CHAPTER XXV.

The evening following this conversation, Seth Dumbrick, going out while the Duchess was still at home, watched for her at the corner of a convenient street, and when she appeared, followed her so as not to be observed. It was a fine dry evening, and the Duchess walked swiftly towards the west of London. At the Mansion House she entered an omnibus, and Seth climbed to the top. She alighted at Charing Cross, and tripped over to Trafalgar Square, where she was immediately greeted by a man whose face Seth, being compelled to keep at a safe distance, could not distinguish. There was no difficulty in following the pair; and it needed only ordinary caution to prevent being detected. The Duchess and her companion walked onwards through the Haymarket to Regent Street, pausing frequently at shop-windows, and once they entered a café, Seth waiting for them in the street. Resuming their walk they strolled to Oxford Street, and then turned back towards the Strand. It was half-past seven by the time they reached that wonderful thoroughfare, down which they strolled, until they came to the door of the Strand Theatre. This they entered, and were lost to Seth's sight. Noticing which way they turned, he followed, and asked the price of admission. A gentleman in a white tie, who was standing by the small window where the money was taken, loftily informed Seth that the pit and gallery were round the corner.

"But," said Seth, "I want to go where the lady and gentleman who have just passed through have gone."

"To the stalls?" inquired the gentleman in the white tie, in a tone of surprise.

"Yes, to the stalls," replied Seth.

"Can't admit you," was the rejoinder.

"Why?"

"Not dressed."

Seth glanced at his common clothes, and with a slight shrug and a little ironical smile, pardonable under the circumstances, took the indicated direction to the pit and gallery. He paid for admission to the pit, and, soon after he entered, succeeded in discovering where the Duchess was seated. She was in the stalls with her companion, and their backs were towards him. When Seth entered the pit, he found it very full, and he could only obtain standing room; necessarily, therefore, his discovery of the Duchess was made with some difficulty, and from where he stood it was impossible for him to observe her closely. Indeed, from the surging of the audience, and the goings to and fro, she was often not visible to him. He had no heart for the performance, which caused a running fire of laughter and merriment in all parts of the theatre, and before its termination he left the place, afraid lest in the last crush he should miss the Duchess. He lingered patiently in the Strand, near the box entrance of the theatre, until the people came out, and was successful in catching sight of the Duchess and her companion, whose evening dress was covered by a light overcoat. When they had disengaged themselves from the throng, they paused, and from the opposite side of the street Seth noted that a discussion was taking place between them, the man persuading, the Duchess refusing. At length the Duchess cut short the disputed point by running away from her companion with a light laugh. He hastened immediately after her, and arm-in-arm they wended their way to Rosemary Lane, followed warily by Seth. There they parted, after more than one kiss, which caused Seth to knit his brows ominously. When he was alone, the man took from his pocket a cigar case, which, notwithstanding the distance that separated them, Seth observed was made of silver. Lighting a cigar, the Duchess's lover strolled leisurely along until he came to a cab-rank, whence he hailed a cab. This was what Seth feared. Quickly hailing another, he gave the driver instructions to follow, without laying himself open to observation, promising extra payment if this were done. His cab pulled up in one of the most fashionable quarters of the west of London. As he was paying the fare, he asked the driver the name of the street, and saw his girl's lover walk on a few yards, and pause at a great house, which he presently entered. Then Seth walked up the steps, and noted the number.

His labours for that night were almost at an end; there was still a small matter to be attended to. He waited until he heard the policeman's measured footfall, and falling in by his side in a natural manner, struck up a conversation. He did not find it difficult, being in some respects a shrewd actor in the busy world, to ingratiate himself into the good graces of the official It was a cold night, and he proposed a friendly glass, The policeman, who knew an honest man when he came across one, and who was generally luckier than Diogenes, affably entertained the proposition. Over the friendly glass the conversation was continued, and sufficiently mellowed, the policeman took possession of his beat again, accompanied by Seth. They passed the house which the Duchess's lover had entered. Seth had artfully directed the conversation into the desired channel, and as they passed the house, he asked:

"Who lives there? A great man, I should say."

"You'd say right," replied the policeman. "That's Mr. Temple's house."

"Hasn't he an estate in the country, called Springfield? I was in that quarter some time since, and I heard it belonged to the great Mr. Temple."

"I've heard as much myself. Yes, Springfield's the name of his country seat, now you mention it. I wish I was as well off as him."

"I wish so, too," said Seth Dumbrick, as he walked away. "Goodnight."