The air was mild and pleasant as he crossed Trafalgar Square and reached the comparative solitude of the Mall. He sat down on one of the seats to rest after the fatigue of the day, smoking placidly until time, acting through the hands of his watch, called him back once more from refreshment to labour. Then knocking out his pipe he returned to the Haymarket and took up his stand behind one of the great vestibule pillars of the Cosmopolitan. From here he had a good view of the door by which, according to the porter, Miss Lillian Burgess invariably left.
Soon he saw her. She tripped out and ran rapidly down the steps in the direction of Piccadilly Circus. French, hurrying after her, was just in time to see her disappearing into the tube station. He sprinted forward, picking her up among the crowd, and kept behind her as she took a southbound Bakerloo train. From the next compartment he kept her in view, and when she passed out of the Elephant station he was within twenty feet of her. She led the way down New Kent Road, straight to her address in Theobald Street.
As far as that evening was concerned, therefore, he had drawn blank. He did not think she would reappear that night, so after waiting on chance for a few minutes, he went home.
After interviews with Carter and Harvey next morning, at which he learned that their experiences had been precisely similar to his own, the shadowing was resumed. As the three girls did not begin work until and were kept late at night, it was unlikely that they would be early risers. Nevertheless, French was leaving nothing to chance and before he and his lieutenants were at the scenes of their various labours. In French’s case there was a rather shabby restaurant across the road from Miss Burgess’ boarding house and there, hidden behind the dilapidated window blind, he toyed with breakfast and watched the street. But he had to read the paper very thoroughly and smoke a number of pipes before he saw his quarry. No less than two hours passed before she left the house and walked in a leisurely way down the street. French in an even more leisurely way walked after her.
She went straight to Westminster Bridge Road, crossed the river, and passing through into Great George Street, entered St. James’s Park. At a steady pace she crossed the Mall and the Green Park and reached Hyde Park. There she went up one side of the Serpentine, round the top of the Bayswater Road, and down the other side to Hyde Park Corner. French had fallen far behind, but when he saw her start off along Piccadilly he closed up and kept about twenty feet off. She led him along Piccadilly to the Circus, then turning down the Haymarket, she disappeared into the Cosmopolitan.
In spite of the fact that he had been expecting some such dénouement, French swore. There was his whole morning gone and nothing to show for it! He had an accurate knowledge of where the young lady had taken her morning exercise, but that was all he had learnt. It looked as if he was on the wrong track and that this girl at least had no connection with the gang.
But such had not been proved. It would require a much longer and more detailed investigation to set the point at rest. Shrugging his shoulders, he went back to the Yard to hear how Carter and Harvey had fared.
He overtook Harvey at the door. Miss Isaacs had spent her morning in a very similar way to Miss Burgess. She had left her boarding house about and gone for a walk. Harvey had kept her in sight during the whole period and was satisfied that she had not communicated with any other person.
In a few minutes Carter came in. Molly Moran had left her boarding house in Nelson Street, a small street running between High Street and Arlington Road, at . She had taken a Hampstead and Highgate train at Mornington Crescent station and had travelled to Charing Cross. On emerging from the station she had strolled slowly about, first under the Southern Railway bridge, and then up and down Craven Street. Carter had had considerable difficulty in keeping her under observation without revealing his objective. But he had imagined that she was waiting for someone and had not let her out of his sight for a moment.
After about ten minutes a grey saloon car had come quickly down the street, and pulling in to the pavement, had stopped beside Miss Moran. She had immediately jumped in and the car had swung off towards the Strand. Carter had raced for a taxi. By a stroke of luck he had got one without having to go to the rank under the bridge and when he had reached the Strand the grey car was still in sight, circling Trafalgar Square. But his luck had then given out. In the press of traffic his taxi had been held back, and by the time it had got free the quarry had disappeared up Cockspur Street. After fruitless attempts to find it, Carter had driven to Leicester Square and taken up a position from which he could watch the doors of the Panopticon. In some forty minutes Miss Moran had arrived, walking slowly. As it was then , Carter had assumed that she would not again leave the building, and had returned to the Yard.
“What was the number of the car?” French asked.
“MX1382. As far as I could see it answered the description of the one you heard of in Hampshire.”
French nodded.
“I was going to ask you that. Did you see anyone in it?”
“Only the driver.
