"The cur," he snarled—"the mean cur! I'll be even with him yet. If I can only catch the 4.48 at the Junction I'll be in London before them. And I'll go down to Brighton, if I have to foot it all the way, and, once I get there, look to yourself, Reginald Henson. A hundred pounds is a good sum to go on with. I'll kill that cur—I'll choke the life out of him. Cabby, if you get to the Junction by a quarter to five I'll give you a quid."
"The quid's as good as mine, sir," cabby said, cheerfully. "Get along, lass."
Meanwhile Chris had returned thoughtfully to the dog-cart, musing over the last discovery. She felt quite satisfied with her afternoon's work. Then a new idea struck her. She crossed over to the post-office and dispatched a long telegram thus:—
"To David Steel, 15, Downend Terrace, Brighton.
"Go to Walen's and ascertain full description of the tentative customer who suggested the firm should procure gun-metal cigar-case for him to look at. Ask if he was a tall man with a thin beard and a face slightly pock-marked. Then telephone result to me here. Quite safe, as Henson is away. Great discoveries to tell you.—CHRISTABEL LEE."
Chris paid for her telegram and then drove thoughtfully homeward.
CHAPTER XLVIII
WHERE IS RAWLINS?
Lord Littimer was greatly interested in all that Chris had to say. The whole story was confided to him after dinner. Over his coffee on the terrace he offered many shrewd suggestions.
"There is one thing wherein you have made a mistake," he said. "And that is in your idea that Henson changed those cigar-cases after Miss Gates laid your votive offering on Steel's doorstep."