my chair, expressing my intention of driving intoSwanage in the hope that she had not already left, when the door opened,and a dark, well-dressed man about forty, clean-shaven, having theappearance of a naval officer and dressed in a dark grey flannel suit,came forward with extended hand to my companion, wishing hergood-morning.
From his easy manner I saw that he was a guest in the house, although onthe previous night I had not seen him.
"Will you allow me to introduce you?" Lucie said, and next instantpresented the newcomer to me as "My father's friend, Mr Gordon-Wright."
The visitor turned to take the hand I extended to him, and raised hiseyes to mine.
The conventional greeting and assurance of pleasure at the meeting frozeupon my lips.
We had met before--under circumstances that were, to say the least, bothstartling and strange.
In that instant I recognised how that the mystery had deepened athousandfold.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE NIGHT.
Whether the recognition had been mutual I was unable to decide.
If it had the newcomer made no sign, but extended his hand and greetedme, while I, striving to remain unconcerned, returned his welcome.
"Your father tells me he's driving over to Swanage at half-past ten,Miss Lucie. Are you coming with us?" he asked, as he lounged with hishands deep in his jacket pockets, and an after-breakfast cigarettebetween his lips.
"I don't think so," was her reply. "I'm lunching with the Stronggirls."
"Oh, do come," urged the dark-faced man. "You'd be back before one.You promised me yesterday that you'd drive me somewhere."
"So I will--to-morrow, perhaps."
I watched the man's thin shaven face, and looked into his grey eyes insilence. His was a countenance striking on account of its clear-cutfeatures, its mobile mouth, its high intellectual forehead, and itsprotruding jaws--an eminently clever, good-humoured face, and yet theexpression in the eyes was, somehow, out of keeping with the rest of thecountenance.
He laughed lightly, making some chaffing remarks, whereat the slightflush that arose in Lucie's cheeks told me that she was not altogetheraverse to his evident admiration. He was a pleasant fellow--but,nevertheless, a mystery.
His appearance there had, for two reasons, startled me. The first wasbecause I had no idea that Miller had a male visitor, and the second wasbecause I recognised him as a person whom I had long desired torediscover.
The last occasion I had seen him he had called himself LieutenantShacklock, R.N. It was in very different circumstances. He had worn amoustache and beard, and affected a gold-rimmed monocle. His personalappearance as he stood there laughing with Lucie was, however, verydifferent, yet those cold grey, close-set eyes were the same. They worean expression that could never be altered or disguised.
We spoke together once or twice, and I began to feel convinced that hewas unaware of our previous meeting.
"Yes," he remarked to me. "Beautiful old place this. I wonder myfriend Miller doesn't live here more. If I were in his place I'm sureI'd prefer it to wandering about the Continent."
"You've been here before, I suppose?"
"Many times. Miller, when he's home, generally invites me," and then heturned to Lucie, by whom he was undoubtedly attracted. Little wonder,indeed, when one recognised how handsome she was.
I again stood silent, my eyes turned upon the spruce man's face--theface that brought back to my mind a curious and mysterious incident inmy wandering life abroad.
When one travels on the Continent as I had travelled, spending years ofaimless wandering and lazy idling in the halls and smoking-rooms ofhotels of the first order, making passing acquaintances of men and womenof all grades and all nations, listening to music in illuminatedgardens, and sometimes wandering with some fair _table-d'hote_acquaintance beneath the stars, one meets with some queer adventures. Ihad met with a good many. One of them I now found myself recalling.
Three winters before I found myself, after the brilliant season at MonteCarlo, at a little sea-side resort called Nervi, which, as travellersknow, is a few miles beyond Genoa, on the way to Rome. You havepossibly looked out of the train and there obtained a glimpse of theblue Mediterranean beating upon its brown rocks; you have admired thesplendid white villas of the Genoese merchants, and you have, probably,noticed behind the little railway station a great hotel garden, withgreen lawns and a splendid avenue of spreading palms.
