"Please don't think I am avoiding your company," Anstruther said pleasantly, "and don't be annoyed if you hear the sound of my violin presently. As a matter of fact, my thoughts are always clearest when inspired by the sounds of music."
Jack muttered something suitable to the occasion, and exchanged glances with Claire directly Anstruther left the room.
Just as that genius had prophesied, the sweet strains of the violin stole from the study presently. Claire listened with an interest which was vivid and thrilling beyond words.
"Now, listen to that," she cried. "Did you ever hear anything like it? Did you ever hear Mr. Anstruther play in that style and manner before? Note the little slurs, the half hesitation, which is at once so dramatic and artistic. If you close your eyes, you might swear that you are listening to Padini himself."
"It really is amazing," Jack murmured. "Padini to the life; the Italian to a semitone. And yet we know perfectly well that it cannot be Padini, because at this very moment he is waiting to take his turn at the Queen's Hall concert. Claire, you must try to get to the bottom of this. I cannot possibly believe that this infernal juggling is conceived merely to satisfy the vanity of Anstruther, for, in the first place, we form so small an audience. There is something behind this much more serious than the soothing of a clever man's vanity. And now I must be off."
Claire pleaded with her lover to stay a little longer, but, mindful of Rigby's strict injunctions, he was fain to refuse. In the light of recent knowledge he had no occasion to feel sure that Anstruther was still on the premises, despite the fact of those exquisite strains of music emanating from the library. He had not forgotten the strange experience in that direction two nights before. Still, the sweet, melancholy melody could be distinctly heard by Jack as he crossed the road.
Rigby was impatiently awaiting his friend, and he had all the disguises sent up to his bedroom. He listened eagerly to all Jack had to say whilst artistically making himself up as a news-vender. A glance at himself in the glass reassured Jack; he felt pretty sure in his mind that no one could possibly recognize him attired as he was now.
"What's the programme?" he asked, completing the illusion with a short clap pipe. "Are we going straight away to Montrose Place?"
Rigby replied that that was the intention. It was getting near to eleven o'clock before the friends reached Montrose Place; so far as they could see they had the terrace entirely to themselves. A policeman strode majestically down the road, flashing his lantern here and there, and finally disappeared from sight.
"Now's our time," Rigby said eagerly; "no chance of being interrupted for the next ten minutes. You stand at the top of the steps whilst I sneak down and open the window. We 'shall have to fumble our way up-stairs, because it is by no means safe to use matches. Still, I have the geography of the house quite clear in my mind. Come along."