ve given you the benefit of my
experience; I've done it cheap. It would have cost double the money if
another man had taken this in hand. Another man would have kept a watch
on Mr. Armadale as well as Miss Gwilt. I have saved you that expense.
You are certain that Mr. Armadale is bent on marrying her. Very good.
In that case, while we have our eye on _her_, we have, for all useful
purposes, got our eye on _him_. Know where the lady is, and you know
that the gentleman can't be far off."

"Quite true, Jemmy. But how was it Miss Gwilt came to give you so much
trouble?"

"She's a devilish clever woman," said Bashwood the younger; "that's how
it was. She gave us the slip at a milliner's shop. We made it all right
with the milliner, and speculated on the chance of her coming back to
try on a gown she had ordered. The cleverest women lose the use of their
wits in nine cases out of ten where there's a new dress in the case, and
even Miss Gwilt was rash enough to go back. That was all we wanted. One
of the women from our office helped to try on her new gown, and put her
in the right position to be seen by one of our men behind the door. He
instantly suspected who she was, on the strength of what he had been
told of her; for she's a famous woman in her way. Of course, we didn't
trust to that. We traced her to her new address; and we got a man from
Scotland Yard, who was certain to know her, if our own man's idea was
the right one. The man from Scotland Yard turned milliner's lad for
the occasion, and took her gown home. He saw her in the passage, and
identified her in an instant. You're in luck, I can tell you. Miss
Gwilt's a public character. If we had had a less notorious woman to deal
with, she might have cost us weeks of inquiry, and you might have had to
pay hundreds of pounds. A day did it in Miss Gwilt's case; and another
day put the whole story of her life, in black and white, into my hand.
There it is at the present moment, old gentleman, in my black bag."

Bashwood the father made straight for the bag with eager eyes and
outstretched hand. Bashwood the son took a little key out of his
waistcoat pocket, winked, shook his head, and put the key back again.

"I haven't done breakfast yet," he said. "Gently does it, my dear
sir--gently does it."

"I can't wait!" cried the old man, struggling vainly to preserve his
self-control. "It's past nine! It's a fortnight to-day since she went to
London with Mr. Armadale! She may