Part 40 (2/2)

At length a smart page-boy entered, and, on being shown the portrait, at once said to the manager--

”Why, sir, that's the lady who went away with the gentleman who spoke to me!”

”Who was he?” I demanded eagerly. ”What did he say? What was he like?”

”Well, sir, it was like this,” replied the boy. ”About a quarter of an hour before the curtain fell last night I was out in the vestibule, when a tall dark gentleman, with his hair slightly grey and no moustache, came up to me with a lady's cloak in his hand--a dark blue one. He told me that when the audience came out a fair young lady would come up to me for the cloak, as she wanted to get away very quickly, and did not want to wait her turn at the cloak-room. There was a car--a big grey car--waiting for her outside.”

”Then her flight was all prepared!” I exclaimed. ”What was the man like?”

”He struck me as being a gentleman, yet his clothes seemed shabby and ill-fitting. Indeed, he had a shabby-genteel look, as though he were a bit down on his luck.”

”He was in evening clothes?”

”No, sir. In a suit of brown tweeds.”

”Well, what happened then?”

”I waited till the curtain fell, and then I stood close to the box-office with the cloak over my arm. There was a big crush, as it was then raining hard. Suddenly a young lady wearing a cream theatre-wrap came up to me hastily, and asked me to help her on with the cloak. This I did, and next moment the man in tweeds joined her. I heard him say, 'Come along, dear, we haven't a moment to lose,' and then they went out to the car. That's all I know, sir.”

I was silent for a few moments. Who was this secret lover, I wondered?

The lad's statement had come as an amazing revelation to me.

”What kind of car was it?” I asked.

”A hired car, sir,” replied the intelligent boy. ”I've seen it here before. It comes, I think, from a garage in Wardour Street.”

”You would know the driver?”

”I think so, sir.”

It was therefore instantly arranged that the lad should go with me round to the garage, and there try to find the man who drove the grey car on the previous night.

In this we were quickly successful. On entering the garage there stood, muddy and dirty, a big grey landaulette, which the boy at once identified as the one in which Sylvia had escaped. The driver was soon found, and he explained that it was true he had been engaged on the previous night by a tall, clean-shaven gentleman to pick up at the Coliseum. He did so, and the gentleman entered with a lady.

”Where did you drive them?” I asked quickly.

”Up the Great North Road--to the George Hotel at Stamford, about a hundred miles from London. I've only been back about a couple of hours, sir.”

”The George at Stamford!” I echoed, for I knew the hotel, a quiet, old-fas.h.i.+oned, comfortable place much patronized by motorists to and fro on the north road.

”You didn't stay there?”

”Only just to get a drink and fill up with petrol. I wanted to get back. The lady and gentleman were evidently expected, and seemed in a great hurry.”

”Why?”

”Well, near Alconbury the engine was misfiring a little, and I stopped to open the bonnet. When I did so, the lady put her head out of the window, highly excited, and asked how long we were likely to be delayed. I told her; then I heard her say to the gentleman, 'If they are away before we reach there, what shall we do?'”

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