'In Hyde Park—nigh Stanhope Gate. She speaks English uncommonly well to be a furriner.'
'That's sharp work! You are a clever fellow, Grabbley. Was my pocket-book found upon her?'
'We did not search her, but she is locked up at Marlborough Street, where I would like you to see and identify her before making out the matter in the charge sheet.'
'All right—get a cab. Come with me, Hammersley, and I'll show you my little Belgienne.'
Hammersley went unwillingly, as it was pretty close on the time he had now begun to visit Finella at her grandmother's residence, and he cast longing eyes at the windows of the latter as he and his two companions were driven out of the square.
'A horrid atmosphere, and a horrid place in all its details,' he muttered, when the scene of Dulcie's detention was reached, and throwing away the fag end of a cheap cigar Mr. Grabbley, with an expression of no small satisfaction, puckering his visage, unlocked and threw open the door—a sound which roused Dulcie from her stupefied state—and starting up she stood before them, trembling in every fibre, with a hunted expression in her dark blue eyes and a gathering hope in her breast, to find herself confronted by two such men of unexceptionable appearance and bearing as Hammersley and Villiers, who raised his hat, and turning with astonishment and some dismay to the police official said sharply:
'This is some great—some truly infernal mistake!'
'A mistake—how, sir?' asked Grabbley.
'This young lady is not the person whose photo I gave you.'
'They seems as like as two peas.'