It was past one when I re-entered my own rooms, and for an hour before turning in, occupied myself in re-arranging the chaos effected by the unknown intruders. The latter had certainly been disappointed with the result of their investigation, for they had not troubled themselves about two of the valuable old manuscripts I had found on board the Seahorse—the Decretales Summa of the Monk Henry and the Book of John Trethemius—both of which were lying upon the mantelshelf. No, it was the key of the cipher of which they had been in such active search, but which was fortunately far beyond their reach.
Early next morning I renewed my vigil at the corner of the Portobello and Cornwall Roads, hoping to meet the pretty woman who had so charmed me.
Two hours I waited, until at last she emerged, as usual neatly dressed in black. Through the maze of complicated streets she walked to Westbourne Grove. She had made some purchases, and was gazing into one of Whiteley’s shop windows when I came up beside her and, raising my hat, greeted her.
She turned quickly, open-mouthed, and then, recovering from her surprise, at once gave me her hand and greeted me quite light-heartedly.
“Really, doctor,” she laughed, “you seem quite ubiquitous. You are always running up against me.”
“Well, it’s a doctor’s profession to go hither and thither quickly,” I answered. “How is your brother?”
“Greatly better,” was her prompt reply, although I thought I could detect duplicity in her answer. But she swiftly sought to change the subject, and as I walked beside her she chatted quite merrily. I did not, of course, let her know that I was aware of her abode, but, on the contrary, spoke of it as though it were away at Blackheath, and she did not seek to contradict me. Miss Bristowe was a clever woman in every sense of the word, but at the same time she was sweet and winning—most charming.
In her chatter was a light, irresponsible air that gave to her a chic seldom found in an Englishwoman, while her small hands and feet, her narrow waist, wide swinging hips, and the manner of her coiffure all savoured of the Parisienne rather than of the Londoner.
My object was to learn from her something definite regarding the man Purvis and his movements; her object was to conceal everything and to mislead me.
She seemed, however, nothing loth to allow me to accompany her into the several shops where she made small purchases. Once I referred to our meeting in Calthorpe Street, recollecting how cleverly Purvis had escaped me there, but she only laughed saying: —