Part 17 (2/2)

”Yes,” said I, ”there's a woman named Sibyl Kavanagh in it to begin with, and she's helped herself to a couple of diamond sprays, and a pendant of rubies at Lady Faber's to-night. One of the sprays I know she's got; if I could trace the pendant to her, the case would begin to look complete.”

”Whew!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, brightening up at the prospect of business. ”I knew there was a woman in it all along--but this one, why, she's a regular flier, ain't she, sir?”

”We'll find out her history presently. I'm going straight back to Portman Square now. Follow me in a hansom, and when you get to the house, wait inside my brougham until I come. But before you do that, run round to Marlborough Street police-station and ask them if we can have ten or a dozen men ready to mark a house in Bayswater some time between this and six o'clock to-morrow morning.”

”You're going to follow her home then?”

”Exactly, and if my wits can find a way I'm going to be her guest for ten minutes after she quits Lady Faber's. They're sure to let you have the men either at Marlborough Street or at the Harrow Road station. This business has been a disgrace to them quite long enough.”

”That's so, sir; King told me yesterday that he'd bury his head in the sand if something didn't turn up soon. You haven't given me the exact address though.”

”Because I haven't got it. I only know that the woman lives somewhere near St. Stephen's Church--she sits under, or on, one of the curates there. If you can get her address from her coachman, do so. But go and dress and be in Portman Square at the earliest possible moment.”

It was now very near one o'clock, indeed the hour struck as I pa.s.sed the chapel in Orchard Street; and when I came into the square I found my own coachman waiting with the brougham at the corner by Baker Street. I told him, before I entered the house, to expect Abel; and not by any chance to draw up at Lady Faber's. Then I made my way quietly to the ball-room and observed Mrs. Kavanagh--I will not say dancing, but hurling herself through the last figure of the lancers. It was evident that she did not intend to quit yet awhile; and I left her to get some supper, choosing a seat near to the door of the dining-room, so that any one pa.s.sing must be seen by me. To my surprise, I had not been in the room ten minutes when she suddenly appeared in the hall, unattended, and her cloak wrapped round her; but she pa.s.sed without perceiving me; and I, waiting until I heard the hall door close, went out instantly and got my wraps. Many of the guests had left already, but a few carriages and cabs were in the square, and a linkman seemed busy in the distribution of unlimited potations. It occurred to me that if Abel had not got the woman's address, this man might give it to me, and I put the plain question to him.

”That lady who just left,” said I, ”did she have a carriage or a cab?”

”Oh, you mean Mrs. Kevenner,” he answered thickly, ”she's a keb, she is, allus takes a hansom, sir; 192, Westbourne Park; I don't want to ask when I see her, sir.”

”Thank you,” said I, ”she has dropped a piece of jewelry in the hall, and I thought I would drive round and return it to her.”

He looked surprised, at the notion, perhaps, of any one returning anything found in a London ball-room but I left him with his astonishment and entered my carriage. There I found Abel crouching down under the front seat, and he met me with a piteous plea that the woman had no coachman, and that he had failed to obtain her address.

”Never mind that,” said I, as we drove off sharply, ”what did they say at the station?”

”They wanted to bring a force of police round, and arrest every one in the house, sir. I had trouble enough to hold them in, I'm sure. But I said that we'd sit down and watch if they made any fuss, and then they gave in. It's agreed now that a dozen men will be at the Harrow Road station at your call till morning. They've a wonderful confidence in you, sir.”

”It's a pity they haven't more confidence in themselves--but, anyway, we are in luck. The woman's address is 192, Westbourne Park, and I seem to remember that it is a square.”

”I'm sure of it,” said he; ”it's a round square in the shape of an oblong, and one hundred and ninety two is at the side near Durham something or other; we can watch it easily from the palings.”

After this, ten minutes' drive brought us to the place, and I found it as he had said, the ”square” being really a triangle. Number one hundred and ninety two was a big house, its outer points gone much to decay, but lighted on its second and third floors; though so far as I could see, for the blinds of the drawing-room were up, no one was moving. This did not deter me, however, and, taking my stand with Abel at the corner where two great trees gave us perfect shelter, we waited silently for many minutes, to the astonishment of the constable upon the beat, with whom I soon settled; and to his satisfaction.

”Ah,” said he, ”I knew they was rum 'uns all along; they owe fourteen pounds for milk, and their butcher ain't paid; young men going in all night, too--why, there's one of them there now.”

I looked through the trees at his words, and saw that he was right. A youth in an opera hat and a black coat was upon the doorstep of the house; and as the light of a street lamp fell upon his face, I recognized him. He was the boy who had eaten of the jam-tarts so plentifully at Lady Faber's--the youth with whom Sibyl Kavanagh had pretended to have no acquaintance when she talked to me in the conservatory. And at the sight of him, I knew that the moment had come.

”Abel,” I said, ”it's time you went. Tell the men to bring a short ladder with them. They'll have to come in by the balcony--but only when I make a sign. The signal will be the cracking of the gla.s.s of that lamp you can see upon the table there. Did you bring my pistol?”

”Would I forget that?” he asked; ”I brought you two, and look out! for you may want them.”

”I know that,” said I, ”but I depend upon you. Get back at the earliest possible moment, and don't act until I give the signal. It will mean that the clue is complete.”

He nodded his head, and disappeared quickly in the direction where the carriage was; but I went straight up to the house, and knocked loudly upon the door. To my surprise, it was opened at once by a thick-set man in livery, who did not appear at all astonished to see me.

”They're upstairs, sir, will you go up?” said he.

”Certainly,” said I, taking him at his word. ”Lead the way.”

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