CHAPTER XLIX.
[LITTLE GRACIE DEATH ON THE TRAIL.]
While her mother was being examined in the Coroner's Court, little Gracie Death, glowing with gratitude to Aunt Rob and her family, and solemnly impressed with a sense of the importance of the task she had undertaken, set out on the trail of Dr. Vinsen. She clearly understood that she was serving Dick's friends as well as Dick himself, but it was of Dick she thought most, and it was him she most ardently wished to serve. The attachments formed by children, and the ideals they create, are often stronger and more binding than those of men and women; and no stronger attachment was ever formed by a child, and no more lofty and beautiful an ideal created than those which reigned in Gracie's soul for Dick. Her heart throbbed with pride to think that the man she loved best in the world next to her father had taken her into partnership, and had entrusted her with a mission. There was no indication of this on her quiet, sallow face, or in her black eyes. When passion is demonstrative it is far less enduring than when it lies hidden in the soul.
Gracie intended to fulfil the mission entrusted to her. Dick had said that between them they would make Scotland Yard sit up. Well, they would. Inspired not only by the kiss which he had given her for good luck, but by an absolute reliance upon herself, Gracie pondered upon her course of action. She must go somewhere. Where? She had no idea in which direction Dr. Vinsen lived, and she was not the kind of girl to flounder about without something to guide her. Once she set eyes upon him she would stick to him like a limpet to a rock till her purpose was achieved. She turned her face homeward; he might by chance be there.
He was there. She heard his voice as she was ascending the stairs, and she paused to listen. He was asking the children for their mother, and a chorus of voices informed him that Mrs. Death had gone to the "inkage," which was the nearest approach the little ones could make to "inquest." Gracie thought it was a curious question for him to ask, because she had heard him and her mother speaking of Mrs. Death being a witness in the inquiry. She crept up a step to hear what further he had to say.
"And Gracie," he said, "where's our little Gracie--our lit-tle Gra-cie? Has she gone to the 'inkage' too?" Who could doubt that it was out of mere playfulness he gave their pronunciation of the word?
"Oh, no," answered the most forward of the children, "she can't get in, she can't. And mother didn't want her to."
Other questions of no importance were asked and answered, and then the door of the room was opened, and Gracie saw Dr. Vinsen's legs on the landing. Down she slid, as noiselessly as a cat, out into the mews she sped, and from the recess of a neighbouring front door watched him issue from the house. He stopped and exchanged words with a woman whom Gracie knew, and with whom she was a great favourite; they were close to her hiding place, and Gracie heard what passed. He was very gracious, he smiled blandly, spoke in a smooth voice, and pushed his hat to the back of his head to wipe his brow, thereby affording a glimpse of his halo. To Gracie's surprise he was inquiring for her again, and the woman could not inform him where she was.
"She's a busy little thing, sir," said the woman; "she runs in and out as if all the world and his wife was depending on her. We all like little Gracie Death."
"I trust she is deserving of it," said Dr. Vinsen, with a number of amiable nods. "Sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child."
"If that's a dig into little Gracie," said the woman, with spirit, "it's what she don't deserve. Beggin' your pardon, sir, I won't have little Gracie run down."
"One for him," thought Gracie, with a chuckle. "Give it him hot. You're a good sort, Mrs. Thomson."
"Dear me, dear me!" said Dr. Vinson. "Run our little Gracie down--our lit-tle Gra-cie down! No, no, indeed! The sweetest child, the sweetest child!"
"That she is, sir," said the woman, "and I beg your pardon again for speaking so hasty."
"No offence, my good creature, no offence," said Dr. Vinsen; "where none is meant, none should be taken. Is this your little one?" A sturdy blue-eyed toddlekins was tugging at her apron strings, and he stooped and patted the curly head. "Here's a penny for lollypops. Good day--good day!"
He raised his hat, which caused the woman to stare, and strolled out of Draper's Mews. She gave a start when Gracie glided from behind the door.
"I didn't want him to see me," said Gracie. "Thank you ever so much for sticking up for me."
And she, also, strolled out of Draper's Mews, and followed Dr. Vinsen at a distance so carefully and warily, and apparently with so much unconcern, that no one would have suspected that she was engaged upon the most important task she had ever undertaken. "Now I've got you," was her thought, "and I don't let you go." She kept her sharp eyes fixed upon him. When he stopped she stopped, when he lingered she lingered, when he walked slowly she walked slowly, when he quickened his steps she quickened hers. It appeared as if he were undecided as to the course he should pursue, for now and then he looked about him, and seemed to debate which way to turn. It was evident that he had no definite business to attend to, and no definite goal to reach. Passing a public house of a superior kind, he had gone a dozen yards beyond it when he turned back and entered the private bar. Grace made a rapid survey, to see how many doors there were by which he could leave. In point of fact, although of course it was a corner house, there was only one, but of this she was not aware, so she posted herself on the opposite corner and watched all the doors, and if there had been twice as many she would have had eyes for them all. He remained a long time in the private bar, and when he made his reappearance he was still as undecided as to his course. It may have been out of mere idleness that he entered a chemist's shop and purchased something, which he put into his pocket as he came out. In this aimless way he and Gracie strolled on through Park Street, Islington, at one part of which he crossed the road and looked up at the windows of a house. It was the house in which Reginald had lodged. Gracie noted the number, and would not forget it. So they strolled on, past the Grand Theatre, past Sadler's Wells, through Clerkenwell into Holborn, where he hailed a bus for Charing Cross, and got inside. "It's a good job Dick gave me some money," thought Gracie, as she scrambled to the top without being observed by the gentleman she had been following.