at 'ome; but 'e toldme that 'e wished to see the doctor an' nobody else."
"How long has Doctor Flynn lived there?" I inquired.
"About nine months."
"Does he have many callers?"
"No; they all go round to 'is consulting room in 'Arley Street, Ibelieve."
"All except Kirk."
"Yes, Mr. Kirk used to call at all hours, and they used to sit togetherarf through the night sometimes--after Mr. Langton 'ad gone to bed.'E's never up very late, 'e ain't."
And then, after a few more questions, I allowed the cockney girl toreturn to the house, first, however, impressing upon her the need forsecrecy, and adding another five shillings to that I had already givenher.
Half an hour later I saw the front door open, and Flynn, in darkovercoat and hard felt hat, ran down the steps and turned towards OxfordStreet.
Soon I was at his heels. He presently turned into Wigmore Street,crossed Cavendish Square, and continued through Mortimer Street intoWells Street, quite unconscious of being followed. He walked with anair of preoccupation, twice stopping to light his cigarette.
Now that he was under my observation I did not intend that he shouldescape me. Besides, there was nothing suspicious about me, for I wasmerely a plain motor-mechanic, such as is seen about the London streetsin dozens at all hours.
Continuing down Wardour Street he came into Coventry Street, where heascended the carpeted stairs to a saloon well known to a certain classof the habitues of the West End. In my mechanic's clothes I knew thatthe uniformed janitor at the bottom of the stairs would direct me to thepublic bar, therefore I was compelled to remain outside and await thedoctor's exit.
The place was evidently crowded, as it usually is, for it is one of therecognised nocturnal rendezvous in the neighbourhood of LeicesterSquare.
I crossed the road and stood near the entrance to the Motor Club, ofwhich I was a member. Many men I knew passed and repassed within itsswing doors, but none recognised me. Therefore I was quite satisfiedthat, with my dirty face, Doctor Flynn would not easily identify me.
At last he came forth, and alone.
I saw by his hesitation on the kerb that he was disappointed. Someonehe had expected had not turned up, and he was now undecided in whichdirection to walk.
It was then about half-past ten, the quietest hour of the evening inthat neighbourhood, yet the illuminated signs lent an air of gaiety tothat scene so typical of London as the middle-class know it.
Having lit a cigarette the doctor strolled down the Haymarket, andturning up Charles Street, passed the "Junior," crossed St. James'sSquare, where he entered the "Sports," made inquiry for someone, butfound the person was not in. Then, continuing his way--while I walkedat a respectable distance behind--he turned into Duke Street, where at adoor about half-way up he paused and tugged at a bell.
I took careful note of that door, one with a semi-circular fanlightabove and a painted number, and then turned quickly on my heel to avoidpassing him as he stood in my way upon the pavement.
He was admitted and the door was closed. Then I passed the house, andsaw that it was a good-sized one, probably let in sets of chambers, asare many of the houses in that vicinity.
I walked on to Jermyn Street and stood at the corner, lighting my pipe.A white-faced man passed--a wretched, decrepit old fellow whose hollowcough told its own tale, and who offered me matches. I bought a box,and began to chat with him. All loafers are fond of a gossip, and I didthis in order not to appear to the watchful constable, who was tryingthe locked doors of shops in the vicinity, that I was loitering. Awell-dressed man may linger as long as he likes, but one who appears asa mechanic, or as a shabby idler, is very soon moved on unless he, inturn, is, a "nark," or police-informer.
The old man related to me a pitiable story of misfortune which might ormight not be true, but it served to while away the time, while I, on mypart, kept an ever-watchful vigilance upon the door just down thestreet.
I must have been there nearly an hour, for the traffic at the end of thestreet in Piccadilly had awakened, and every moment the lights ofhansoms and taxis were flitting past. The theatres were just over, andthe pleasure-seekers were already westward bound.
At length, just as I had grown inexpressibly weary, the door I waswatching reopened, and from it emerged Flynn, accompanied by a man inevening dress with a white muffler around his neck and wearing acrush-hat--a man whom, in an instant, I recognised as Leonard Langton.
