Sylvia & Michael Part 17

"Then I must come again to-morrow morning?" Sylvia asked.

"To-morrow morning," the clerk repeated, bending over with intrepid fervor to the responsible task upon which he was engaged. Sylvia wondered what it was: the whole traffic of Europe might hang upon these few minutes.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you again," she said. "But in addition to requiring a visa, my sister wants a new pa.s.sport."

She decided not to say anything about a lost pa.s.sport, the revelation of which had so much shocked the man at the Consulate.

"Miss Johnstone," the clerk called in a weary voice to somebody in an inner office, "kindly bring Form AQ--application for renewal of expired pa.s.sport."

A vague-looking young woman, who seemed to have been collecting native jewelry since her arrival in Bucharest, tinkled into the office.

"There aren't any AQ forms left, Mr. Mathers," she said, plaiting, as she spoke, a necklace of coins into another of what looked like broken pieces of mosaic.

"It really is too bad that the forms are not given out more regularly,"

Mr. Mathers cried, in exasperation. "How am I to finish transferring these Greeks beginning with _C_ to _K_? You know how anxious Mr. Iredale is to get the index in order, and the _F_'s haven't been checked with the _Ph_'s yet."

"Well, it's Miss Henson's day off," said Miss Johnstone, "so it's not my fault, is it? I'm sure I hate the forms! They're always a bother. Won't an AP one do for this lady? We've a lot of them left, and there's only a difference in one question."

"Excuse me," Sylvia asked. "Did you mention a Mr. Iredale?"

"Mr. Iredale is the O.C.P.T.N.C. for Bucharest," said Mr. Mathers.

"Not Mr. Philip Iredale, by chance?" she went on.

That transposition of Greek initials had sounded uncommonly like Philip.

"That's right," the clerk replied.

"Oh well, I know him. I should like to see him personally."

"See Mr. Iredale? But he's the O.C.P.T.N.C."

"Does that confer invisibility?" she asked. "I tell you I'm a friend of his. If you send up my card I'm sure he'll see me."

"But he never sees anybody," Mr. Mathers objected. "I'm afraid you didn't understand that he's the Officer Controlling Pa.s.senger Traffic from Neutral Countries in Bucharest. If he was to see everybody that came to this office, he wouldn't be able to control _himself_, let alone pa.s.senger traffic. No, really, joking apart, madam, Mr. Iredale is very busy and by no means well."

"He's worn out," put in Miss Johnstone, who, having by now plaited four necklaces into a single coil, was swinging the result round and round like a skipping-rope. "His nerves are worn out. But if you like, I'll take up your card."

"You might ask him at the same time if he wants all the Greek names entered under _Y_ transferred to _G_, will you?" said Mr. Mathers. "Oh, and Miss Johnstone," he called after her, "there seems to be some confusion between _Tch_ and _Ts_. Ask him if he's got any preference.

Awful names the people in this part of Europe get hold of," he added to Sylvia. "Even Mr. Iredale can't transpose the Russians, and of course the War Office likes accuracy. There was rather a strafe the other day because a man traveling from here to Spain got arrested three times on the way, owing to his name being rather like a suspect spelled differently by us, the French, and the Italians. As a matter of fact, the original suspect's dead, but his name was spelled a fourth way in the notification that was sent around, and so it's not realized yet."

"It must be rather like that whispering game," Sylvia said. "You know, where somebody at one end of the room starts a sentence and it comes out quite differently at the other."

Sylvia could not make out why she did not feel more nervous when she was following Miss Johnstone up-stairs to meet Philip for the first time since she had run away from him, thirteen years ago. The fact was that her anxiety to escape from Rumania with Queenie outweighed everything else, and she was so glad to find somebody she knew in a position of authority who would be able to help her in the matter of Queenie's pa.s.sport that any awkwardness was quenched in relief. The discovery of Philip was such an encouraging answer by destiny to the reappearance of Zozo.

He came forward to greet her from behind a large roll-top desk, and she saw that he looked tired and ill, yet, except for his baldness, not really much older.

"Would you have recognized me, Philip?" she asked.

He was far more nervous than she was, and he stumbled a good deal over Mr. Mathers's questions.

"I'll tell him you're too busy now to answer," said Miss Johnstone at last in a cheerful voice.

This was a happy solution of the problem of _Ts_ and _Tch_, and Philip gratefully accepted it.

"And I dare say I might find time to help him with the transpositions, if you're very anxious to get them done."

"Oh, will you? Yes, thank you, that would be excellent."

Miss Johnstone turned to leave the room; one of her necklaces broke under the strain of continuous plaiting, and a number of tiny green sh.e.l.ls peppered the floor.

"There, that's the third time it's done that to-day," she exclaimed.

"I'm so sorry."

Sylvia, Philip, and she gathered up as many as were not trodden upon in the search, and at last Miss Johnstone managed to get out of the room.

"No wonder you're worn out," said Sylvia, with a smile. It seemed quite natural to comment rather intimately like this upon Philip's health.

"But you haven't answered my question. Would you have recognized me?"

"Oh yes, I should have recognized you. I only saw you last year at the Pierian Hall."

"Did you go to see me there?" she exclaimed, touched by his having wanted to see her act without letting her know anything about his visit.

"Yes, I enjoyed the performance; it was excellent. I wonder why you're in Bucharest. Wouldn't you be better in England in war-time?"

"I think it's much more surprising to find you here," she said.

"Oh, I was sent out here to look after pa.s.sports."

"But, Philip, why were you chosen as an expert on human nature?"

She could not resist the little stab; and he smiled sadly.

"I knew the country," he explained. "I'd done some excavating here, so the War Office made me an honorary captain and sent me out."

"Are you a captain? What fun! Do you remember when I wanted you to enlist for the South African War and you were so annoyed? But I suppose you're shocked by my reviving old memories like this. Are you shocked, Philip?"

"No, no, I'm not shocked. I'm still rather overcome by the suddenness of your visit. What are you doing here?"

"I'm singing at the Trianon. All the winter I was at the Pet.i.t Maxim."

"Those places," he said, with a look of distaste.

"It would take too long to explain to you why," she went on. "But you can't disapprove of my being there more than I do myself; and it's for that very reason that I want a visa for England."

"Of course you shall have one immediately. You're much better at home in these detestable times."

"But I also want something else. I want a pa.s.sport for a friend--an English girl."