"That's the result of our call, Mapperley!" said Hetherwick. "She's gone somewhere—to tell somebody!"
"Likely!" assented Mapperley. "But wherever she's gone, Issy Goldmark'll spot her. He's the eyes of a lynx."
"He let Baseverie slip him, the other night, though," remarked Hetherwick.
"Well, there was some excuse for that," said Mapperley, "to begin with, he was only instructed to find out where Baseverie went, and to end with he had found out! He'll not let this woman slip him. She's good to follow—plenty of her."
"I wish we knew what she'd left in that house," said Hetherwick. "We'll have to find out, somehow!"
"That's a police job," replied Mapperley. "Can't walk into people's houses without a warrant. And you say Matherfield's on the other track? However, I should say that this woman's gone off now to find somebody who's principally concerned—she looked afraid, in my opinion, when she saw me."
"She's in it, somehow," muttered Hetherwick.
"That house looks mysterious enough for anything. We'll keep a close watch on it, anyway, until Goldmark comes back, however long that may be."
But the Jew was back within twenty minutes. So was the woman. She came first, hurrying up the street quicker than when she had left it. As far as the watchers could make out from their vantage point, twenty yards away from her door, she looked flustered, distressed, upset. After her, on the opposite pavement, came Mr. Issy Goldmark, his hands in his pockets.
The woman re-entered the house; they heard the door bang. A moment later the Jew turned into the entry in which Hetherwick and Mapperley stood, half hidden from the street. He smiled, inscrutably.