CHAPTER IX
THE PURSUIT TO FOLKESTONE
ON the morning following the meeting with Mrs. Crisp, Beresford was strolling down St. James's Street, still engaged upon the everlasting search, and speculating as to what had happened at the breakfast-party arranged on the previous night.
The idea of Drewitt and his Aunt Caroline going out to breakfast possessed an aspect of novelty and humour that appealed to him. He could see Drewitt finding in that meal a subject of complaint for months to come. In a way he pitied Hoskins. He could picture Drewitt keeping his man busy for the rest of the day in bringing fresh relays of coffee, and listening to his opinions on the mental capacity of those who allowed their gregarious instincts to triumph at the beginning of the day. Drewitt had always preached the doctrine that there should be no social intercourse before lunch.
Beresford paused at the bottom of St. James's Street to allow the stream of traffic to pass. Suddenly his heart started pounding with almost suffocating vigour. There in a taxi that was swinging round the curve was the Rain-Girl—alone. Beside
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