The Ripening Rubies | Page 6

"Oh, you mean Mrs. Kevenner," he answered thickly, "she's a keb, she
is, allus takes a hansom, sir; 192, Westbourne Park; I don't want to ask
when I see her, sir."
"Thank you," said I, "she has dropped a piece of jewellery in the hall,

and I thought I would drive round and return it to her."
He looked surprised, at the notion, perhaps, of any one returning
anything found in a London ball-room; but I left him with his
astonishment and entered my carriage. There I found Abel crouching
down under the front seat, and he met me with a piteous plea that the
woman had no coachman, and that he had failed to obtain her address.
"Never mind that," said I, as we drove off sharply, "what did they say
at the station?"
"They wanted to bring a force of police round, and arrest every one in
the house, sir. I had trouble enough to hold them in, I'm sure. But I said
that we'd sit down and watch if they made any fuss, and then they gave
in. It's agreed now that a dozen men will be at the Harrow Road station
at your call till morning. They've a wonderful confidence in you, sir."
"It's a pity they haven't more confidence in themselves--but anyway, we
are in luck. The woman's address is 192, Westbourne Park, and I seem
to remember that it is a square."
"I'm sure of it," said he; "it's a round square in the shape of an oblong,
and one hundred and ninety two is at the side near Durham something
or other; we can watch it easily from the palings."
After this, ten minutes' drive brought us to the place, and I found it as
he had said, the 'square' being really a triangle. Number one hundred
and ninety-two was a big house, its outer points gone much to decay,
but lighted on its second and third floors; though so far as I could see,
for the blinds of the drawing-room were up, no one was moving. This
did not deter me, however, and, taking my stand with Abel at the corner
where two great trees gave us perfect shelter, we waited silently for
many minutes, to the astonishment of the constable upon the beat, with
whom I soon settled; and to his satisfaction.
"Ah," said he, "I knew they was rum 'uns all along; they owe fourteen
pounds for milk, and their butcher ain't paid; young men going in all
night, too--why, there's one of them there now."

I looked through the trees at his word, and saw that he was right. A
youth in an opera hat and a black coat was upon the doorstep of the
house; and as the light of a street lamp fell upon his face, I recognized
him. He was the boy who had eaten of the jam-tarts so plentifully at
Lady Faber's--the youth with whom Sibyl Kavanagh had pretended to
have no acquaintance when she talked to me in the conservatory. And
at the sight of him, I knew that the moment had come.
"Abel," I said, "it's time you went. Tell the men to bring a short ladder
with them. They'll have to come in by the balcony--but only when I
make a sign. The signal will be the cracking of the glass of that lamp
you can see upon the table there. Did you bring my pistol?"
"Would I forget that?" he asked; "I brought you two, and look out! for
you may want them."
"I know that," said I, "but I depend upon you. Get back at the earliest
possible moment, and don't act until I give the signal. It will mean that
the clue is complete."
He nodded his head, and disappeared quickly in the direction where the
carriage was; but I went straight up to the house, and knocked loudly
upon the door. To my surprise, it was opened at once by a thick-set
man in livery, who did not appear at all astonished to see me.
"They're upstairs, sir, will you go up?" said he.
"Certainly," said I, taking him at his word. "Lead the way."
This request made him hesitate.
"I beg your pardon," said he, "I think I have made a mistake--I'll speak
to Mrs. Kavanagh."
Before I could answer he had run up the stairs nimbly; but I was quick
after him; and when I came upon the landing, I could see into the front
drawing-room, where there sat the woman herself, a small and oldish
man with long black whiskers, and the youth who had just come into

the room. But the back room which gave off from the other with
folding-doors, was empty; and there was no light in it. All this I
perceived in a momentary