I have the Blue Book, Lord Coombe--through the
Peerage--through the Directory! There is no Lady Etynge and there
is no 97A in Berford Place! That is why I came here."
The man who had stood aside, stepped forward again. It was as if
he answered some sign, though Lord Coombe at the moment crossed
the hearth and rang the bell.
"Scotland Yard knows that, ma'am," said the man. "We've had our
eyes on that house for two weeks, and this kind of thing is what
we want."
"The double brougham," was Coombe's order to the servant who
answered his ring. Then he came back to Mademoiselle.
"Mr. Barkstow is a detective," he said. "Among the other things
he has done for me, he has, for some time, kept a casual eye on
Robin. She is too lovely a child and too friendless to be quite
safe. There are blackguards who know when a girl has not the
usual family protection. He came here to tell me that she had been
seen sitting in Kensington Gardens with a woman Scotland Yard has
reason to suspect."
"A black 'un!" said Barkstow savagely. "If she's the one we think
she is-a black, poisonous, sly one with a face that no girl could
suspect."
Coombe's still countenance was so deadly in the slow lividness,
which Mademoiselle saw began to manifest itself, that she caught
his sleeve with a shaking hand.
"She's nothing but a baby!" she said. "She doesn't know what a baby
she is.
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