“But now, who was it?”
Yes, who was it? Miss Deveen, looking at us, seemed to wait for an answer, but she did not get one.
“How much did you lend upon the studs?”
“Ten pounds. Of course that is nothing like their value.”
“Should you know her again? How was she dressed?”
“She wore an ordinary Paisley shawl; it was cold weather; and had a thick veil over her face, which she never lifted.”
“Should not that have excited your suspicion?” interrupted Miss Deveen. “I don’t like people who keep their veils down while they talk to you.”
The pawnbroker smiled. “Most ladies keep them down when they come here. As to knowing her again, I am quite certain that I should; and her voice too. Whoever she was, she went about it very systematically, and took me in completely. Her asking for the principal may have thrown me somewhat off my guard.”
We came away, leaving the studs with Mr. James: the time had not arrived for Miss Deveen to redeem them. She seemed very thoughtful as we went along in the cab.
“Johnny,” she said, breaking the silence, “we talk lightly enough about the Finger of Providence; but I don’t know what else it can be that has led to this discovery so far. Out of the hundreds of pawnbroking establishments scattered about the metropolis, it is wonderfully strange that this should have been the one the studs were taken to; and furthermore, that Bond should have been passing it last night at the moment Lady Whitney’s housemaid came forth. Had the studs been pledged elsewhere, we might never have heard of them; neither, as it is, but for the housemaid’s being connected with Mr. James’s assistant.”