The happy accident of this letter advanced things for me greatly—­ though it also made me feel how dependent I was upon happy accidents, where Hilda would have guessed right at once by mere knowledge of character.  Still, the letter explained many things which had hitherto puzzled me.  I had felt not a little surprise that Hilda, wishing to withdraw from me and leave no traces, should have sent off her farewell letter from Basingstoke—­so as to let me see at once in what direction she was travelling.  Nay, I even wondered at times whether she had really posted it herself at Basingstoke, or given it to somebody who chanced to be going there to post for her as a blind.  But I did not think she would deliberately deceive me; and, in my opinion, to get a letter posted at Basingstoke would be deliberate deception, while to get it posted in London was mere vague precaution.  I understood now that she had written it in the train, and then picked out a likely person as she passed to take it to Waterloo for her.

Of course, I went straight down to Basingstoke, and called at once at Chubb’s Cottages.  It was a squalid little row on the outskirts of the town.  I found Charlotte Churtwood herself exactly such a girl as Hilda, with her quick judgment of character, might have hit upon for such a purpose.  She was a conspicuously honest and transparent country servant, of the lumpy type, on her way to London to take a place as housemaid.  Her injuries were severe, but not dangerous.  “The lady saw me on the platform,” she said, “and beckoned to me to come to her.  She ast me where I was going, and I says, ‘To London, miss.’  Says she, smiling kind-like, ’Could you post a letter for me, certain sure?’ Says I, ’You can depend upon me.’  An’ then she give me the arf-sovering, an’ says, says she, ’Mind, it’s very par-tickler; if the gentleman don’t get it, ’e’ll fret ’is ‘eart out.’  An’ through ‘aving a young man o’ my own, as is a groom at Andover, o’ course I understood ‘er, sir.  An’ then, feeling all full of it, as yu may say, what with the arf-sovering, and what with one thing and what with another, an’ all of a fluster with not being used to travelling, I run up, when the train for London come in, an’ tried to scramble into it, afore it ’ad quite stopped moving.  An’ a guard, ‘e rushes up, an’ ‘Stand back!’ says ’e; ‘wait till the train stops,’ says ‘e, an’ waves his red flag at me.  But afore I could stand back, with one foot on the step, the train sort of jumped away from me, and knocked me down like this; and they say it’ll be a week now afore I’m well enough to go on to London.  But I posted the letter all the same, at Basingstoke station, as they was carrying me off; an’ I took down the address, so as to return the arf-sovering.”  Hilda was right, as always.  She had chosen instinctively the trustworthy person,—­chosen her at first sight, and hit the bull’s-eye.

“Do you know what train the lady was in?” I asked, as she paused.  “Where was it going, did you notice?”