me?” Hugo got a very arch glance indeed.
    â€œOf course I do.”
    It was at this point that Cissie remembered that she ought to have a bad cold. She had been speaking in her natural voice, rather high-pitched, rather bright; and then suddenly she remembered about the cold and began to cough.
    Hugo wanted to laugh so badly that, like Mrs. Miles, he didn’t know how he “kep’” himself.
    â€œThis horrible cold!” said Cissie. “Oh, Mr. Hugo, you reelly mustn’t stay. You don’t know what my friend’s like—you wouldn’t believe anyone could be so jealous.”
    Hugo had not the slightest desire to meet Hacker. He wondered whether Cissie would tell Hacker that she had met him. He only wanted one thing, and he wanted it very badly—he wanted Cissie’s address. He looked eagerly at her.
    â€œWhen can I see you? Give me your address, and I can write to you.”
    â€œOh, I don’t know.”
    â€œ Please ,” said Hugo.
    He was not playing a part; he had really forgotten everything except how much he wanted that address.
    â€œIf I give it you, you mustn’t come and see me. It wouldn’t do. You must promise you won’t come and see me.”
    â€œI promise I won’t come and see you.”
    â€œAll right then.”
    She scribbled on the menu-card and tore off the written slip.
    â€œDon’t tell Jim Hacker, will you, Mr. Hugo.”
    â€œOf course not.”
    He thought she meant that; he thought she was playing her own game, not Hacker’s for the moment. He thought, with an odd little thrill, that she liked him—“ reelly .” He felt a momentary softness towards Cissie.
    She gave him a little push.
    â€œOh, do go! I don’t want him to see you,” she whispered.
    That sounded genuine enough. Hugo went away wondering what he should say if he were to meet Hacker on the doorstep. He certainly didn’t want to meet Hacker.
    He walked briskly along for a hundred yards or so, and then looked at the address which Cissie had given him. It conveyed nothing to him. He walked on until he came to a tobacconist’s, where he bought a box of matches and asked for information.
    The girl behind the counter was very affable.
    â€œMorrington Road? Why, that’s up off the Bayswater Road. I’ve got an aunt lives up that way, and this Lexley Grove must be one of the small turnings out of it. Oh, not at all—only too pleased to be any help.” This in response to Hugo’s stammered thanks.
    As he left the shop, he heard her remarking that she wouldn’t half mind taking up with a nice young fellow like that.
    He took a bus to the Bayswater Road, and then walked. He had a bit of thinking to do, because at every turn it seemed as if he had to find the one right thing amidst a hundred chances of doing the wrong one. He must see Loveday. But Hacker mustn’t know that he had seen her. He must be warned; but if it were known that he had been warned, the value of the warning would be gone. He must know, and not appear to know. If he went to the door and asked for Loveday, he ran the risk of Cissie finding out that he had called; and if Cissie knew that, she would also know that her pretence of being Loveday hadn’t deceived him. He couldn’t afford to take that risk; there was too much at stake. But he had to see Loveday.
    He decided to find the house and reconnoitre.
    Morrington Road was one