HE Climax Tea-Rooms were doing an excellent trade—the hour being six o'clock, p.m.—and young Mrs. Bell, the proprietress, bustled up and down between the two rows of oblong marble tables, hurrying the two moon-faced young women who assisted her, temporising with waiting customers, and welcoming new arrivals. The window facing East India Dock Road bore strips of paper plastered upon it, giving the suggestion that it had been in a fight and had got rather the worst of it, closer inspection proved that these bore enticing notices. "A Fourpenny Tea for Twopence! Good Manners and Good Food! We Invite a Trial!" Waiting customers found the journals which are still called comic to inspect; others, who had been served, propped an evening paper against their metal teapot to read an alluring inquest case, the while they blew at the contents of their cup and sipped noisily. A clean-shaven brown-faced man, with an undecided chin, came in between the swing-doors and sat cautiously on a vacant seat near the window. He concealed himself in ambush behind a Star.
"Good evening, Sir!" said young Mrs. Bell. "Lovely weather for the time of the year, isn't it?" Mrs. Bell held a plate of thick toast which she was conveying to another customer. "Cup of tea? Anything else?"
"Yes," said the clean-shaven man in a hoarse whisper.
"What like, Sir?"
"You!" he said, glancing suddenly over the edge of the Star.
"Robert!" she exclaimed. The toast slipped from the plate to the floor. "What—what's made you come back?"
"Fact of the matter is" he began
"'Ush!" she said with great concern. She stooped to pick up the pieces of toast.
"All right," he said obediently. "I'll 'ush, then, Louiser."
The two assistants came up to him at intervals when the stress of customers relaxed, and brought newspapers. Mrs. Bell, trembling, glanced frequently in his direction, and the cups and saucers that she handled rattled and chinked. The elder round-faced assistant stood by his table and, sweeping imaginary crumbs from it, inspected him curiously.
"Seafarin' gentleman?" she asked
"Pardon?"
"I say," repeated the waitress, "are you a seafaring"—she glanced at his hands—"person?"
"To a certain extent," he said with reserve, "I am."
"Must be very nice and open to be sailin' on the ocean wave. What I mean is, it can't be nearly so stuffy, you see, as being cooped up in a place like this with the gas going all day. The sea, now, must be so different."
"It 's got its drawbacks," said the man.
"After all, though." remarked the waitress, "I expect you 're glad to get back to London again." She smiled at him. "Nice to get back, you see, to your wife."
"WHAT?" roared the man.
"Ain't you married? " she asked.
"Look 'ere." he said with asperity. "D'ye know what you are talkin'
about?"
"Keroline!" called her mistress from place; the clatter and rattle and bang of the counter.
"Yes'm."
"Come 'ere this instant, and help wash up."
When the tea-rooms were nearly free of patrons, Mrs. Bell came slowly down the gangway to the customer. He was still there, behind the evening paper, and she spoke to him in a low voice as she looked out at East India Dock Road and at the people hurrying homeward to Bow. The two young assistants were clearing off traces of the struggle that had just taken traffic outside helped to prevent the conversation from being heard.
"Whatever possessed you?" demanded Mrs. Bell. "If there's anything foolish to be done, you must he at it."
"Why," he expostulated, "ain't I your 'usband? After all"
"I told you I'd send for you when it was safe for you to come back. And 'ere you come blunderin' into the place"
"I come in like a gentleman."
"And you'd better go out like one," she said. "Sooner you get away from here the better."
"Better for who?"
"Better for you," she said meaningly; "better for everybody."
"I like the way you talk," said Mr. Bell with satire. "Anybody'd think I hadn't any business 'ere."
"More you 'aven't. This is my business. I bought it with the money as I wrote and told you that come to me over your insurance policy. When I'm ready to pay it back, I'll let you know. At present you 're supposed to be dead."
"Supposed to be," he admitted: "But," he added with spirit, "I ain't."
"You 'll look silly if you come to life now, Robert," said his wife.
"I shall look sillier if I don't. How long d' you think I'm going to keep playin' in this blooming farce, Louiser?" he asked, tapping at the marble table.
"Leave off knockin' that table, and listen to me. Do you know what 'll 'appen if you 're recognised?"