She remembered that
the gilded adventures of every nation under the sun forgathered
there either for business or pleasure, and that some of the most
wonderful crimes of the latter half of the century had been
schemed and matured in that haunt of cosmopolitan iniquity.
When the second steamer arrived Nella stood at the end of the
gangway, close to the ticket-collector. The first person to step on
shore was - not the Baroness Zerlinski, but Miss Spencer herself!
Nella turned aside instantly, hiding her face, and Miss Spencer,
carrying a small bag, hurried with assured footsteps to the Custom
House. It seemed as if she knew the port of Ostend fairly well. The
moon shone like day, and Nella had full opportunity to observe her
quarry. She could see now quite plainly that the Baroness Zerlinski
had been only Miss Spencer in disguise. There was the same gait,
the same movement of the head and of the hips; the white hair was
easily to be accounted for by a wig, and the wrinkles by a paint
brush and some grease paints. Miss Spencer, whose hair was now
its old accustomed yellow, got through the Custom House without
difficulty, and Nella saw her call a closed carriage and say
something to the driver. The vehicle drove off. Nella jumped into
the next carriage - an open one - that came up.
'Follow that carriage,' she said succinctly to the driver in French.
'Bien, madame!' The driver whipped up his horse, and the animal
shot forward with a terrific clatter over the cobbles.
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