The next thing was to drive to the nearest public-house, where it did not take many seconds to swallow a pint of six ale.  The sandwiches which a careful wife had wrapped in a piece of newspaper, could wait until he had made certain of his good fortune.  On reaching Golfney Place, he saw beyond a doubt that the house from which he had driven the young lady and her luggage was assuredly Number 5, and then Mr. Joseph Botting lost no time in making his way to Upper Grosvenor Street, where the advertisement said he was to apply.

Before he had time to get down from his seat Jimmy, having seen him through the dining-room window, came out with his napkin in his hand.

“’Morning, guvnor,” said Joseph.  “I’ve come about this ’ere five pound reward.”

“You have only to tell me where you left the young lady,” replied Jimmy, taking out his pocket-case and temptingly exposing a bank note.

“Well, you see, guvnor, I can’t call to mind the address,” said Joseph.

“It wasn’t a railway station!”

“No,” was the answer.  “I’ll tell you where it was.”

“Where?” demanded Jimmy.

“Blackheath,” said Dotting. “‘Cabman,’ she says, ’drive to the Marble Arch.’  But when we got there she tells me to go over Westminster Bridge to Blackheath.  As soon as we were at the village, as they calls it, she gets out and looks round for a second and then she darts across the road by the cab rank and goes into a sort of registry office.  By an’ by,” Joseph Botting continued, “she comes out agin and tells me to drive on to—­blest if I can recollect the name o’ the place.”

“Could you find your way to the house again?” suggested Jimmy, as Botting took off his cap and rubbed his crown.

“Like a shot, guvnor.”

“Jump up, then,” said Jimmy.  “The moment I hear that the young lady has been at the house you shall have the fiver and a good tip beyond your fare.”

“Right you are,” cried Botting, and Jimmy, re-entering the hall, spoke a few words of unsatisfactory explanation to Sybil, while he thrust his arms into the sleeves of his motor coat.

When once he was on the way he quickly recovered his customary self-control.  Lighting a cigar, he leaned back in the cab and was soon on the Surrey side of Westminster Bridge.  He was driven along the dreary length of Walworth Road, to Camberwell Green, through Peckham to Lewisham.  From the Lee High Road Joseph Botting turned along a shady thoroughfare to the left, presently reaching Blackheath with Greenwich Park on the farther side, and immediately on the right a row of high, old-fashioned houses.

“Here we are, guvnor!” exclaimed Joseph, applying his brake, and Jimmy was out on the pavement in an instant, across the long front garden, ringing the bell, knocking at the door.

“Miss Rosser?” he asked when it was opened by a middle-aged woman.

“She went out three-quarters of an hour ago,” was the answer.