In that garden one April night after dinner I was strolling and smokingwith two men, who were friends. We had met casually in the hotel a fewdays before; a pleasant word or two, cocktails in company, a profferedcigar, and we at once became acquaintances, as is the way ofcosmopolitans. The elder was named Blenkap, a man of sixty, a wealthyironmaster from Pittsburg; while Shacklock, the other, was much younger,smart, and had just retired from the Navy.
That night we wandered through the gardens to the sea, which lay likeglass beneath the light of the white Italian moon, with the wavessighing softly upon the shingle. But Blenkap, after half an hour,complained of being rather unwell, and while the lieutenant went intothe town to purchase some cigarettes I accompanied his friend back tothe hotel.
It was then about ten o'clock, and refusing to allow me to call adoctor, the American went to his room. At two o'clock in the morning Iwas awakened by the night-porter, who said that number ninety-seven hadasked him to call me. Hastily I dressed, and, on going along thecorridor, found Blenkap in bed in a state of collapse.
"I'm very ill; the pains in my head are terrible," he whispered to me."Will you call a doctor--somebody who speaks English, if possible?"
His white face alarmed me, and I left him and went along to thelieutenant's room at the other end of the corridor. To my knock therewas, however, no response, but on turning the handle and opening thedoor, I found the room in darkness and empty. He had not returned.Therefore I hurried out, and in half an hour returned with an Italiandoctor who spoke a little English.
On entering the room I noticed that the doctor sniffed the airmysteriously as he crossed to the patient, who I now saw wasunconscious. He examined him, asked me a few brief questions, and thenfixing his eyes upon me, exclaimed in Italian:--
"This is a rather curious affair, signore."
"Why?" I inquired. "The gentleman was taken this evening while we werewalking together. He complained of bad pains in his head and stomach."
"Yes, but who gave him the anaesthetic?" asked the doctor.
"Anaesthetic!" I exclaimed. "Why nobody, as far as I know."
"Well, chloroform has been given him, and quite recently. He struggledagainst it--don't you see?" and he indicated the American's clenchedhands and the disordered bed. "How long were you absent?"
"About half an hour."
"Then some one must have come here while you were away," the doctordeclared, stroking his dark beard very thoughtfully. At first I wasalarmed lest the unfortunate American might die, but the doctor, afterdue examination, assured me that there was really no danger. For halfan hour we sat and waited, until at length the man to whom theanaesthetic had been so mysteriously administered regainedconsciousness. It was a slow recovery, but when at length his dull eyesfell upon me he beckoned me to him and with excited gestures pointed toa leather-covered box beneath a table opposite. I pulled it out andtried the lock. It was still secure, and he nodded in satisfaction.Presently the doctor left, and I returned to bed, but imagine my blankamazement next morning when, just as I was sipping my coffee in my room,Blenkap dashed in, crying:--
"I've been robbed! That fellow, Shacklock, did it! He must have creptinto my room while you were away, rendered me senseless, took the keyfrom the gold chain I always wear around my neck, opened the box,extracted the whole of the money and jewellery, relocked the box, andthen had the audacity to replace the chain around my neck!"
"But he is your friend?" I exclaimed, with astonishment.
"I only met him a fortnight ago at the Gra
nd at San Remo," he answered."He was there with a friend of his--probably a thief also. But he cameon here alone with me. The fellow has taken over eighty thousanddollars!"
I hurried with him to the _questore_, or chief of police, and telegramswere quickly despatched hither and thither, but the thief had evidentlygot back to Genoa by the train at three o'clock in the morning, andembarked at once upon some ship for a Mediterranean port--Naples,Marseilles or Algiers. At any rate, though I remained a month in Nervi,we never heard further either of the easy-going naval man, or of theeighty thousand dollars in American notes and negotiable securities.Without doubt it was intended by the thief, or thieves, to throw thefirst suspicion upon myself, but fortunately the night-porter statedmost positively that he had seen the
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