I got my information, as you may
suppose, no great Puritan, shuddered and grew sick in telling me of the
nameless infamies which were laid to her charge. After living there for
a year, or perhaps a little more, she disappeared as suddenly as she
came, and they saw nothing of her till about the time of the Paul
Street case. At first she came to her old haunts only occasionally,
then more frequently, and finally took up her abode there as before,
and remained for six or eight months. It's of no use my going into
details as to the life that woman led; if you want particulars you can
look at Meyrick's legacy. Those designs were not drawn from his
imagination. She again disappeared, and the people of the place saw
nothing of her till a few months ago. My informant told me that she
had taken some rooms in a house which he pointed out, and these rooms
she was in the habit of visiting two or three times a week and always
at ten in the morning. I was led to expect that one of these visits
would be paid on a certain day about a week ago, and I accordingly
managed to be on the look-out in company with my cicerone at a quarter
to ten, and the hour and the lady came with equal punctuality. My
friend and I were standing under an archway, a little way back from the
street, but she saw us, and gave me a glance that I shall be long in
forgetting. That look was quite enough for me; I knew Miss Raymond to
be Mrs. Herbert; as for Mrs. Beaumont she had quite gone out of my
head. She went into the house, and I watched it till four o'clock,
when she came out, and then I followed her. It was a long chase, and I
had to be very careful to keep a long way in the background, and yet
not lose sight of the woman. She took me down to the Strand, and then
to Westminster, and then up St. James's Street, and along Piccadilly.
I felt queerish when I saw her turn up Ashley Street; the thought that
Mrs. Herbert was Mrs. Beaumont came into my mind, but it seemed too
impossible to be true. I waited at the corner, keeping my eye on her
all the time, and I took particular care to note the house at which she
stopped. It was the house with the gay curtains, the home of flowers,
the house out of which Crashaw came the night he hanged himself in his
garden. I was just going away with my discovery, when I saw an empty
carriage come round and draw up in front of the house, and I came to
the conclusion that Mrs. Herbert was going out for a drive, and I was