"Well!" said Fanks, sharply. "Where is this woman and her friend?"
"I don't know about her friend, sir; but she's gone off."
Fanks sprang to his feet. "Gone off!" he repeated. "What do you mean?"
"What I say, sir," said the policeman, doggedly. "I went down and could not see her. I asked the constable at the door, and he said as she had drove off in a hansom."
A look of mingled surprise and distrust settled on the face of Fanks. In a moment he guessed without much difficulty that the woman had tricked him, and he felt small in his own estimation at having been so neatly baffled. It was the most humiliating moment of his life.
"Attend to this man with Mr. Garth," he said roughly, "I shall see for myself;" and, blaming himself for his simplicity, he caught up his hat and took himself out of the chambers.
At the street door he looked up and down, but ho could see no trace of the missing woman. A constable loitered on the pavement some distance away, and although he was a stranger to Fanks the detective accosted him without the least hesitation. This was less the time for considering than for acting. Every moment was precious; every moment lessened the chance of tracking and discovering the woman. Fanks, as a rule, was one of the most self-contained of men, rarely losing his self-control or cool temper, but at this moment he could have sworn freely at his want of caution which had let a possible witness in the case slip through his fingers. But he hoped that there was yet time to retrieve his fault. "Officer," he said, walking quickly up to the constable, "did you see a lady come out of yonder door?"
"Yes, sir. The policeman upstairs just asked me about her. She went away in a hansom five minutes ago. I see it drive off like mad."
"Were you near at hand?"
"Just at her elber, so to speak, sir."