“‘Hold your tongue!’ Rockamore ordered. ‘Can’t you see––’
“Then the door closed, and I couldn’t hear any more. The voices calmed down to a rumble, and in about twenty minutes I could hear them approaching the door. I decided I couldn’t wait any longer, and got outside just in time to give Paddington a chance to pass me. He seemed in good humor, and I guess he got what he was after––money, probably, for he went to his bank and put through a check. Then he returned to his rooms, and didn’t show up again until late afternoon, when he went away up Belleair Avenue, to the rectory of the Church of St. James. He didn’t go in––just talked with the sexton in the vestibule, and when he came down the steps he looked dazed, as if he’d received a hard jolt of some sort. He couldn’t have been trying to blackmail the minister, too, could he?”
“Hardly, Ross. Go on,” Blaine responded. “What did he do next?”
“Nothing. Just went back to his rooms and stayed there. It seemed as if he was afraid to leave––not so much afraid to be found, but as if he might miss something, if he left. He even had his dinner sent in from a restaurant near there. Knowing him, I might have known what it was he was waiting for––he’s always chasing after some girl or other.”
“There was a woman in it, then?” asked the detective, quietly.
“You can bet there was––very much in it, sir!” the operative chuckled. “She came along while I watched––a tall, slim girl, plainly dressed in dark clothes, but with an air to her that would make you look at her twice, anywhere. She hesitated and looked uncertainly about her, as if she were unfamiliar with the 226 place and a little scary of her errand, but at last she made up her mind, and plunged in the vestibule, as if she was afraid she would lose her courage if she stopped to think.
“For a few minutes her shadow showed on the window-shades, beside Paddington’s. They stood close together, and from their gestures, he seemed to be arguing or pleading, while she was drawing back and refusing, or at least, holding out against him. At last they fell into a regular third-act clinch––it was as good as a movie! After a moment she drew herself out of his arms and they moved away from the window. In a minute or two they came out of the house together, and I tailed them. They walked slowly, with their heads very close, and I didn’t dare get near enough to try to hear what they were discussing so earnestly. But where do you suppose he took her? To the Anita Lawton Club for Working Girls! He left her at the entrance and went back to his own rooms, and he seemed to be in a queer mood all the way––happy and up in the air one minute, and down in the dumps the next.
“He didn’t stir out again last night, but early this morning he went down to the office of the Holland-American line, and purchased two tickets, first-class to Rotterdam, on the Brunnhilde, sailing next Saturday, so I think we have the straight dope on him now. He means to skip with the girl.”
“Saturday––two days off!” mused Blaine. “I think it’s safe to give him his head until then, but keep a close watch on him, Ross. The purchase of those tickets may have been just a subterfuge on his part to throw any possible shadow off the trail. Did you ascertain what name he took them under?”