On the third night he bent his steps in the direction of Laura Stanbridge’s residence, the detective following at a respectful distance.
The gentle rap which Gatliffe gave at the door caused it to be opened by the servant girl, when without a word the visitor entered.
Mr. Slingsby remained curling his heels on the pavement on the opposite side of the street.
Presently the owner of the house came out with her admirer.
Mr. Slingsby judged rightly enough that the two were going to some place of entertainment. He did not deem it expedient to follow them, but went his way, and returned to his post a little before eleven o’clock.
In about half an hour after that time the lady and gentleman returned, the former letting herself and her companion in with a latch-key.
A gleam of light shot from the parlour window as on the first occasion, and Mr. Slingsby watched the house until he concluded all the inmates had retired to bed, then he returned to his own lodgings, very well satisfied with his night’s work.
“It is pretty clear we have run him to earth,” said Mr. Wrench, when his emissary made him acquainted with all the facts which had come to his knowledge. “You have done this job to-rights, Slingsby. Everything is satisfactory, as far as it goes, but, of course, much remains to be done. For the present, however, let the matter rest till I have seen my employer; then I will let you know how to act. Say nothing to anybody; keep quite quiet, and we shall win in a hand canter.”
“All right, sir; I am to do nothing till I hear from you.”
“Nothing whatever.”