Now where on earth had he heard that rather unusual name before?
Was it a boy at school? No. Was it one of his sister's numerous young men, perhaps, or a friend
of his father's? No, no, it wasn't any of those. He glanced down again at the book.
Christopher Mulholland 231 Cathedral Road, Cardiff
Gregory W. Temple 27 Sycamore Drive, Bristol
As a matter of fact, now he came to think of it, he wasn't as all sure that the second name
didn't have almost as much of a familiar ring about it as the first.
"Gregory Temple?" he said aloud, searching his memory. "Christopher Mulholland?..."
"Such charming boys," a voice behind him answered, and he turned and saw his landlady into the
room with a large silver tea-tray in her hands. She was holding it well out in front of her,
and rather high up, as though the tray were a pair of reins on a frisky horse.
"They sound somehow familiar," he said.
"They do? How interesting."
"I'm almost positive I've heard those names before somewhere. Isn't that odd? Maybe it was in
the newspapers. They weren't famous any way, were they? I mean famous cricketers of footballers
of something like that?"
"Famous," she said, setting the tea-tray down on the low table in front of the sofa. "Oh no, I
don't think they were famous. But they were incredibly handsome, both of them, I can promise
you that. They were tall and young and handsome, my dear, just exactly like you."
Once more, Billy glanced down at the book. "Look here," he said, noticing the dates. "This last
entry is over two years old."
"It is?"
"Yes, indeed. And Christopher Mulholland's is nearly a year before that--more than three years
ago."
"Dear me," she said, shaking her head and heaving a dainty little sign. "I would never have
thought it. How time does fly away from us all, doesn't it, Mr. Wilkins?"
"It's Weaver," Billy said. "W-e-a-v-e-r."
"Oh, of course it is!" she cried, sitting down on the sofa. "How silly of me. I do apologize.
In one ear and out the other, that's me, Mr. Weaver."