Having watched her alight, he followed. She was a few paces ahead, picking her way daintily through the crowd. Again she was all discretion and gave no hint that she had noticed him. Outside the gate, cabmen offered themselves for hire. She shook her head denyingly and passed on with her tripping step. Not until the station had been left behind did he remember that he ought to have inquired at what times the trains departed for London. Too late! His immediate business was keeping her in sight.
With the unhesitating tread of one familiar with her surroundings, she chose what seemed to be the most important street. It was narrow and flanked by little, stooping cottages, most of which had been converted into shops which cater to the needs of tourists. It was the end of the season. A few remaining visitors were sauntering aimlessly up and down. Natives, standing in groups, had the appearance of being fishermen. Some of them nodded to her respectfully; without halting, she passed them with a pleasant word. At the bottom of the street she turned into a road, paralleling the sea-front, which led through a waste of turf and sand into the wind-swept uplands of the open country. Just where the country met the town there stood a lath-and-plaster house, isolated, facing seaward, creeper-covered, surrounded by high hedges. It was more pretentious than any he had seen as yet. Giving no sign that she was aware she was followed, she pushed open the rustic gate, passed up the red-tiled path, produced a latch-key, and admitted herself. There, in the bare stretch of road, having lured him all the way from London, without a single backward glance or any sign that would betray her recognition of his presence, she left him.
VII
Just what I might have expected,” he said aloud.
“Did you speak ter me, mister?”
He swung round to find a freckled, bare-legged urchin gazing up at him.
“I didn't. Who are you?”
“A caddy from them links over there.” He pointed a grubby finger along the road to where, half a mile away, the level of the seashore swept up into a bold, green headland.
“Then I guess you're the sort of boy I'm looking for. Who lives in this house?”
“A Madam Something or other. 'Er name sounds Russian.”