The next day our firm received a note from Madame Gringoire, stating that she was too ill to keep an appointment she had made to call again at the office, and asking us to let her know at once if we heard anything about her absconding friend, who was, we afterwards discovered, actually married to her.
That note proved very useful to us, as we were anxious to call at her house, and the usually so ultra-cautious woman had given her present address upon it. She had been followed home the night before, and we knew her address already. But having received it from herself in the way of business simplified matters for us.
That afternoon, armed with an introduction from our firm, I called upon Madame Gringoire. I found her suffering from a bilious headache, and she was none too pleased to see me.
“How did you know where to find me?” she asked suspiciously.
“Why, Madame,” I exclaimed, in deprecative surprise; “you gave us your address in the note you sent this morning, and as we have already traced your fugitive from London to Liverpool, we thought it better to consult you at once about him, as we did not know what further course to take without definite instructions from you.”
In an instant madame was all eagerness and attention, and I was so well armed with details, thanks to Sir Arthur’s circumstantial explanations, that I succeeded in convincing her of the plausibility of my story.
Henceforth all was plain sailing.
The next Atlantic liner would leave Liverpool in two days. There was time for madame to overtake the fugitive, or rather, it suited us to persuade her that such was the case.
It was arranged that on the following morning at nine o’clock, madame was to be at our office, ready to start at once with Mr Bell and myself to Liverpool. We were to be paid for our services out of the money recovered from the absconding accomplice.
The lady was all excitement, and rang the bell violently for her maid.