“This way to the Custom House,” shouted one of the officials.  I had forgotten this part of the programme, but I determined not to wait for my luggage.  I would sooner lose it a thousand times over than be late in reaching Kensington.  I accordingly got the keys from Kaffar and Simon, and pointing out the portmanteaus to an official, gave him a sovereign to see them examined and sent on to my address in Gower Street.

I hailed a hansom, but the cabby refused to take the three of us, upon which Kaffar offered to go in another; but I dared not risk him out of my sight, so we got into a rumbling old four-wheeler, and I offered the cabby a sovereign if he would get me at the address I gave him in half-an-hour.

“Couldn’t do it for ten sovereigns, sir,” said the cabby.  “The streets is as slippery as glass, and as crowded as herrin’s in a barrel.  I’ll do it in three-quarters for a quid, yer honour.”

It was now nearly half-past ten; that would make it a quarter-past eleven.  To me it was drawing it terribly fine, but I consented.  If he were not spurred on by thought of reward, short as the distance was, there was no knowing how long he would be.

At length the cab stopped.  It was a quarter-past eleven, and as I got out I noticed that we stood in front of one of those tall noble-looking mansions which are so common in Kensington.

“Wait a minute,” I said to the cabby; “I want to be certain this is the right house.”  Meanwhile I noticed that my constant friend Simon held Kaffar by the arm.

I rang the bell violently, and a servant appeared at the door.

Did Miss Gertrude Forrest live there?

Yes.

Was she at home?

Yes.

Could I see her?

The servant was not sure, but would ascertain.  Miss Forrest was then engaged.

I stopped the man, for I did not wish to appear in the way that matters seemed to promise.  Meanwhile Simon had paid the cabby, and so the three of us stood together in the hall.

“I am an old friend of Miss Forrest’s,” I said to the man; “I want to be shown to the room where she is, without her being apprised of my presence.”

“I daren’t,” he replied; “it would be as much as my place is worth.”

“No, it would not,” I replied.  “You would not suffer in the slightest degree.”

“But there are several people in the room,” he said, eyeing a sovereign I was turning over in my hand.

“How many?”

“There’s Miss Forrest, her aunt, and Miss Staggles, besides a gentleman that came early in the evening.”

“That gentleman’s name is Herod Voltaire,” I said.

“Yes, sir, that’s the name.  Well, I’ll do as you wish me.”

I followed the servant, while Simon kept fast hold on Kaffar.  The man knocked at the door, while I stood close behind him, and the moment he opened the door I entered the room.

Never shall I forget the sight.  Evidently Voltaire had been claiming the fulfilment of her promise, for he was earnestly speaking when I entered, while Miss Forrest, pale as death, sat by an elderly lady, who I concluded to be her aunt.  Miss Staggles also sat near, as grim and taciturn as ever.