“Yes,” said Gerard shortly.
A broad stupid smile spread over the young man’s plump face.
“Fancy thinking I should meet a smart lady like that in a police-station!” he said buoyantly. “It sounds like the game of consequences. ‘Where they met’—‘In a police-station.’ ‘What they were doing’—‘Picking pockets!’”
And he burst into such a long and silly laugh that Gerard, irritated almost beyond endurance, did not dare to go on with his questions, for fear of drawing down upon them the attention of the others, who turned round to see what was the matter.
But Gerard was more convinced than ever that this innocent-looking young man was a person to be watched; and, resolved to see what became of him that night, he found an opportunity of asking Sir William where he was going to set his companion down.
The baronet named a well-known sporting club.
Arthur Aldington was calling Gerard to get into his car, and in a few minutes they were on the road again.
Gerard had made his plans, and, as his friend had offered to take him back to his chambers in town, he could reckon upon being in time for what he wanted to do, if only the big car were delayed sufficiently to give the little one a good start.
Things turned out as he wished. He and Arthur got to town before Sir William; and Gerard went straight to the neighborhood of the club where Cecil Jones was to be set down, and was able to conceal himself in the entrance of a block of flats on the opposite side of the road.
Here he waited for nearly half an hour, afraid he had missed his man.