“They are going to the Hotel of the Great Frederick, sir,” he said, returning in a few minutes.
“Then call a cab and let us drive there.”
The Hotel of the Great Frederick was not one of the fashionable caravansaries of the place; it was a large, old-fashioned kind of hostelry, chiefly frequented by business people, travelling clerks, dress-makers, etc.; and its customers were numerous enough to make it often difficult to secure accommodation there on short notice. This was a busy season; everybody was flitting to and from the watering-places, where the invalids and gamblers of Europe were ruining or repairing their fortunes and their constitutions, so that Mr. de Winton was obliged to content himself with two small rooms in the third story for the night; to-morrow many travellers would be moving on, and he could have more convenient quarters.
“Stanton, keep a lookout after that person. I am in a mood for suspecting everything and everybody; but I don’t think it’s all fancy in this case. I believe the woman is trying to avoid me; and if so, she must have a motive for it. Ask for the visitors’ book, and bring it to me at once.”
Stanton brought the book, and while his master was running his eye searchingly over the roll of names, hoping and dreading to see Mme. Villar among the number, he set off to look after the woman with the multitude of boxes. She was lodging on the first floor, and had been expected by a lady and gentleman who had taken rooms in the house the day before. This much Stanton learned from a Kellner,[148] whom he met coming out of the said rooms with a tray in his hands.
“I think I know her,” said Stanton. “What is her name?”
But before the Kellner could answer the door opened, and the lady herself stood face to face with Mr. de Winton’s valet. Their eyes met with a sudden flash of recognition; Stanton turned away with an almost inaudible whistle, and was vaulting up to the third story in the twinkling of an eye.
“I’ve seen her, sir, and I can tell you who she is. She is the dressmaker that made Mrs. de Winton’s gowns before you brought her to Glanworth. I remembered her the moment I saw her without a bonnet. I had been twice to her place in Brook Street, with messages and a band-box from Mrs. de Winton.”
Clide had started up with an exclamation of anger and triumph. Here, then, was a clew. Evidently the woman held communication or was in some way connected with Isabel, else why should she have shrunk from meeting him? It was clear as daylight now that she did shrink.
“Tell the landlord I wish to speak to him,” said Clide.