cent. And they haven't been delivered! Well?" he went on, turning to the waiter. "What after that?"
"The gentleman pays the bill and they go. See no more of them. But"—here he spread out his hands with an emphatic gesture—"those are the ladies described in the advertisement! I come here—quick—as soon as I see the paper this morning."
"Did you open the door for them when they left?" asked Wedgwood. "Just so—I thought you would. Very well—I know where Cipriani's is. Which way did they turn? Up or down!"
"Down! They walk away towards the corner of Oxford Street."
Wedgwood turned quietly to the other man who had listened to the waiter's story with evident interest.
"I expect this is where you come in, my lad, isn't it?" he said with a smile. "You picked up these three people at the corner, eh?"
"Well, just about it, guv'nor," answered the man promptly. "'Tween that and the Oxford Music Hall door. A gentleman and two ladies—same as what he describes."
"What time was that?"
"Nine-twenty, guv'nor—to the minute! I'd just looked at my watch."
