A friendly baker put them on the right track at last, both gentlemen eyeing the road with a mixture of concern and delight.  It was a road of trim semi-detached villas, each with a well-kept front garden and neatly-curtained windows.  At the gate of a house with the word “Blairgowrie” inscribed in huge gilt letters on the fanlight Mr. Davis paused for a moment uneasily, and then, walking up the path, followed by Mr. Wotton, knocked at the door.

He retired a step in disorder before the apparition of a maid in cap and apron.  A sharp “Not to-day!” sounded in his ears and the door closed again.  He faced his friend gasping.

“I should give her the sack first thing,” said Mr. Wotton.

Mr. Davis knocked again, and again.  The maid reappeared, and after surveying them through the glass opened the door a little way and parleyed.

“I want to see your missis,” said Mr. Davis, fiercely.

“What for?” demanded the girl.

“You tell ’er,” said Mr. Davis, inserting his foot just in time, “you tell ’er that there’s two gentlemen here what have brought ’er news of her husband, and look sharp about it.”

“They was cast away with ’im,” said Mr. Wotton.

“On a desert island,” said Mr. Davis.  He pushed his way in, followed by his friend, and a head that had been leaning over the banisters was suddenly withdrawn.  For a moment he stood irresolute in the tiny passage, and then, with a husband’s boldness, he entered the front room and threw himself into an easy-chair.  Mr. Wotton, after a scared glance around the well-furnished room, seated himself on the extreme edge of the most uncomfortable chair he could find and coughed nervously.

[Illustration:  “You tell ’er that there’s two gentlemen here what have brought ’er news of her husband”]

“Better not be too sudden with her,” he whispered.  “You don’t want her to faint, or anything of that sort.  Don’t let ’er know who you are at first; let her find it out for herself.”

Mr. Davis, who was also suffering from the stiff grandeur of his surroundings, nodded.

“P’r’aps you’d better start, in case she reckernizes my voice,” he said, slowly.  “Pitch it in strong about me and ’ow I was always wondering what had ’appened to her.”

“You’re in luck, that’s wot you are,” said his friend, enviously.  “I’ve only seen furniture like thiss in shop windows before.  H’sh!  Here she comes.”

He started, and both men tried to look at their ease as a stiff rustling sounded from the stairs.  Then the door opened and a tall, stoutly-built old lady with white hair swept into the room and stood regarding them.

Mr. Davis, unprepared for the changes wrought by thirty-five years, stared at her aghast.  The black silk dress, the gold watch-chain, and huge cameo brooch did not help to reassure him.

“Good-good afternoon, ma’am,” said Mr. Wotton, in a thin voice.