Bundercombe by appointment in
the Burlington Arcade. We strolled slowly round into Bond Street. Mr.
Bundercombe was, for him, unusually serious. He looked about him all the
time with swift, careful glances. As we turned into Bond Street his pace
became slower and slower. Within a yard or two of the spot where I had
first seen him disappear he paused, and under pretense of talking
earnestly to me he looked up and down and across the street with keen,
careful glances.
At last, with a sudden turn he led the way into the passage. Together we
ascended the stairs. On a door almost opposite to us at the end of the
landing was another little brass plate, on which was engraved the name of
Mademoiselle Blanche. Mr. Bundercombe took a latchkey from his pocket and
opened the door, which he carefully closed after him.
"No one here!" I remarked.
"Not yet!" Mr. Bundercombe said, a little grimly. "From now onward you
will be able to understand certain things. Miss Blanche informed me that
to-day she had an invitation to go into the country. It was the only way I
could discover the day in which they were planning to bring off the coup.
If I had been an occasional visitor she might have risked my coming and
finding her away.
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