Then he passed into the hall; and even the shock of this painful interview did not prevent him from noting the flitting of a shadow past a distant doorway, as some one hurried into the interior of a room. In their excitement they forgot that their voices might attract attention, and ladies' maids are proverbially inquisitive. CHAPTER XVI FOXEY The keen, cold air of the streets soon restored the man to his habitual calm. He felt that a quiet stroll would do him good. As he walked he pondered, and the more critically he examined Mrs. Hillmer's change of attitude the less he understood it. "For some ridiculous reason," he communed, "the woman believes her brother guilty. Now I shall have endless trouble at getting at the truth. She will not be candid. She will only tell me that which she thinks will help him, and conceal that which she considers damaging. That is a woman's way, all the world over. And a desperately annoying way it is. Perhaps I was to blame in springing this business too hastily upon her. But there! I like Mrs. Hillmer, and I hate using her as one juggles with a self-conceited witness. In future I shall trouble her no more." A casual glance into the interior of Sloane Square Station gave him a glimpse of the barrier, and he recognized the collector who had taken Lady Dyke's ticket on that fatal night when she quitted the Richmond train. Rather as a relief than for other cause he entered into conversation with the official. "Do you remember me?" he said. "Can't say as I do, sir." The man examined his questioner with quick suspicion. The forgotten "season" dodge would not work with _him_. "Maybe you remember these?" said Bruce, producing his cigar-case. "Now, wot's the gyme?" said the collector to himself. But he smiled, and answered: "Do you mean by the look of 'em, sir?" "Good!" laughed Claude. "Take three or four home with you. Meanwhile I am sure you remember me coming to see you last November concerning a lady who alighted here from Victoria one foggy evening and handed you a ticket to Richmond?" "Of course I do, sir. And the cigars are _all_ right. There was a lot of fuss about that lydy. Did she ever turn up?" "Not exactly. That is to say, she died shortly after you saw her." "No! Well, of all the rummy goes! She was a fine-looking woman, too, as well as I rec'llect. Looked fit for another fifty year. Wot 'appened to 'er." "I don't know. I wish I did." "An' 'ave you been on the 'unt ever since, guv'nor?" "Yes, ever since." "She's dead, you s'y?" "Yes." "But 'ow'd you know she's dead, if you 'ain't seen 'er since?" "I have seen her. I saw her dead body at Putney." "At Putney! Well, I'm blowed!" A roar from beneath, the slamming of many doors, and the quick rush of a crowd up the steps, announced the arrival of a train. "Pardon, sir," said the man, "this is the 5.41 Mansion House. But don't go aw'y. There's somethin'--Tickets, _if_ you please."