He draws from beneath his flowing robe a tiny watch such as ladies carry, and consults its jewelled face.
“My time is up!” he ejaculates. “Twenty minutes delay, now, will ruin my Raid. Ah! here’s Follingsbee.” And he moves forward at the sound of an approaching step.
But it is not Follingsbee who appears upon the threshold. It is, instead, Stanhope’s too-obsequious, too-attentive admirer, the Celestial, who has voted the prospect of a flirtation with a mysterious mask, a thing of spice.
CHAPTER XII.
A “’MELLICAN LADY’S” LITTLE TRICK.
In such an emergency, when every moment has its value, to think is to act with Richard Stanhope. And time just now is very precious to him.
This importunate fellow is determined to solve the mystery of his identity, to see him unmask. Ten minutes spent in an attempt to evade him will be moments of fate for the ambitious detective.
And, for the sake of his patroness, he cannot leave the house at the risk of being followed. This difficulty must be overcome and at once.
These thoughts flash through his mind as if by electricity; and then, as the Celestial approaches, he turns languidly toward the open window and rests his head against the casement, as if in utter weariness.