LITTLE GRACIE DEATH ON THE TRAIL.
While her mother was being examined in the Coroner's Court, little
Gracie Death, glowing with gratitude to Aunt Rob and her family, and
solemnly impressed with a sense of the importance of the task she had
undertaken, set out on the trail of Dr. Vinsen. She clearly understood
that she was serving Dick's friends as well as Dick himself, but it
was of Dick she thought most, and it was him she most ardently wished
to serve. The attachments formed by children, and the ideals they
create, are often stronger and more binding than those of men and
women; and no stronger attachment was ever formed by a child, and no
more lofty and beautiful an ideal created than those which reigned in
Gracie's soul for Dick. Her heart throbbed with pride to think that
the man she loved best in the world next to her father had taken her
into partnership, and had entrusted her with a mission. There was no
indication of this on her quiet, sallow face, or in her black eyes.
When passion is demonstrative it is far less enduring than when it
lies hidden in the soul.
Gracie intended to fulfil the mission entrusted to her. Dick had said
that between them they would make Scotland Yard sit up. Well, they
would. Inspired not only by the kiss which he had given her for good
luck, but by an absolute reliance upon herself, Gracie pondered upon
her course of action. She must go somewhere. Where? She had no idea in
which direction Dr. Vinsen lived, and she was not the kind of girl to
flounder about without something to guide her. Once she set eyes upon
him she would stick to him like a limpet to a rock till her purpose
was achieved. She turned her face homeward; he might by chance be
there.
He was there. She heard his voice as she was ascending the stairs, and
she paused to listen. He was asking the children for their mother, and
a chorus of voices informed him that Mrs. Death had gone to the
"inkage," which was the nearest approach the little ones could make to
"inquest." Gracie thought it was a curious question for him to ask,
because she had heard him and her mother speaking of Mrs. Death being
a witness in the inquiry. She crept up a step to hear what further he
had to say.
"And Gracie," he said, "where's our little Gracie--our lit-tle
Gra-cie? Has she gone to the 'inkage' too?" Who could doubt that it was
out of mere playfulness he gave their pronunciation of the word?
"Oh, no," answered the most forward of the children, "she can't get
in, she can't. And mother didn't want her to."
Other questions of no importance were asked and answered, and then the
door of the room was opened, and Gracie saw Dr. Vinsen's legs on the
landing. Down she slid, as noiselessly as a cat, out into the mews she
sped, and from the recess of a neighbouring front door watched him
issue from the house. He stopped and exchanged words with a woman whom
Gracie knew, and with whom she was a great favourite; they were close
to her hiding place, and Gracie heard what passed. He was very
gracious, he smiled blandly, spoke in a smooth voice, and pushed his
hat to the back of his head to wipe his brow, thereby affording a
glimpse of his halo. To Gracie's surprise he was inquiring for her
again, and the woman could not inform him where she was.
"She's a busy little thing, sir," said the woman; "she runs in and out
as if all the world and his wife was depending on her. We all like
little Gracie Death."
"I trust she is deserving of it," said Dr. Vinsen, with a number of
amiable nods. "Sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a
thankless child."
"If that's a dig into little Gracie," said the woman, with spirit,
"it's what she don't deserve. Beggin' your pardon, sir, I won't have
little Gracie run down."
"One for him," thought Gracie, with a chuckle. "Give it him hot.
You're a good sort, Mrs. Thomson."
"Dear me, dear me!" said Dr. Vinson. "Run our little Gracie down--our
lit-tle Gra-cie down! No, no, indeed! The sweetest child, the sweetest
child!"
"That she is, sir," said the woman, "and I beg your pardon again for
speaking so hasty."
"No offence, my good creature, no offence," said Dr. Vinsen; "where
none is meant, none should be taken. Is this your little one?" A
sturdy blue-eyed toddlekins was tugging at her apron strings, and he
stooped and patted the curly head. "Here's a penny for lollypops. Good
day--_good_ day!"
He raised his hat, which caused the woman to stare, and strolled out
of Draper's Mews. She gave a start when Gracie glided from behind the
door.
"I didn't want him to see me," said Gracie. "Thank you ever so much
for sticking up for me."
And she, also, strolled out of Draper's Mews, and followed Dr. Vinsen
at a distance so carefully and warily, and apparently with so much
unconcern, that no one would have suspected that she was engaged upon
the most important task she had ever undertaken. "Now I've got you,"
was her thought, "and I don't let you go." She kept her sharp eyes
fixed upon him. When he stopped she stopped, when he lingered she
lingered, when he walked slowly she walked slowly, when he quickened
his steps she quickened hers. It appeared as if he were undecided as
to the course he should pursue, for now and then he looked about him,
and seemed to debate which way to turn. It was evident that he had no
definite business to attend to, and no definite goal to reach. Passing
a public house of a superior kind, he had gone a dozen yards beyond it
when he turned back and entered the private bar. Grace made a rapid
survey, to see how many doors there were by which he could leave. In
point of fact, although of course it was a corner house, there was
only one, but of this she was not aware, so she posted herself on the
opposite corner and watched all the doors, and if there had been twice
as many she would have had eyes for them all. He remained a long time
in the private bar, and when he made his reappearance he was still as
undecided as to his course. It may have been out of mere idleness that
he entered a chemist's shop and purchased something, which he put into
his pocket as he came out. In this aimless way he and Gracie strolled
on through Park Street, Islington, at one part of which he crossed the
road and looked up at the windows of a house. It was the house in
which Reginald had lodged. Gracie noted the number, and would not
forget it. So they strolled on, past the Grand Theatre, past Sadler's
Wells, through Clerkenwell into Holborn, where he hailed a bus for
Charing Cross, and got inside. "It's a good job Dick gave me some
money," thought Gracie, as she scrambled to the top without being
observed by the gentleman she had been following.