He stood still a little, and I thought to myself he is thinking whether he shall take a cab. He didn't take one till he was half-a-mile from Mrs. Holdfast's house. I ran all the way after it. It was a good job for me that the cab was a four-wheeler, and that it went along slow, for running so hard set my heart beating to that extent that I thought it would jump out of my body. I scarcely knew where we were going, the night was that dark, but I knew it was not in the direction of Buckingham Palace Road. Mr. Pelham rode about a mile, then called out to the cabby, and jumped on to the pavement. He paid the man, and the cab drove away, and then Mr. Pelham walked slowly towards Lambeth, looking about him, although the night was so dark, in exactly the same way as Mr. Manx had done when I followed him from Great Porter Square. I had been on my feet all the day, and had walked miles and miles, and I hadn't had a bit of bread in my mouth since breakfast--but when I was certain that Mr. Pelham was walking to Lambeth I didn't feel hungry or tired. I said to myself, 'Fanny, your idea was right; but what does it all mean?' Well, I couldn't settle that; all I had to settle was that the two men who shrugged their left shoulders, and who rolled their cigarettes in their mouths in the way I had noticed, were not two men at all, but the same man, living in one place as a gentleman and an Englishman, and in another as a poor foreigner without a shilling. So I was not at all surprised to see Mr. Pelham, dressed like a swell, stop at the coffee shop at which Mr. Manx had stopped, and push through the dark passage by the door I had not noticed when I was waiting in the street this morning for Mr. Manx, and I wasn't at all surprised that Mr. Pelham didn't come out again. The man who came was the man I wanted, and I followed him home here to Great Porter Square, and he is in the house now." And here Fanny concluded the account of her day's adventures by asking, "Who came in five minutes before I did?" "Richard Manx," I replied. "It's all one," said Fanny, triumphantly; "Richard Manx is Mr. Pelham. There's no difference between them, except that one wears a wig, and paints his face, and talks like a foreigner, and that the other lives in a fine house, and drinks wine, and dresses like a gentleman. That was my idea last night. That was what I had to do when I asked you this morning to let me go for the day. There's something in it; I don't know what--that's for you to find out. Are you pleased with me?" I pressed the faithful child in my arms, and she gave a sigh and fainted. She was so eager to tell me of her discovery, and I was so anxious to hear it, that we both forgot that for fifteen hours not a morsel of food had passed her lips. CHAPTER XXXVI. BECKY AND FANNY ON THE WATCH.