"Who is she? A duchess?"
"No; a stock-broker's wife, Mrs. Braham. Why, she is a known beauty."
That was enough for Monckton. He hung back a little, and followed the carriage. He calculated that if it left the Park at Hyde Park corner, or the Marble Arch, he could take a hansom and follow it.
When the victoria got clear of the crowd at the corner, Mrs. Braham leaned forward a moment and whispered a word to her coachman. Instantly the carriage dashed at the Chesterfield Gate and into Mayfair at such a swift trot that there was no time to get a cab and keep it in sight.
Monckton lighted a cigarette. "Clever girl!" said he, satirically. "She knew me, and never winked."
The next day he went to the lawyer and said, "I have a little favor to ask you, sir."
The lawyer was on his guard directly, but said nothing.
"An interview—in this office—with Mrs. Braham."
The lawyer winced, but went on his guard again directly.
"Client of ours?"