“Yes.”
“Then Mr. Brandon left word that he was going down to Lincoln’s Inn, sir; and if he is not back here at one o’clock precisely, I was to say that you needn’t come down again till to-morrow morning at ten.”
I went into the Strand, and amused myself with looking at the shops, getting back to the hotel a few minutes after one. No; Mr. Brandon had not come in. All I could do was to leave Miss Deveen’s note of invitation to dine with her—that day, or any other day that might be more convenient, or every day—and tell the man to be sure to give it him.
Then I went into the National Gallery, after getting some Bath buns at a pastrycook’s. It was between five and six when I returned to Miss Deveen’s. Her carriage had just driven up; she and Cattledon were alighting from it.
“I have a little commission to do yet at one of the shops in the neighbourhood, and I may as well go about it now,” remarked Miss Deveen. “Will you go with me, Johnny?”
Of course I said I would go; and Miss Cattledon was sent indoors to fetch a small paper parcel that lay on the table in the blue room.
“It contains the patterns of some sewing silks that I want to get,” she added to me, as we stood waiting on the door-steps. “If——”
At that moment, out burst the ting-tang. Miss Deveen suddenly broke off what she was saying, and turned to look at the church.
“Do they have service at this hour?” I asked.
“Hush, Johnny! That bell is not going for service. Some one must be dead.”