“I'll swear to him anywhere.”
“Then to receive his money he must face the eye of Ashmead. Ha! ha!”
The detective turned the conversation, and never came back to the subject; but shortly he pleaded an engagement, and took his leave.
Ashmead lingered behind, but Ina hurried him off, with an emphatic command not to leave this man out of his sight a moment.
He violated this order, for in five minutes he ran back to tell her, in an agitated whisper, that Smith was, at that moment, writing a letter in the salle 'a manger.
“Oh, pray don't come here!” cried Ina, in despair. “Do not lose sight of him for a moment.”
“Give me that letter to post, then,” said Ashmead, and snatched one up Ina had directed overnight.
He went to the hotel door, and lighted a cigar; out came Smith with a letter in his very hand. Ashmead peered with all his eyes; but Smith held the letter vertically in his hand and the address inward. The letter was sealed.
Ashmead watched him, and saw he was going to the General Post. He knew a shorter cut, ran, and took it, and lay in wait. As Smith approached the box, letter in hand, he bustled up in a furious hurry, and posted his own letter so as to stop Smith's hand at the very aperture before he could insert his letter. He saw, apologized, and drew back. Smith laughed, and said, “All right, old man. That is to your sweetheart, or you wouldn't be in such a hurry.”
“No; it was to my grandmother,” said Ashmead.