Moreover, Ware thought it would be just as well to learn what Steel was doing.
He had charge of the case and might have struck the trail.
In that case Giles wanted to know, for he could then avert any possible danger from Anne.
And finally he reflected that he might learn something about Anne's friends from the people at the Governesses' Institute where Mrs. Morley had engaged her.
If she returned to London it was not impossible that she might have gone to hide in the house of some friend.
Any one who knew Anne could be certain that she was not guilty of the crime she was accused of, and would assuredly aid her to escape the unjust law.
So thought Giles in his ardor; but he quite forgot that every one was not in love with Anne, and would scarcely help her unless they were fully convinced of her innocence, and perhaps not even then.
Most people have a holy horror of the law, and are not anxious to help those in danger of the long arm of justice.
However, Giles reasoned as above and forthwith left Paris for London.
He took up his quarters in the Guelph Hotel, opposite the Park, and began his search for Anne again.
Luckily he had obtained from Mrs. Morley the number of the Institute, which was in South Kensington, and the day after his arrival walked there to make inquiries.
It was a very forlorn hope, but Ware saw no other chance of achieving his desire.
The Institute was a tall red-brick house, with green blinds and a prim, tidy look.
He was shown into a prim parlor and interviewed by a prim old lady, who wore spectacles and had a pencil stuffed in the bosom of her black gown.
However, she was less prim than she looked, and had a cheerful old ruddy face with a twinkling pair of kindly eyes.
In her heart Mrs. Cairns admired this handsome young man who spoke so politely, and was more willing to afford him the desired information than if he had been elderly and ugly.
Old as she was, the good lady was a true daughter of Eve, and her natural liking for the opposite sex had not been crushed out of her by years of education.
Nevertheless when she heard the name of Anne she threw up her hands in dismay.
"Why do you come here to ask about that unfortunate girl?" she demanded, and looked severely at Giles.
Before he could reply she glanced again at his card, which she held in her fingers, and started. "Giles Ware," she read, drawing a quick breath. "Are you——"
"I was engaged to the young lady who was killed," said Ware, surprised.
Mrs. Cairns' rosy face became a deep red.
"And you doubtless wish to avenge her death by finding Miss Denham?"
"On the contrary, I wish to save Miss Denham."
"What! do you not believe her guilty?"
"No, Mrs. Cairns, I do not.
Every one says she killed the girl, but I am certain that she is an innocent woman.
I come to ask you if you can tell me where she is."
"Why do you come to me?" Mrs. Cairns went to see that the door was closed before she asked this question.
"I thought you might know of her whereabouts."
"Why should I?"
"Well, I admit that there is no reason why you should—at least, I thought so before I came here."
"And now?" She bent forward eagerly.
"Now I think that if she had come to you for refuge she would get help from you.
I can see that you also believe her guiltless."
"I do," said Mrs. Cairns in a low voice. "I have known Anne for years and I am certain that she is not the woman to do a thing like this.
She would not harm a fly."
"Then you can help me.
You know where she is?"
Mrs. Cairns looked at his flushed face, at the light in his eyes.
In her shrewd way she guessed the secret of this eagerness.
"Then you love her," she said under her breath. "You love Anne."
"Why do you say that?" asked Giles, taken aback. He was not prepared to find that she could read him so easily.
"I remember," said Mrs. Cairns to herself, but loud enough for him to hear, "there was a Society paper said something about jealousy being the motive of the crime, and——"
"Do you mean to say that such a statement was in the papers?" asked Ware angrily, and with a flash of his blue eyes.
"It was in none of the big daily papers, Mr. Ware.
They offered no explanation.
But some Society reporter went down to Rickwell; to gather scandal from the servants, I suppose."
"Off from Mrs. Parry," muttered Giles; then aloud, "Yes?"
"Well, this man or woman—most probably it was a woman—made up a very pretty tale, which was printed in The Firefly."