to turn amateur detective. By the exercise of a little patienceyou will be able to identify the wretch and bring his guilt home tohim."
"Impossible," I remarked, though the suggestion was one which had notcrossed my mind before, and I felt inclined to give it someconsideration, as I had grown listless and lazy, and required somethingto occupy my mind.
To write for one's bread and to write for mere pastime are verydifferent matters. When I was compelled to follow journalism as aprofession I put my very soul into my work; but now my keen enthusiasmhad entirely disappeared, and I had neither patience nor inclination towrite for pleasure.
"Man-hunting would be rattling good fun," remarked Latimer, "especiallywhen one is free, and possesses as much of the world's good things asyou, Burgoyne."
"What nonsense you fellows talk?" I said. "How could I hope to succeedwhere Scotland Yard fails?"
"Exactly. But they haven't seen the man they want; you have."
"Oh, let's change the subject. If ever I come across him he shall notgo unpunished. Now, I've been at the inquest all day, and am bored todeath with the whole thing. Come, Bob, let's go out on the balcony; Iwant to talk to you," I added, addressing Nugent.
Rising, we both passed out upon the veranda overlooking the Embankment.
CHAPTER FIVE.
SUSPICIONS.
Like many others, I found my sudden acquisition of wealth had made menot a whit the more contented than when I was compelled to write for anexistence. Still, I was a thorough-going Bohemian, and never happierthan when amongst that free-and-easy artistic circle that made theJunior Garrick its headquarters.
For years Nugent had been my particular chum, and had frequently beenthe means of getting my articles accepted when I was more than usuallyhard-up; and now, in my affluence, I did not fail to remember the manyservices my old friend had rendered me.
As we sat together under the stars I was confiding to him howdiscontented I had felt of late.
"Well, my dear fellow, there's only one remedy," said Bob, blowing acloud of smoke from his lips.
"And what's that?"
"Get married."
"Marriage be hanged! I couldn't settle down; besides, it is not myintention to forge the matrimonial gyves just yet. The fact is, Bob,I'm not well. I believe this horrible murder has given me a touch ofthe blues, and nothing but an entire change will rid me of it. I'mbored with everything, and with myself most of all. It may seemstrange, but I have no object in life, except merely to exist. Once Ienvied fellows with money, but, by Jove, I don't now."
"Then what is your intention?"
"To go abroad; and I want you to accompany me."
"I should be only too pleased, providing I could get away, but I have agreat deal of work on hand which I must finish," replied Nugent.
"Do come, and take the rest with you. Fresh surroundings will incitenew inspirations, and you can combine business with pleasure. Can yoube ready by next Saturday?"
"Well, yes, I think so; but where do you intend going?"
"Don't know, and don't care a straw, as long as I get a change. We'llrun over to Paris first, and afterwards decide where shall be our nexthalting-place."
"And how long do you propose being away?"
"Six months--a year, if you like."
"I must return in a couple of months at latest, for I've business toattend to."
"Very well, return whenever you please. What do you say to starting bythe night mail on Saturday?"
Bob replied in the affirmative, and we ratified the agreement over abottle of Pommery.
Later that night when I left the Club to walk home, my thoughtsinvoluntarily wandered to the mysterious tragedy which I had discovered.
It was past one o'clock, and few people were about as I turned from AdamStreet into the Strand. I was alone, and strolling along at an easypace, passed down Drury Lane.
Suddenly I became conscious that some one had been following me, thoughthe footsteps of the person seemed almost noiseless.
Thinking it might be some pickpocket, I buttoned my coat across thechest, and grasping my stick firmly, waited until I approached agas-lamp, then turning suddenly, confronted a respectably-dressed man inthe garb of a mechanic.
He was only a few yards from me, and at first I felt ashamed ofexhibiting such fear, but a momentary glance sufficed to show that thisperson was also connected with the adventure of the never-to-beforgotten evening.
He was an elderly man, who bore a striking resemblance to the detectivewho had called upon me.
I stood aghast, for this man's appearance had been so sudden andunexpected that I was too much confused for the moment to collect mythoughts.
