"What; Do you intend to call on Miss Hargone and repeat this infamous conversation?"
"I do," replied Torry, and, with a short nod, left the room.
Leighbourne remained seated for some moments with a mixed expression of dismay and anger on his face. Then he seized his hat, and, leaving the bank, jumped into the first hansom, telling the cabman to drive to Waterloo Station. Here he found that a train was leaving for Wraybridge in fifteen minutes, and at once purchased a ticket. Thinking that Torry might be about, the young man kept himself in the background, and watched the entrance to the station. Soon he saw the detective drive up, buy a ticket, and take his seat in the train. Plainly it was no use to go to Wraybridge by the same train, as his presence might rouse the suspicions of Torry, so Mr. Leighbourne tore up his ticket and ran to the telegraph office. Here he sent a wire. It was addressed to "Hargone, Wray House, Wraybridge."
In the meantime Torry, not suspecting Frederick's prompt action, was spinning along to his destination, and wondering over the new features presented by the case. Especially did he wonder that Donna Inez, who manifested such hatred towards Lydia Hargone, should tolerate her in the house. This complaisance almost made Torry doubt the truth of Mrs. Grent's accusation. However, he resolved to force a confession out of Lydia by using cunning, as he had done in the case of Leighbourne.
On arriving at Wraybridge, Torry dispensed with a fly, as he had so much to think about in connection with this very puzzling case that he concluded to walk. The distance from the railway station was considerable, and it took quite half an hour for Torry, plump and short-winded, to walk to Wray House. At the great iron gates he found a telegraph boy, just about to mount his bicycle on the return journey to the office. In a moment Torry's thoughts flew back to Leighbourne's demeanour, and he spoke at once to the telegraph boy.
"Hullo, my young friend!" said he, artfully. "Do you know if there is a lady called Hargone living hereabouts?"
The boy grinned and pointed to the gates. "She lives inside there," he said. "I've just taken a telegram to her."
"That's queer!" replied Torry with a chuckle. "You're a smart lad; here's a shilling for you."
"Thankee, sir," said the boy jubilantly, and mounting his bicycle went off in a cloud of dust.
"Ah!" thought the detective as he walked up to the mansion, "so you have been forewarned, have you, Miss Hargone? That young rascal is smarter than I thought. I should have seen you first. Well, miss, we'll see who is the sharper--you or I."