The object of the second move was to induce Lady Glyde to leave Blackwater unaccompanied by her sister.  Unless we could persuade her that Marian had gone on to Cumberland first, there was no chance of removing her, of her own free will, from the house.  To produce this necessary operation in her mind, we concealed our interesting invalid in one of the uninhabited bedrooms at Blackwater.  At the dead of night Madame Fosco, Madame Rubelle, and myself (Percival not being cool enough to be trusted) accomplished the concealment.  The scene was picturesque, mysterious, dramatic in the highest degree.  By my directions the bed had been made, in the morning, on a strong movable framework of wood.  We had only to lift the framework gently at the head and foot, and to transport our patient where we pleased, without disturbing herself or her bed.  No chemical assistance was needed or used in this case.  Our interesting Marian lay in the deep repose of convalescence.  We placed the candles and opened the doors beforehand.  I, in right of my great personal strength, took the head of the framework—­my wife and Madame Rubelle took the foot.  I bore my share of that inestimably precious burden with a manly tenderness, with a fatherly care.  Where is the modern Rembrandt who could depict our midnight procession?  Alas for the Arts! alas for this most pictorial of subjects!  The modern Rembrandt is nowhere to be found.

The next morning my wife and I started for London, leaving Marian secluded, in the uninhabited middle of the house, under care of Madame Rubelle, who kindly consented to imprison herself with her patient for two or three days.  Before taking our departure I gave Percival Mr. Fairlie’s letter of invitation to his niece (instructing her to sleep on the journey to Cumberland at her aunt’s house), with directions to show it to Lady Glyde on hearing from me.  I also obtained from him the address of the Asylum in which Anne Catherick had been confined, and a letter to the proprietor, announcing to that gentleman the return of his runaway patient to medical care.

I had arranged, at my last visit to the metropolis, to have our modest domestic establishment ready to receive us when we arrived in London by the early train.  In consequence of this wise precaution, we were enabled that same day to play the third move in the game—­the getting possession of Anne Catherick.

Dates are of importance here.  I combine in myself the opposite characteristics of a Man of Sentiment and a Man of Business.  I have all the dates at my fingers’ ends.

On Wednesday, the 24th of July 1850, I sent my wife in a cab to clear Mrs. Clements out of the way, in the first place.  A supposed message from Lady Glyde in London was sufficient to obtain this result.  Mrs. Clements was taken away in the cab, and was left in the cab, while my wife (on pretence of purchasing something at a shop) gave her the slip, and returned to receive her expected visitor at our house in St. John’s Wood.  It is hardly necessary to add that the visitor had been described to the servants as “Lady Glyde.”