That evening she sauntered along Pont Street, and looked up at the red-brick house which Boyne had entered on that well-remembered night. But the place was in complete darkness, save for a light in the servants’ quarters. Then again she went to Bridge Place, and learned from the old deaf woman that her master had not yet returned. "He’s having a very nice long holiday," said Mrs. Felmore. "And he deserves it, too—a-tramping about Hammersmith all day and in all weathers, as he does." Three weeks went past, but no further word had come from Gerald, either to his principal, his sister, or to his well-beloved. Gerald Durrant had, truth to tell, met with some strange and startling adventures since the night of his disappearance. In the darkness on that well-remembered night he was walking along the Kensington Road towards Knightsbridge, following Boyne at a respectful distance, and keeping a wary eye upon him, without arousing any suspicion as he naturally believed. While passing the railings of Kensington Gardens, close to Queen’s Gate, he saw a female figure lying upon the pavement with a lady bending over her concernedly. Hastening up, he found both ladies to be well dressed, and inquired what had occurred. "Oh, dear!" cried the elder lady, in great distress. "My sister has just slipped down on a piece of banana peel, I think, and she’s broken her ankle. She can’t move, and she doesn’t speak. She has fainted. I—I wonder, sir, if you would be so kind as to call me a taxi." "Certainly I will," replied Gerald, with his usual gallantry. "If you’ll stay here, I’ll go back to the rank. I passed it a few minutes ago, and there was a taxi there." So he dashed back, got into the cab, and was soon on the spot where the lady, who had recovered consciousness, was standing on one foot, unable to put the other to the ground. "It’s so extremely kind of you," said the elder lady, while the injured one expressed faint thanks. Then, assisted by the driver, the lady was seated in the conveyance. "I really don’t know how I shall get her up the stairs," exclaimed the elder woman. "We live in a flat up at Hampstead and we have no hall-porter." Gerald reflected a second, and suddenly recollected that Boyne was now out of sight, so that by that unfortunate accident he was prevented from further following him. "I shall be very pleased to accompany you, and give you what assistance I can," he said. "May I get in?" "Certainly. It’s too kind of you," the injured lady declared. "I fear we are encroaching upon your time, but the taxi can bring you back to wherever you want to go." So Gerald got in, while the elder lady gave the man an address at Hampstead—some mansions, the name of which he did not catch, for, at the moment, he was in conversation with her sister. All he recollected were the words: "It’s close to Hampstead tube station."