Ashmead said he should like to; but it would not do, unless he was very wary.
“Oh, I'm fly,” said the other. “She won't get anything out of me. I've been behind the scenes often enough.”
Then Ashmead said he would go and ask her if he might present a London manager to her.
He soon brought back the answer. “She is too tired to-night: but I pressed her, and she says she will be charmed if you will breakfast with her to-morrow at eleven.” He did not say that he was to be with her at half-past ten for special instructions. They were very simple. “My friend,” said she, “I mean to tell this man something which he will think it his duty to telegraph or write to him immediately. It was for this I would not have the man to supper, being after post-time. This morning he shall either write or telegraph, and then, if you are as clever in this as you are in some things, you will watch him, and find out the address he sends to.”
Ashmead listened very attentively, and fell into a brown study.
“Madam,” said he at last, “this is a first-rate combination. You make him communicate with England, and I will do the rest. If he telegraphs, I'll be at his heels. If he goes to the post, I know a way. If he posts in the house, he makes it too easy.”
At eleven Ashmead introduced his friend “Sharpus, manager of Drury Lane Theater,” and watched the fencing match with some anxiety, Ina being little versed in guile. But she had tact and self-possession; and she was not an angel, after all, but a woman whose wits were sharpened by love and suffering.
Sharpus, alias Smith, played his assumed character to perfection. He gave the Klosking many incidents of business and professional anecdotes, and was excellent company. The Klosking was gracious, and more bonne enfant than Ashmead had ever seen her. It was a fine match between her and the detective. At last he made his approaches.
“And I hear we are to congratulate you on success at rouge et noir as well as opera. Is it true that you broke the bank?”
“Perfectly,” was the frank reply.