“There’s no Miss Blyth here now, but there was. I believe her name was Mary. I could soon find out. She’s left some time; directly after I came. I can’t think where she went. I’ve heard the name, but I can’t remember. I might inquire if you like, and let you know to-morrow night.”
I agreed. He did inquire. The next night he let me know. Miss Blyth had gone to a big shop, which he named, at Clapham. The next day, being engaged, I let Rudd go over to Clapham to see what he could do.
He made a mess of things. The lady was pointed out to him by one of her fellow assistants. Before he could get within hail of her, she slipped round a corner and was out of sight. Came across her again in a restaurant where she couldn’t pay her bill. Paid it for her. Then, as he was about to follow her, with a view of pursuing his inquiries, he saw, standing on the pavement in front of the place, the individual who had cursed us on that moonlit shore.
The sight of him struck Rudd all of a heap. By the time he recovered his presence of mind, the lady had vanished, and the gentleman too.
The juxtaposition of Miss Blyth and that cursing gentleman seemed to suggest that we were on the track of the retiring Mr. Batters. What is more, that the scent was getting hot.
The evening after I called at that Clapham establishment, just as the premises were being closed, and asked to see Miss Blyth. Some jackanapes informed me that the young woman had been dismissed that very day. He didn’t know what her address was, but had heard that she had gone off with a party who called himself Frank Paine, and who said he was a lawyer.
At that it was my turn to be struck all of a heap. A short time previously I had called upon Mr. Frank Paine, intending to ask his opinion
