From the miniature jungle bordering the path, a soft whistle sounded.
“Is that Carter?” called Smith, sharply.
A shadowy figure uprose, and vaguely I made it out for that of a man in the unobtrusive blue serge which is the undress uniform of the Force.
“Well?” rapped my companion.
“Mr. Slattin returned ten minutes ago, sir,” reported the constable. “He came in a cab which he dismissed—”
“He has not left again?”
“A few minutes after his return,” the man continued, “another cab came up, and a lady alighted.”
“A lady!”
“The same, sir, that has called upon him before.”
“Smith!” I whispered, plucking at his arm—“is it—”