From the first, two facts were very obvious to me, the one that the
lady had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony, the other
that she had repented of it within a few minutes of returning home.
Obviously something had occurred during the morning, then, to cause her
to change her mind. What could that something be? She could not have
spoken to anyone when she was out, for she had been in the company of
the bridegroom. Had she seen someone, then? If she had, it must be
someone from America because she had spent so short a time in this
country that she could hardly have allowed anyone to acquire so deep an
influence over her that the mere sight of him would induce her to
change her plans so completely. You see we have already arrived, by a
process of exclusion, at the idea that she might have seen an American.
Then who could this American be, and why should he possess so much
influence over her? It might be a lover; it might be a husband. Her
young womanhood had, I knew, been spent in rough scenes and under
strange conditions. So far I had got before I ever heard Lord St.
Simon s narrative. When he told us of a man in a pew, of the change in
the bride s manner, of so transparent a device for obtaining a note as
the dropping of a bouquet, of her resort to her confidential maid, and
of her very significant allusion to claim-jumping which in miners
parlance means taking possession of that which another person has a
prior claim to the whole situation became absolutely clear. She had
gone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or was a previous
husband the chances being in favour of the latter.
And how in the world did you find them?
It might have been difficult, but friend Lestrade held information in
his hands the value of which he did not himself know. The initials
were, of course, of the highest importance, but more valuable still was
it to know that within a week he had settled his bill at one of the
most select London hotels.
How did you deduce the select?
By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eightpence for a
glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive hotels. There are
not many in London which charge at that rate. In the second one which I
visited in Northumberland Avenue, I learned by an inspection of the
book that Francis H. Moulton, an American gentleman, had left only the
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