“No my dear lady,” he said. “We don’t give a case up so easily. If I have to keep sentinel over your establishment for a month or more I shall not be disheartened. I shall make sure of my man sooner or later—that is unless he has been warned by some one.”
“I have not mentioned the subject to a living soul,” cried Mrs. Sanderson. “It is not likely I should do so after the caution I received from you.”
“I am well assured of that, madam; these matters generally require time and patience. We shall succeed eventually, I’ve no doubt.”
Again, as on the previous night, Mr. Wrench betook himself to his sentry-box, where he again passed many cheerless hours, with no better result.
He left at daybreak, and made his appearance at the hotel a little before closing time.
“He is a most devoted and punctual lover,” said one of the chambermaids to the cook. “I call him a model man.”
“An’ aint he good-looking? He’s a little too good for missus. What’s his business?”
“Something in the City, I believe.” This answer was given at random—something in the City is such an indefinite term.
Mr. Wrench again took up his position.
For eight consecutive nights he went through the same formula.