An
expression of intense indignation rested upon her face, and
without seeming to notice our presence she brushed past us and
went out into the street.
"Off you go, Knox!" said Harley.
Seeing myself committed to an unpleasant business, I slipped out
of the doorway and detected the woman five or six yards away
hurrying in the direction of Piccadilly. I had no difficulty in
following her, for she was evidently unsuspicious of my presence,
and when presently she mounted a westward-bound 'bus I did
likewise, but while she got inside I went on top, and occupied a
seat on the near side whence I could observe anyone leaving the
vehicle.
If I had not known Paul Harley so well I should have counted the
whole business a ridiculous farce, but recognizing that something
underlay these seemingly trivial and disconnected episodes, I
lighted a cigarette and resigned myself to circumstance.
At Hyde Park Corner I saw the woman descending, and when
presently she walked up Hamilton Place I was not far behind her.
At the door of an imposing mansion she stopped, and in response
to a ring of the bell the door was opened by a footman, and the
woman hurried in. Evidently she was an inmate of the
establishment; and conceiving that my duty was done when I had
noted the number of the house, I retraced my steps to the corner;
and, hailing a taxicab, returned to the Cafe Dame.
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