"Then you can't come to us?" she asked with a pout.

"I'll look in after," I promised. "But to dine is entirely out of the question."

I saw that she was annoyed, but next moment her lips parted again in a pretty smile, and she said:

"Very well, then. But remember, you will not be later than ten, will you?"

"I promise not to be, dearest," I answered, and kissing her, she ascended to her room.

The fourteenth! It was on that evening I had to carry out the promise made to Digby and meet the mysterious lady at the Piccadilly Circus Tube Station--the person whose initials were "E. P. K." and who would wear in her breast a spray of mimosa.

I returned to the library, and for a second stood thinking deeply. Would I, by that romantic meeting, be placed in possession of some further fact which might throw light upon the mystery? Ah! would I, I wondered?

The empty gla.s.s caught my eye, and I was about to cross and secure it when Bain suddenly entered. Seeing me, he drew back quickly, saying: "I beg pardon, sir. I thought you had gone. Will you take anything more, sir?"

"No, not to-night, Bain," was my reply.

Whereupon the old servant glanced around for the missing gla.s.s, and I saw with heart-sinking that he placed it upon the tray to carry it back to the servants' quarters.

The link which I had been so careful in preparing was already vanishing from my gaze, when of a sudden I said:

"I'll change my mind, Bain. I wonder if you have a lemon in the house?"

"I'll go to the kitchen and see if cook has one, sir," replied the old man, who, placing down the tray, left to do my bidding.

In an instant I sprang forward and seized the empty tumbler, handling it carefully. Swiftly, I tore a piece off the evening paper, and wrapping it around the gla.s.s, placed it in the pocket of my dinner jacket.

Then, going into the hall, I put on my overcoat and hat, and awaited Bain's return.

"I shan't want that lemon!" I cried to him as he came up from the lower regions. "Good-night, Bain!" and a few moments later I was in a taxi speeding towards Albemarle Street, with the evidence I wanted safe in my keeping.

That finger-prints remained on the polished surface of the gla.s.s I knew full well--the prints of my beloved's fingers.

But would they turn out to be the same as the fingers which had rested upon the gla.s.s-topped specimen-table in Digby's room?

Opening the door with my latch-key, I dashed upstairs, eager to put my evidence to the proof by means of the finely-powdered green chalk I had already secured--the same as that used by the police.

But on the threshold of my chambers Haines met me with a message--a message which caused me to halt breathless and staggered.

CHAPTER VIII.

CONTAINS FURTHER EVIDENCE.

"Sir Digby Kemsley was here an hour ago, sir. He couldn't wait!" Haines exclaimed, bringing himself to attention.

"Sir Digby!" I gasped, starting. "Why, in heaven's name, didn't you ring me up at Mrs. Shand's?" I cried.

"Because he wouldn't allow me, sir. He came to see you in strictest secrecy, sir. When I opened the door I didn't know him. He's shaved off his beard and moustache, and was dressed like a clergyman."

"A clergyman!"

"Yes, sir. He looked just like a parson. I wouldn't have known him in the street."

"An excellent ruse!" I exclaimed. "Of course, Haines, you know that--well--that the police are looking for him--eh?"

"Perfectly well, but you can trust me, sir. I'll say nothing. Sir Digby's a friend of yours."

"Yes, a great friend, and I feel that he's falsely accused of that terrible affair which happened at his flat," I said. "Did he promise to call again?"

"He scribbled this note for you," Haines said, taking up a letter from my blotting-pad.

With trembling fingers I tore it open, and upon a sheet of my own notepaper read the hurriedly written words--

"Sorry you were out. Wanted to see you most urgently. Keep your promise at Piccadilly Circus, and know nothing concerning me. My movements are most uncertain, as something amazing has occurred which prevents me making explanation. I will, however, send you my address in secret as soon as I have one. I trust you, Teddy, for you are my only friend.

"Digby."

I read the note several times, and gathered that he was in hourly fear of arrest. Every corner held for him a grave danger. Yet what could have occurred that was so amazing and which prevented him speaking the truth.

That I had not been in when he called was truly unfortunate. But by the fact that he was in clerical attire I surmised that he was living in obscurity--perhaps somewhere in the suburbs. London is the safest city in the world in which to hide, unless, of course, creditors or plaintiffs make it necessary to seek peace "beyond the jurisdiction of the Court."

Many a good man is driven to the latter course through no fault of his own, but by the inexorable demands of the Commissioners of Income Tax, or by undue pressure from antagonistic creditors. Every English colony on the Continent contains some who have fallen victims--good, honest Englishmen--who are dragging out the remainder of their lives in obscurity, men whose names are perhaps household words, but who conceal them beneath one a.s.sumed.

Digby would probably join the throng of the exiled. So I could do naught else than wait for his promised message, even though I was frantic in my anxiety to see and to question him regarding the reason of the presence of my well-beloved at his flat on that fatal night.

Imagine my bitter chagrin that I had not been present to receive him! It might be many months before I heard from him again, for his promise was surely very vague.

Presently I took the gla.s.s very carefully from my pocket, unwrapped it from its paper, and locked it in a little cabinet in the corner of my room, until next morning I brought it forth, and placing it upon a newspaper powdered it well with the pale green chalk which revealed at once a number of finger-marks--mine, Bain's, and Phrida's.

I am something of a photographer, as everybody is in these days of photo compet.i.tions. Therefore, I brought out my Kodak with its anastigmat lens,--a camera which I had carried for some years up and down Europe, and after considerable arrangement of the light, succeeded in taking a number of pictures. It occupied me all the morning, and even then I was not satisfied with the result. My films might, for aught I know, be hopelessly fogged.

Therefore, with infinite care, I took the gla.s.s to a professional photographer I knew in Bond Street, and he also made a number of pictures, which were duly developed and enlarged some hours later, and showed the distinctive lines and curves of each finger-print.

Not until the morning of the day following was I able to take these latter to Edwards, and then a great difficulty presented itself. How was I to explain how I had obtained the prints?

I sat for an hour smoking cigarettes furiously and thinking deeply.

At last a plan presented itself, and taking a taxi I went down to Scotland Yard, where I had no difficulty in obtaining an interview in his airy, barely-furnished business-like room.

"Hulloa, Mr. Royle!" he exclaimed cheerily as I entered. "Sit down--well, do you know anything more of that mysterious friend of yours--eh?"

I did not reply. Why should I lie? Instead, I said:

"I've been doing some amateur detective work. Have you the photographs of those finger-prints found on the specimen-table in Sir Digby's room?"