The barrister caught his eye and walked on. A minute later Mr. Winter overtook him.
“Not a move here all day,” he said in disgust, “except Mrs. Jiro’s appearance with the perambulator. She led me all round Kensington Gardens, and her only business was to air the baby and cram it with sponge-cakes.”
“Where is her husband?”
“In the house. He hasn’t stirred out since yesterday’s visit to the Museum.”
“Who is looking after the place in your absence?”
“One of my men has taken a room over the paper shop opposite. He has special charge of the Jap. My second assistant is scraping and varnishing the door of No. 16 flat. He sees every one who enters and leaves the place during the day. If Mrs. Jiro comes out he has to follow her until he sees that I am on the job.”
“Good! I want to talk matters over with you. I have a cab waiting in a side street.”
“Why, sir, has anything special happened?”
A newsboy came running along shouting the late edition of the Evening News. The barrister bought a paper and rapidly glanced through its contents.
“Here you are,” he said. “Someone in that office has a good memory.”