“Shouldn’t wonder, Mr. Perkwite,” said Millwaters. “But that’s not my business. My job is to keep him under observation.”
“That’s what I set out to do when I came out of Viner’s,” said the barrister. “He’s up to something. He assured us as we left the house that he’d a most pressing engagement at his hotel in Lancaster Gate; the next minute, happening to glance down a side-street, I saw him cutting off in the direction of Paddington. And now he’s evidently making for the City.”
“Well, I’m after him,” remarked Millwaters. He leaned out of his window, called the chauffeur, and gave him some further instructions. “Intelligent chap, this, Mr. Perkwite,” he said as he sat down again. “He understands—some of ’em are poor hands at this sort of game.”
“You’re a pretty good hand yourself, I think?” suggested the barrister, with a smile.
“Ought to be,” said Millwaters. “Had plenty of experience, anyway.”
It seemed to Perkwite that his companion kept no particular observation on the car in front as it sped along to and through the northern edge of the City and beyond. But Millwaters woke to action as their own car progressed up Whitechapel Road, and suddenly he gave a warning word to the barrister and a smart tap on the window behind their driver. The car came to a halt by the curb; and Millwaters, slipping out, pushed some money into the man’s hand and drew Perkwite amongst the people who were crowding the sidewalk. The barrister looked in front and around and seemed at a loss.
“Where is he?” he asked. “Hang it, I’ve lost him!”
“I haven’t!” said Millwaters. “He left his car before we left ours. Our man knew what he was after—he slowed up and passed him until I saw where he went.” He twisted Perkwite round and pointed to the mouth of a street which they had just passed.
“He’s gone down there,” he said. “Nice neighbourhood, too! I know something of it. Now, Mr. Perkwite, if you please, we’ll separate. You take the right of that street—I’ll take the left. Keep a look out for my gentleman’s Homburg hat—grey, with a black band—and keep the tail of your eye on me, too.”
Cave’s headgear was easily followed down the squalid street. Its owner went swiftly ahead, with Millwaters in pursuit on one pavement, and the barrister on the other, until he finally turned into a narrower and shabbier thoroughfare. Then the clerk hurried across the road, attracted Perkwite’s attention, winked at him as he passed without checking his pace, and whispered two or three words.
“Wait—by the street-corner!”
Perkwite pulled up, and Millwaters went down the dismal street in pursuit of the Homburg hat. This excellent indication of its owner’s presence suddenly vanished from Perkwite’s sight, and presently Millwaters came back.
“Ran him to earth—for the time being, anyway,” he said. “He’s gone into a surgery down there—a Dr. Martincole’s. Number 23—brass plate on door—next to a drug-shop. Suspicious sort of spot, altogether.”
“Well?” demanded Perkwite. “What next? You know best, Millwaters.”
The clerk jerked a thumb down the side of the dismal street on which they were standing.
“There’s a public-house down there,” he said, “almost opposite this surgery. Fairly decent place for this neighbourhood—bar-parlour looking out on the street. Better slip in there and look quietly out. But remember, Mr. Perkwite—don’t seem to be watching anything. We’re just going in for a bottle of ale, and talking business together.
“Whatever you recommend,” said Perkwite.
He followed his companion down the street to the tavern, a joyless and shabby place, the bar-parlour of which, a dark and smoke-stained room was just then empty, and looked over its torn half-blind across the way.
“Certainly a queer place for a man who professes to be a peer of the realm to visit!” he muttered. “Well, now, what do you propose to do, Millwaters?”
“Hang about here and watch,” whispered the clerk. “Look out!”
A face, heavy and bloated, appeared at a hatch-window at the back of the room, and a gruff voice made itself heard.
“Any orders, gents?”
“Two bottles o’ Bass, gov’nor,” responded Millwaters promptly, dropping into colloquial Cockney speech. He turned to Perkwite and winked. “Well, an’ wot abaht this ’ere bit o’ business as I’ve come rahnd abaht, Mister?” he went on, nudging his companion, in free-and-easy style.
“Yer see, it’s this ere wy wiv us—if yer can let us have that there stuff reasonable, d’yer see—” He drew Perkwite over to the window and began to whisper, “That’ll satisfy him,” he said with a sharp glance at the little room behind the hatch where the landlord was drawing corks. “He’ll think we’re doing a bit of trade, so we’ve nothing to do but stand in this window and keep an eye on the street. Out of this I’m not going till I see whether that fellow comes out or stops in!”
Some time had passed, and Millwaters had been obliged to repeat his order for bottled Bass before anything took place in the street outside. Suddenly he touched his companion’s elbow.
“Here’s a taxicab coming along and slowing up for somewhere about here,” he whispered. “And—Lord, if there aren’t two ladies in it—in a spot like this! And—whew!” he went on excitedly. “Do you see ’em, Mr. Perkwite? The young un’s Miss Wickham, who came to our office about this Ashton affair. I don’t know who the old un is—but she evidently knows her way.”
The berry-faced landlord had now shut down the hatch, and his two bar-parlour customers were alone and unobserved. Perkwite drew away from the window, pulling Millwaters by the sleeve.
“Careful!” he said. “There’s something seriously wrong here, Millwaters! What’s Miss Wickham being brought down here for? See, they’ve gone into that surgery, and the car’s going off. Look here—we’ve got to do something, and at once!”
But Millwaters shook his head.
“Not my job, Mr. Perkwite!” he answered. “My business is with the man—Cave! I’ve nothing to do with Miss Wickham, sir, nor with the old lady that’s taken her in there. Cave’s my mark!
