The evening following this conversation, Seth Dumbrick, going out
while the Duchess was still at home, watched for her at the corner of
a convenient street, and when she appeared, followed her so as not to
be observed. It was a fine dry evening, and the Duchess walked swiftly
towards the west of London. At the Mansion House she entered an
omnibus, and Seth climbed to the top. She alighted at Charing Cross,
and tripped over to Trafalgar Square, where she was immediately
greeted by a man whose face Seth, being compelled to keep at a safe
distance, could not distinguish. There was no difficulty in following
the pair; and it needed only ordinary caution to prevent being
detected. The Duchess and her companion walked onwards through the
Haymarket to Regent Street, pausing frequently at shop-windows, and
once they entered a café, Seth waiting for them in the street.
Resuming their walk they strolled to Oxford Street, and then turned
back towards the Strand. It was half-past seven by the time they
reached that wonderful thoroughfare, down which they strolled, until
they came to the door of the Strand Theatre. This they entered, and
were lost to Seth's sight. Noticing which way they turned, he
followed, and asked the price of admission. A gentleman in a white
tie, who was standing by the small window where the money was taken,
loftily informed Seth that the pit and gallery were round the corner.
"But," said Seth, "I want to go where the lady and gentleman who have
just passed through have gone."
"To the stalls?" inquired the gentleman in the white tie, in a tone of
surprise.
"Yes, to the stalls," replied Seth.
"Can't admit you," was the rejoinder.
"Why?"
"Not dressed."
Seth glanced at his common clothes, and with a slight shrug and a
little ironical smile, pardonable under the circumstances, took the
indicated direction to the pit and gallery. He paid for admission to
the pit, and, soon after he entered, succeeded in discovering where
the Duchess was seated. She was in the stalls with her companion, and
their backs were towards him. When Seth entered the pit, he found it
very full, and he could only obtain standing room; necessarily,
therefore, his discovery of the Duchess was made with some difficulty,
and from where he stood it was impossible for him to observe her
closely. Indeed, from the surging of the audience, and the goings to
and fro, she was often not visible to him. He had no heart for the
performance, which caused a running fire of laughter and merriment in
all parts of the theatre, and before its termination he left the
place, afraid lest in the last crush he should miss the Duchess. He
lingered patiently in the Strand, near the box entrance of the
theatre, until the people came out, and was successful in catching
sight of the Duchess and her companion, whose evening dress was
covered by a light overcoat. When they had disengaged themselves from
the throng, they paused, and from the opposite side of the street Seth
noted that a discussion was taking place between them, the man
persuading, the Duchess refusing. At length the Duchess cut short the
disputed point by running away from her companion with a light laugh.
He hastened immediately after her, and arm-in-arm they wended their
way to Rosemary Lane, followed warily by Seth. There they parted,
after more than one kiss, which caused Seth to knit his brows
ominously. When he was alone, the man took from his pocket a cigar
case, which, notwithstanding the distance that separated them, Seth
observed was made of silver. Lighting a cigar, the Duchess's lover
strolled leisurely along until he came to a cab-rank, whence he hailed
a cab. This was what Seth feared. Quickly hailing another, he gave the
driver instructions to follow, without laying himself open to
observation, promising extra payment if this were done. His cab pulled
up in one of the most fashionable quarters of the west of London. As
he was paying the fare, he asked the driver the name of the street,
and saw his girl's lover walk on a few yards, and pause at a great
house, which he presently entered. Then Seth walked up the steps, and
noted the number.
His labours for that night were almost at an end; there was still a
small matter to be attended to. He waited until he heard the
policeman's measured footfall, and falling in by his side in a natural
manner, struck up a conversation. He did not find it difficult, being
in some respects a shrewd actor in the busy world, to ingratiate
himself into the good graces of the official It was a cold night, and
he proposed a friendly glass, The policeman, who knew an honest man
when he came across one, and who was generally luckier than Diogenes,
affably entertained the proposition. Over the friendly glass the
conversation was continued, and sufficiently mellowed, the policeman
took possession of his beat again, accompanied by Seth. They passed
the house which the Duchess's lover had entered. Seth had artfully
directed the conversation into the desired channel, and as they passed
the house, he asked:
"Who lives there? A great man, I should say."
"You'd say right," replied the policeman. "That's Mr. Temple's house."
"Hasn't he an estate in the country, called Springfield? I was in that
quarter some time since, and I heard it belonged to the great Mr.
Temple."
"I've heard as much myself. Yes, Springfield's the name of his country
seat, now you mention it. I wish I was as well off as him."
"I wish so, too," said Seth Dumbrick, as he walked away.
"Goodnight."