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Teno’clockpassed,andIheardthefootstepsofthemaidastheypatteredofftobed. Eleven,andthemorestatelytreadofthelandladypassedmydoor,boundforthesamedestination. ItwascloseupontwelvebeforeIheardthesharpsoundofhislatch-key. TheinstantheenteredIsawbyhisfacethathehadnotbeensuccessful. Amusementandchagrinseemedtobestrugglingforthemastery,untiltheformersuddenlycarriedtheday,andheburstintoaheartylaugh.
“Iwouldn’thavetheScotlandYardersknowitfortheworld,”hecried,droppingintohischair; “Ihavechaffedthemsomuchthattheywouldneverhaveletmeheartheendofit. Icanaffordtolaugh,becauseIknowthatIwillbeevenwiththeminthelongrun.”
“Whatisitthen?”Iasked.
“Oh,Idon’tmindtellingastoryagainstmyself. Thatcreaturehadgonealittlewaywhenshebegantolimpandshoweverysignofbeingfoot-sore. Presentlyshecametoahalt,andhailedafour-wheelerwhichwaspassing. Imanagedtobeclosetohersoastoheartheaddress,butIneednothavebeensoanxious,forshesangitoutloudenoughtobeheardattheothersideofthestreet,‘Driveto13,DuncanStreet,Houndsditch,’shecried. Thisbeginstolookgenuine,Ithought,andhavingseenhersafelyinside,Iperchedmyselfbehind. That’sanartwhicheverydetectiveshouldbeanexpertat. Well,awaywerattled,andneverdrewreinuntilwereachedthestreetinquestion. Ihoppedoffbeforewecametothedoor,andstrolleddownthestreetinaneasy,loungingway.
