Eight o’clock had struck ere she arrived at Bridge Place. At the corner of the street Gerald confronted her. He had kept watchful vigil upon the house to see whether Boyne had brought out any parcel for the poor widow. But the man of mystery had not come forth. She told her lover with enthusiasm how Boyne had invited her to stay there, and promised to keep a watchful eye upon things. "Excellent, dear," Gerald declared. "You go in, and I’ll still remain here, and follow him if he goes out to spend the evening." "Be careful that he doesn’t notice you," she urged. "He has awfully quick eyesight." "I know that. He very nearly spotted me the other day. In fact, I was afraid that he had." "I see you’ve got a cap on," she laughed. "Where is your hat?" "I’ve left it in a shop in the Broadway to be renovated and ironed, and I bought this cap to wear meanwhile. Does it make any difference?" "Certainly it does. And you’ve got a new jacket, too." "The same. I bought it at a reach-me-down shop in King Street an hour ago, and left my own there. Does it fit?" "Not very well around the collar, but nobody would really notice it," she declared. Gerald Durrant was both shrewd and determined. When he set his mind upon a thing, he carried it through at all costs. He intended to penetrate the veil of mystery which enveloped this good go-to-meeting collector of insurance premiums. "Well," he said at last. "Be watchful, and be careful, dear, that you don’t arouse his suspicion. He’s a mystery, and all men of his calibre are ultra-suspicious, and masters in the art of concealing their own feelings." "Don’t fear, Gerry," she laughed. "I shall be as clever as he is. You do your watching outside, and I’ll do mine within. I shall probably telegraph to Mr. Kenyon to-morrow and make excuse that I’m ill. Then I shall have a day in the house to examine things a little more closely." "That’s a good idea! Watch those things in his bedroom—that tea-kettle and the other things. Find out when they go—and where," were his parting injunctions. Five minutes later Marigold went down the area steps into the kitchen, where her aunt was cooking Mr. Boyne’s succulent steak. "He says he’s very hungry to-day—hasn’t had any lunch, so I went out and got him this!" exclaimed the old woman. "If he eats it all, then he ought to do well, eh?" she remarked, in her somewhat high-pitched and rasping voice. "Yes. I suppose he’ll go out afterwards," said Marigold. "He said he’d got to go out at nine—to a meeting somewhere," was her aunt’s reply. Therefore her niece took from her bag a postcard, scribbled something upon it, and in pretence of going to the post she went out to Gerald and told him what she had learned. This afforded Durrant time to go along to the "Clarendon" for dinner and a rest before resuming his patient observations. On her return, Marigold put on an apron and helped her aunt. Indeed, she carried up the tray into Mr. Boyne’s room.