“At two o’clock,” Lady Mary said, anxiously.
Peter Ruff glanced at his watch. It was already half an hour past midnight.
“Very well,” he said, “I will do what I can. If my theory is wrong, it will be nothing. If I am right—well, there is a chance, anyhow. In the meantime—”
“In the meantime?” she repeated, breathlessly.
“Take your brother back to the ballroom,” Peter Ruff directed. “Make him dance—dance yourself. Don’t give yourselves away by looking anxious. When the time is short—say at a quarter to two—he can come down here and wait for me.”
“If you don’t come!” she exclaimed.
“Then we shall have lost,” Peter Ruff said, calmly. “If you don’t see me again to-night, you had better read the newspapers carefully for the next few days.”
“You are going to do something dangerous!” she protested.
“There is danger in interfering at all in such a matter as this,” he answered, “but you must remember that it is not only my profession—it is my hobby. Remember, too,” he added, with a smile, “that I do not often lose!”
For twenty minutes Peter Ruff sat in the remote corner of Lady Mary’s electric brougham, drawn up at the other side of the Square, and waited. At last he pressed a button. They glided off. Before them was a large, closed motor car. They started in discreet chase.