Miss Climpson uttered a sharp exclamation of annoyance, which drew the waitress’s attention.
“How provoking!” said Miss Climpson. “I have left my rubber behind. I must just run out and buy one.”
She dropped the sketchbook on the table and made for the door.
“I’ll cover your coffee up for you, miss,” said the girl, helpfully. “Mr. Bulteel’s, down near the ‘Bear,’ is the best stationer’s.”
“Thank you, thank you,” said Miss Climpson, and darted out.
The black veil was still flapping in the distance. Miss Climpson pursued breathlessly, keeping to the near side of the road. The veil dived into a chemist’s shop. Miss Climpson crossed the road a little behind it and stared into a window full of baby linen. The veil came out, fluttered undecidedly on the pavement, turned, passed Miss Climpson and went into a boot shop.
“If it’s shoelaces, it’ll be quick,” thought Miss Climpson, “but if it’s trying on it may be all morning.” She walked slowly past the door. By good luck a customer was just coming out, and, peering past him, Miss Climpson just caught a glimpse of the black veil vanishing into the back premises. She pushed the door boldly open. There was a counter for sundries in the front of the shop, and the doorway through which the nurse had vanished was labelled “Ladies’ Department.”
While buying a pair of brown silk laces, Miss Climpson debated with herself. Should she follow and seize this opportunity? Trying on shoes is usually a lengthy business. The subject is marooned for long periods in a chair, while the assistant climbs ladders and collects piles of cardboard boxes. It is also comparatively easy to enter into conversation with a person who is trying on shoes. But there is a snag in it. To give colour to your presence in the Fitting department, you must yourself try on shoes. What happens? The assistant first disables you by snatching off your right-hand shoe, and then disappears. And supposing, meanwhile, your quarry completes her purchase and walks out? Are you to follow, hopping madly on one foot? Are you to arouse suspicion by hurriedly replacing your own footgear and rushing out with laces flying and an unconvincing murmur about a forgotten engagement? Still worse, suppose you are in an amphibious condition, wearing one shoe of your own and one of the establishment’s? What impression will you make by suddenly bolting with goods to which you are not entitled? Will not the pursuer very quickly become the pursued?
Having weighed this problem in her mind, Miss Climpson paid for her shoelaces and retired. She had already bilked a teashop, and one misdemeanour in a morning was about as much as she could hope to get away with.
The male detective, particularly when dressed as a workman, an errand boy or a telegraph messenger, is favourably placed for “shadowing.” He can loaf without attracting attention. The female detective must not loaf. On the other hand, she can stare into shopwindows forever. Miss Climpson selected a hat shop. She examined all the hats in both windows attentively, coming back to gaze in a purposeful manner at an extremely elegant model with an eye veil and a pair of excrescences like rabbits’-ears. Just at the moment when any observer might have thought that she had at last made up her mind to go in and ask the price, the nurse came out of the boot shop. Miss Climpson shook her head regretfully at the rabbits’-ears, darted back to the other window, looked, hovered, hesitated—and tore herself away.
The nurse was now about thirty yards ahead, moving well, with the air of a horse that sights his stable. She crossed the street again, looked into a window piled with coloured wools, thought better of it, passed on, and turned in at the door of the Oriental Café.
Miss Climpson was in the position of one who, after prolonged pursuit, has clapped a tumbler over a moth. For the moment the creature is safe and the pursuer takes breath. The problem now is to extract the moth without damage.
It is easy, of course, to follow a person into a café and sit down at her table, if there is room there. But she may not welcome you. She may feel it perverse in you to thrust yourself upon her when other tables are standing empty. It is better to offer some excuse, such as restoring a dropped handkerchief or drawing attention to an open handbag. If the person will not provide you with an excuse, the next best thing is to manufacture one.
The stationer’s shop was only a few doors off. Miss Climpson went in and purchased an india-rubber, three picture postcards, a BB pencil and a calendar, and waited while they were made up into a parcel. Then she slowly made her way across the street and turned into the “Oriental.”
In the first room she found two women and a small boy occupying one recess, an aged gentleman drinking milk in another, and a couple of girls consuming coffee and cakes in a third.
“Excuse me,” said Miss Climpson to the two women, “but does this parcel belong to you? I picked it up just outside the door.”
The elder woman, who had evidently been shopping, hastily passed in review a quantity of miscellaneous packages, pinching each one by way of refreshing her memory as to the contents.
“I don’t think it’s mine, but really I can’t say for certain. Let me see. That’s eggs and that’s bacon and—what’s this, Gertie? Is that the mousetrap? No, wait a minute, that’s cough mixture, that is—and that’s Aunt Edith’s cork soles, and that’s Nugget—no, bloater paste, this here’s the Nugget—why, bless my soul, I believe I have been and gone and dropped the mousetrap—but that don’t look like it to me.”
“No, Mother,” said the younger woman, “don’t you
