It was in John Parham’s house that the dastardly attempt had been made upon my life—in his house that other persons had met with mysterious and untimely ends.
Chapter Twenty One.
What Occurred in Dean’s Yard, Westminster.
That same evening, attired in my working clothes, I watched Winsloe’s chambers in King Street at the hour when I knew his habit was to return to dress for dinner.
From five o’clock till half-past seven I lingered in the vicinity; then returning to my hotel in the Adelphi I there met Budd, whom I sent round to the man’s chambers to inquire when he would be in.
Half an hour later my valet returned with the information that Mr Winsloe was out of town, and was not expected back for several days. He had gone to the north, his man believed, but he had no instructions to forward letters.
Gone north! Had he discovered Tibbie’s whereabouts and gone after her?
Mine was a tantalising position, unable to return to my own rooms for fear that Winsloe and Parham should discover that I was still alive. They believed me to be dead—that I had “gone home,” as “White Feather” reported.