“This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in the matter.  He was a lawyer.  That sounded ominous.  What was the relation between them, and what the object of his repeated visits?  Was she his client, his friend, or his mistress?  If the former, she had probably transferred the photograph to his keeping.  If the latter, it was less likely.  On the issue of this question depended whether I should continue my work at Briony Lodge, or turn my attention to the gentleman’s chambers in the Temple.  It was a delicate point, and it widened the field of my inquiry.  I fear that I bore you with these details, but I have to let you see my little difficulties, if you are to understand the situation.”

“I am following you closely,” I answered.

“I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom cab drove up to Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang out.  He was a remarkably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached—­ evidently the man of whom I had heard.  He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the cabman to wait, and brushed past the maid who opened the door with the air of a man who was thoroughly at home.

“He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch glimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and down, talking excitedly, and waving his arms.  Of her I could see nothing.  Presently he emerged, looking even more flurried than before.  As he stepped up to the cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it earnestly, ‘Drive like the devil,’ he shouted, ’first to Gross & Hankey’s in Regent Street, and then to the Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road.  Half a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!’

“Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do well to follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau, the coachman with his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under his ear, while all the tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles.  It hadn’t pulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it.  I only caught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, with a face that a man might die for.

“‘The Church of St. Monica, John,’ she cried, ’and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.’

“This was quite too good to lose, Watson.  I was just balancing whether I should run for it, or whether I should perch behind her landau when a cab came through the street.  The driver looked twice at such a shabby fare, but I jumped in before he could object.  ‘The Church of St. Monica,’ said I, ’and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.’  It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and of course it was clear enough what was in the wind.

“My cabby drove fast.  I don’t think I ever drove faster, but the others were there before us.  The cab and the landau with their steaming horses were in front of the door when I arrived.  I paid the man and hurried into the church.  There was not a soul there save the two whom I had followed and a surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating with them.  They were all three standing in a knot in front of the altar.  I lounged up the side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a church.  Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to me, and Godfrey Norton came running as hard as he could towards me.