Oh, he'll have followed him all right--I don't imagine
for a moment that Greyle is trying to evade anybody, at this juncture,
at any rate."
But when--four hours later--the train drew into King's Cross--and
Gilling's partner, a young and sharp-looking man, presented himself, it
was with a long and downcast face and a lugubrious shake of the head.
"Done!--for the first time in my life!" he growled in answer to
Gilling's eager inquiry. "Lost him! Never failed before--as you know.
Well, it had to come, I suppose--can't go on without an occasional
defeat. But--I'm a bit licked as to the whole thing--unless your man is
dodging somebody. Is he?"
"Tell your tale," commanded Gilling, motioning Copplestone to follow him
and Swallow aside.
"I was up here in good time this afternoon to meet his train," reported
Swallow. "I spotted him and his man at once; no difficulty, as your
description of both was so full. They were together while the luggage
was got out; then he, Greyle, gave some instructions to the man and left
him. He himself got into a taxi-cab; I got into another close behind and
gave its driver certain orders. Greyle drove straight to the Fragonard
Club--you know."
"Ah!" exclaimed Gilling. "Did he, now? That's worth knowing."
"What's the Fragonard Club?" asked Copplestone. "Never heard of it."
"Club of folk connected with the stage and the music-halls," answered
Gilling, testily.
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