The other ladies, deserting the windows when they heard that magical word 'lace,' crowded round, and Kelly was, where many a pretty fellow would have loved to be, in the centre of a perfumed world of fans and hoops, of sparkling eyes and patched faces. Kelly, however, had other business on hand, and, slipping through the group while Lady Oxford was praising her lace, he drew Wogan aside to a window now deserted. There he told him of his conversation with Lady Oxford.
'So you see, Nick, I have to-night free. I mean to run to my lodging, burn the papers, and then--why one has a night free. I may yet outwit my lady. Besides, the papers once burned, there's little proof to condemn me. Speak to Rose, Nick! She will believe you; you never lied to her. Tell her there's no need to despair. Then make speed to the coast. I must go to Ryder Street.'
As he turned, Nick caught him by the arm.
'You must not go yet.'
'Why?'
For answer Wogan turned to the window.
'Stand here in the shadow of the curtain. Across the street; there, in the corner.'
Kelly put his hands to his face to shut out the light of the room, and peered into the darkness.
'There is a man. Who is it?'
'I told you! Scrope. I saw him an hour ago. A link-boy's torch showed me his face. You have to-night free. An hour or so more will make little difference to you, and may tire out our friend there--or he may mean another bout with the sharps.'