The two friends were in the very act of separating forever, when who should run in but Pompey, the renegade. He darted up to Sir Charles, and said: “Massa Pomannah she in a coach, going to 10, Hercules Buildings. I'm in a hurry, Massa Pomannah.”
“Where?” cried Pomander. “Say that again.”
“10, Hercules Buildings, Lambeth. Me in a hurry, Massa Pomannah.”
“Faithful child, there's a guinea for thee. Fly!”
The slave flew, and, taking a short cut, caught and fastened on to the slow vehicle in the Strand.
“It is a house of rendezvous,” said Sir Charles, half to himself, half to Mr. Vane. He repeated in triumph: “It is a house of rendezvous.” He then, recovering his sang-froid, and treating it all as a matter of course, explained that at 10, Hercules Buildings, was a fashionable shop, with entrances from two streets; that the best Indian scarfs and shawls were sold there, and that ladies kept their carriages waiting an immense time in the principal street, while they were supposed to be in the shop, or the show-room. He then went on to say that he had only this morning heard that the intimacy between Mrs. Woffington and a Colonel Murthwaite, although publicly broken off for prudential reasons, was still clandestinely carried on. She had, doubtless, slipped away to meet the colonel.
Mr. Vane turned pale.
“No! I will not suspect. I will not dog her like a bloodhound,” cried he.
“I will!” said Pomander.
“You! By what right?”