That same evening I called at the _Bath Hotel_, and ascertained that "Mrs Grainger" had left some days before. She had not, it appeared, given any address where letters might be forwarded, but a judicious tip administered to a hall-porter caused him suddenly to recollect that a couple of days before her departure she had sent a dressing-bag to a trunk-maker's a little further down Piccadilly, to be repaired. This bag had not been returned to the hotel, therefore it was quite probable, thought the hall-porter, that the trunk-maker had forwarded it to her. "You know the people at the trunk-maker's, of course?" I said. "Yes, sir. Many visitors here want repairs done to their boxes and bags." "The _Bath Hotel_ is therefore a good customer?" I remarked. "They would certainly give you her address if you asked for it." He seemed a trifle dubious, but at my request went along to the shop, and a quarter of an hour later returned with an address. She had not moved far, it appeared. Only to the _Midland Hotel_ at St Pancras. Late that night I myself left the _Grand_, and, assuming a name that was not my own, took a room at the _Midland_, in order to commence my observations upon her movements. It was certainly a risky business, for I knew not when I might encounter her in the vestibule, in the lift, or in the public rooms. As soon as my room was assigned to me, I glanced through the list eagerly, but it was evident that if she were there she, too, had changed her name. In the long list of visitors was one, that of Mrs Slade. Slade? The name was familiar. It was that of the doctor who had given me back my sight. That name struck me as being the most probable. She occupied a room on the same floor as mine, numbered 406. The door of that room I intended to watch. My vigilance on the morrow was rewarded, for about eleven o'clock in the morning I saw Edna emerge from the room dressed to go out. She passed my door and descended by the stairs, while I took my hat and swiftly followed her at a safe distance from observation. The porter called her a hansom, and I saw her neat, black-robed figure mount into the conveyance. She had a letter in her hand, and read the address to the porter, who in turn repeated it to the driver. Meanwhile, I had entered another cab, and telling the man to keep Edna's cab in sight, we drove along King's Cross Road and Farringdon Street to the City, passing along Gresham Street and Lothbury. Suddenly the cab I was following turned into Austin Friars, while my driver, an intelligent young fellow, pulled up at the corner of Throgmorton Street and said-- "We'd better wait here, sir, if you don't want the lady to notice us. She's going into an office at number 14, opposite the Dutch Church." "Get down," I said, "and try and find out whose office she's gone into," and I added a promise to give him an extra gratuity for so doing.