of the nameless infamies
which were laid to her charge. After living there for a year, or perhaps
a little more, she disappeared as suddenly as she came, and they saw
nothing of her till about the time of the Paul Street case. At first she
came to her old haunts only occasionally, then more frequently, and
finally took up her abode there as before, and remained for six or eight
months. It's of no use my going into details as to the life that woman
led; if you want particulars you can look at Meyrick's legacy. Those
designs were not drawn from his imagination. She again disappeared, and
the people of the place saw nothing of her till a few months ago. My
informant told me that she had taken some rooms in a house which he
pointed out, and these rooms she was in the habit of visiting two or
three times a week and always at ten in the morning. I was led to expect
that one of these visits would be paid on a certain day about a week
ago, and I accordingly managed to be on the look-out in company with my
cicerone at a quarter to ten, and the hour and the lady came with equal
punctuality. My friend and I were standing under an archway, a little
way back from the street, but she saw us, and gave me a glance that I
shall be long in forgetting. That look was quite enough for me; I knew
Miss Raymond to be Mrs. Herbert; as for Mrs. Beaumont she had quite gone
out of my head. She went into the house, and I watched it till four
o'clock, when she came out, and then I followed her. It was a long
chase, and I had to be very careful to keep a long way in the
background, and yet not lose sight of the woman. She took me down to
the Strand, and then to Westminster, and then up St. James's Street, and
along Piccadilly. I felt queerish when I saw her turn up Ashley Street;
the thought that Mrs. Herbert was Mrs. Beaumont came into my mind, but
it seemed too improbable to be true. I waited at the corner, keeping my
eye on her all the time, and I took particular care to note the house at
which she stopped. It was the house with the gay curtains, the house of
flowers, the house out of which Crashaw came the night he hanged himself
in his garden. I was just going away with my discovery, when I saw an
empty carriage come round and draw up in front of the house, and I came
to the conclusion that Mrs. Herbert was going out for a drive, and I was
right. I took a hansom and followed the carriage into the Park. There,
as it happened, I met a man I know, a