IV
Clementine Rendall spent the morning in a peculiar fashion. He first called on his banker, and, armed with many banknotes, took a cab to the Vandyke Theatre. At the stage door he inquired for Miss Esme Waybury.
“Just gone,” said the doorkeeper, “half an hour ago.”
“Unfortunate. Now I wonder when I could see her. Comes out about eleven at night, I s’pose?”
“Get out ’bout nine. Understudyin’, she is.”
“I wonder if you could ask her to wait a little tonight.”
The doorkeeper negatived the idea: “Wouldn’t be any good. She’s a-goin’ to Brighton by the 9.15, and won’t be back till Monday. Ast me to have a cab ready.”
“I see. ’Safternoon I’m engaged. But you could give me her address, no doubt.”
“Couldn’t. ’Tisn’t allowed.”
“Nonsense. I’m her uncle. Right to know.”