Monckton returned to London baffled. What was he to do? Go to a secret-inquiry office? Advertise that if Mr. Robert Bartley, late of Hull, would write to a certain agent, he would hear of something to his advantage? He did not much fancy either of these plans. He wanted to pounce on Bartley, or Hope, or both. Then he argued thus: "Bartley has got lots of money now, or he would not have given up business. Ten to one he lives in London, or visits it. I will try the Park." Well, he did try the Park, both at the riding hour and the driving hour. He saw no Bartley at either time. But one day in the Lady's Mile, as he listlessly watched the carriages defile slowly past him, with every now and then a jam, there crawled past him a smart victoria, and in it a beautiful woman with glorious dark eyes, and a lovely little boy, the very image of her. It was his wife and her son. Monckton started, but the lady gave no sign of recognition. She bowed, but it was to a gentleman at Monckton's side, who had raised his hat to her with marked respect. "What a beautiful crechaar!" said a little swell to the gentleman in question. "You know her?" "Very slightly." "Who is she? A duchess?" "No; a stock-broker's wife, Mrs. Braham. Why, she is a known beauty." That was enough for Monckton. He hung back a little, and followed the carriage. He calculated that if it left the Park at Hyde Park corner, or the Marble Arch, he could take a hansom and follow it. When the victoria got clear of the crowd at the corner, Mrs. Braham leaned forward a moment and whispered a word to her coachman. Instantly the carriage dashed at the Chesterfield Gate and into Mayfair at such a swift trot that there was no time to get a cab and keep it in sight. Monckton lighted a cigarette. "Clever girl!" said he, satirically. "She knew me, and never winked." The next day he went to the lawyer and said, "I have a little favor to ask you, sir." The lawyer was on his guard directly, but said nothing. "An interview--in this office--with Mrs. Braham." The lawyer winced, but went on his guard again directly. "Client of ours?" "Yes, sir." "Braham? Braham?" said the lawyer, affecting to search the caverns of professional memory. "Stock-broker's wife." "Where do they live?" "What! don't you know? Place of _business_--Threadneedle Street. Place of _bigamy_--Portman Square." "I have no authority to grant a personal interview with any such person." "But you have no power to hinder one, and it is her interest the meeting should take place here, and the stock-broker be out of it." The lawyer reflected. "Will you promise me it shall be a friendly interview? You will never go to her husband?" "Her stock-broker, you mean. Not I. If she comes to me here when I want her." "Will that be often?" "I think not. I have a better card to play than Mrs. Braham. I only want her to help me to find certain people. Shall we say twelve o'clock to-morrow?"