There was no hansom to be got in this elegant quarter of the town, so, having parted from my dear lady, I made for the nearest Underground station, and took a train for South Kensington.
Thus it was nearly seven o’clock before I reached the Scotia. In answer to my inquiries for Miss Marvell, I was told that she was ill in bed and could see no one. I replied that I had only brought a note for her, and would wait for a reply.
Acting on my dear lady’s instructions, I was as slow in my movements as ever I could be, and was some time in finding the note and handing it to a waiter, who then took it upstairs.
Presently he returned with the message: “Miss Marvell says there is no answer.”
Whereupon I asked for pen and paper at the office, and wrote the following brief note on my own responsibility, using my wits as my dear lady had bidden me to do.
“Please, madam,” I wrote, “will you send just a line to Miss Rosie Campbell? She seems very upset and frightened at some news she has had.”
Once more the waiter ran upstairs, and returned with a sealed envelope, which I slipped into my reticule.
Time was slipping by very slowly. I did not know how long I should have to wait about outside in the cold, when, to my horror, I heard a hard voice, with a marked Scotch accent, saying:
“I am going out, waiter, and shan’t be back to dinner. Tell them to lay a little cold supper upstairs in my room.”
The next moment Miss Marvell, with coat, hat, and veil, was descending the stairs.