“Indeed. Has she returned?”
“I was off last night, sir, but if you will pardon me a moment I’ll inquire from the man who took my place.”
The stage-doorkeeper disappeared into the dark interior, to return quickly with the information that Miss le Marchant had appeared as usual on Monday night.
“She was away most part of last week, sir,” added the man, “and I believe it wasn’t a holiday, as she was a-sort of flurried about it as if some one was ill.”
“Thank you. Do you know where she lives?”
A momentary hesitation was soon softened by another half-crown.
“It’s against the rules, sir. If you were to find yourself near Jubilee Buildings, Bloomsbury, you would not be far out.”
The information was sound. Miss Marie le Marchant’s name was painted outside a second-floor flat.
Bruce knocked, and the door was opened by an elderly woman whom he had no difficulty in recognizing.
“Is your daughter in, Mrs. Harding?” he said.