“I am fed up with the whole thing, Varney,” he said, in a despondent voice. “I have followed two clues already that seemed promising, and they turn into will-o’-the-wisps. And now we’ve got to begin all over again with this Forest View lot.”
Varney agreed. As a relief from the strain and tension of this most baffling case, he suggested that Smeaton should dine with him at the Savage Club that night, to talk things over.
After an excellent dinner, they recovered somewhat from the depression caused by the recent untoward events. They went into the Alhambra for an hour, and then strolled up Coventry Street.
They waited at the corner of the Haymarket to cross the street. The traffic from the theatres was very congested, and the vehicles were crawling slowly westward.
Suddenly Smeaton clutched at his companion’s arm, and pointed to a taxi that was slowly passing them beneath the glare of the street lamps.
“Look inside,” he cried excitedly.
Varney took a few quick paces forward, and peered through the closed window. He returned to Smeaton, his face aglow.
“The parlourmaid at Forest View, otherwise Mrs Saxton, by all that’s wonderful!”
“Did you notice the man?”
“No, I hadn’t time. The driver started on at proper speed before I could focus him.”