"Yes; look here."
Mr. Rodney rose, and softly approaching, put the paper into her hands.
"Mr. Van Adam, a brother, we believe, of Mr. Huskinson Van Adam, who is now staying with Mrs. Verulam at Ribton Marches, Sunninghill, has just arrived from America on board the Arethusa. His destination is believed to be also Ascot. The race week promises to be the most successful on record."
Chloe nearly let the paper fall.
"Dear me!" she said slowly, and looking steadily at Mr. Rodney. "Dear me! I had no idea that—that"—she searched her mind hurriedly for an appropriate American name—"that Vancouver intended to come over this summer."
"I hope we shall see something of him," said Mr. Rodney, with a slightly forced politeness.
"Oh, thanks! he's—Vancouver's rather shy—retiring. Well, good night."
She made off, taking boyish strides towards the friendly shelter of her bedroom.
That night she was almost as much awake as the average owl is in the dark and silent hours. Indeed, she was seldom in bed, being for the most part engaged in searching the advertisement columns of the Daily Telegraph for the names of private enquiry agents who, for a consideration, were ready to "watch" any living person from the nineteenth century until the Judgment Day. Having compiled a full list of these worthy persons, towards dawn Chloe wrote to the larger number of them, expressing an ardent desire to have the newly-arrived Vancouver shadowed. Just as she was directing the last of these missives, her attention was attracted by a sound as of a loud and heavy voice at some distance, uttering an enormous quantity of slow remarks with pauses between them. She listened for some minutes. The sound continued. Chloe was not naturally a nervous woman, but she was a rather curious one, and she began to wonder what on earth could be happening.