He blew a whistle for a taxi; but, seeing their intention was to driveaway, I sped along into Piccadilly, and, finding one, gave the man swiftinstructions to wait until they entered a conveyance, and then to followthem.
The driver, noticing my clothes, looked askance at me, but I added:
"They owe me some money for work done on a car, and I mean to see wherethey go."
There is a clannishness about motor-men, therefore the instant I hadtold my story he declared himself ready to assist me.
And as I sat back in the cab Langton and his friend, who had now gainedPiccadilly, passed in search of a cab.
In a few moments they found one, and soon we had turned the corner ofSt. James's Street, and were running down to Pall Mall, where we turnedto the left, and after a sharp drive, swung into the station yard atCharing Cross.
Here the pair alighted, and, watching, I saw them stroll upon thearrival platform where, according to the chalked figures on the board,the boat-train from the Continent, already over an hour late, was nowexpected.
The usual crowd was waiting there, friends of passengers, porters,Customs officers, and the women agents of the various female rescuesocieties--an expectant crowd which, year in, year out, never differs.
The pair halted in earnest conversation about half-way along theplatform, while I strolled slowly at some distance away, with my eyesupon them.
Flynn was arguing something, emphasising his words with his hands, whileLangton stood by listening in silence.
Then there was the sudden movement of the porters who had noticed somesignal fall, and looking towards the dark bridge I saw the headlight ofthe engine slowly approaching.
The doctor raised his finger to his friend, an action expressive of aninjunction of silence.
Whom were they expecting to arrive?
With bated breath I stood motionless, watching in eager wonder.
From the arrival, whoever it might be, these men intended to preservesome secret.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
I MAKE A BOLD MOVE.
For a moment I lost the two men in the excited crowd of alightingpassengers, but when I gained another sight of them, my heart stoodstill.
Talking with the pair was a well set-up, alert man whose back was turnedto me--a man in a soft grey felt hat and heavy travelling coat withbeaver collar. Both men were speaking quickly, eagerly, telling thenew-comer something of an urgent nature, being hustled at the same timeby the bustling passengers eager to claim their luggage from the Customsbarriers, and get away.
I moved a little distance along, recognising in the man just returnedfrom the Continent the grey, thin, sinister face of Kershaw Kirk.
My first impulse was to rush forward and demand of him the truth;indeed, to charge him with a secret crime, and to insist on knowing thewhereabouts of my beloved Mabel. But it struck me at that instant thatthe two men who had met him had agreed between themselves upon a courseof secrecy, and that they were therefore misleading him. Had notEthelwynn already told me of Langton's suspicion of this man, who was tome and mine such a mystery?
Therefore I held back for the moment, awaiting my opportunity.
Standing beyond the barrier where the baggage was being sorted, readyfor the Customs examinations, I watched the trio from my unseen point ofvantage. I doubt that either would have recognised me in those greasymechanic's clothes of mine.
Within myself I felt a sense of complete satisfaction. Kirk hadreturned to England, and was therefore now within the jurisdiction ofthe law, howeve
r much he might pretend to be immune from its penalties.
What Flynn was saying evidently caused him to hesitate. He wasthoughtful for a single moment, but next second shrugged his shoulders,with a gesture of disregard.
A taxi drew up close to where I stood, and I engaged him, telling him towait. To my satisfaction I saw it was the same driver who had broughtme along from Piccadilly.
Then, as I watched, I saw something which caused me to reflect. Aporter, quickly recognising Kirk, took from him his baggage ticket andforaged out a big, battered kit-bag which had been placed upon the benchready for the argus eye of his Majesty's Customs. The porter uttered aword to the revenue officer and pointed to the bag, whereupon theofficer chalked it without opening it.
Kirk's name, it seemed, was as a _laisser-passer_ at Charing Cross. Whowas this man that his belongings should be exempt from Customs'examination?
He looked much travel-worn, yet presented the same active, alert figurethat I had seen