He was apparently following me and keeping observation upon mymovements. That fact instantly aroused in me a feeling of greatindignation. I should have spoken, and probably an angry scene wouldhave followed, had not he, with a celerity of movement which baffled myefforts, almost instantly gone off in an opposite direction.
I made no attempt to follow him.
It was intensely annoying to be tracked in this manner. Was I, FrankBurgoyne, to be watched like a suspected criminal or a ticket-of-leaveman, because I had--unfortunately, as it seemed--been the means ofbringing to light yet another foul piece of handiwork of the unknownmiscreant?
Why did they suspect me? What end had they in view in such aproceeding?
Suppose my friends and the world should notice the suspicion restingupon me? I grew hot at the very thought.
Perhaps, after all, he was only acting from curiosity, and not under theorders of his superiors. The suggestion was a little consoling, andendeavouring to re-assure myself by its aid, I walked briskly home.
CHAPTER SIX.
VERA SEROFF.
Two months had elapsed.
Rob Nugent and I had had a pleasant time up the Rhine and among theSwiss lakes, and both acknowledged ourselves greatly benefited by thechange. We were in Genoa, having broken our journey between Lugano andRome, intending to remain only a couple of days, but finding so much ofinterest in the old city of Paganini and Columbus, we had alreadyremained there a fortnight; and neither of us felt any inclination totravel further south.
We had taken up our quarters at the Hotel Isotta, in that handsomethoroughfare the Via Roma, of which the Genoese are so justly proud, andthough debarred from sight-seeing in the daytime by reason of theblazing autumn sun, we thoroughly enjoyed those cool balmy evenings whenjalousies are thrown open, and the light-hearted Ligurians stroll up anddown the Via Carlo Felice and the Via Assaroti, or sit outside the cafestaking their ease in the _bel fresco_.
Nugent's vacation was at an end, for he had received a letter whichnecessitated his almost immediate return to London. I had neither thedesire nor intention of quitting Genoa just yet. The cause of this wasnot very far to seek, and of course Bob suspected the position ofaffairs from the first; yet when he signified his intention ofdeparting, and I said I should remain another week or so, his surmisewas confirmed, and he could not refrain from indulging in a littlegood-humoured chaff at my expense.
The fact was that at the hotel there was also staying an exceedinglypretty young lady, named Vera Seroff, under the guardianship of heruncle, and accompanied by her French maid. The first evening we met at_table-d'hote_ I was fascinated with her beauty, and my admiration hadnot diminished as we sat opposite one another on the eve of Nugent'sdeparture.
The hotel was not full, and the number dining that evening did notexceed twenty, though the long table, glittering with its choice glassand plate, would have accommodated a hundred.
My _vis-a-vis_ was about twenty-three, with a face as to which therecould be no adverse opinion. She was dark, with fine eyes, serious andpenetrating, a delicate little nose, and a well-formed mouth, whichshowed, when she smiled, two rows of pearly teeth. She was brisk,vivacious, with a charming ingenuousness in her flawless face; a figureslim and graceful, and a voice silvery and sympathetic.
In contrast to her
was her uncle, who sat by her side, a short, stoutold gentleman, with sharp features, a prominent nose, and scanty whitehair, who seldom entered into conversation with any one, and who alwaysappeared ill-humoured, grumbling constantly at the heat.
She spoke English with a pleasant accent, and was conversing with Boband myself, to the apparent annoyance of the old gentleman, who couldnot understand a word. She was relating her impressions of one of thegalleries she had visited that day, and displayed such a wide knowledgeof pictures as to astonish Nugent, himself the art-critic of the_Evening Comet_. We both had become friendly with her, for, besidesmeeting daily at the hotel, we had several times run across one anotherat those places of interest the tourist always visits. Her uncle,Monsieur Hertzen, rarely went out, and her maid usually accompanied heron such expeditions; however, when only taking a short walk, she wasfrequently alone.
On one of these latter occasions I met her in the Piazza Principale, andoffered to escort her to the hotel, to which proposal she made noobjection. The distance was not great, but it sufficed to break theconventional ice between us, and when we parted I was more than everfascinated. Never before had I met a woman so beautiful, so charming,so near my ideal of perfection.
When the meal had ended, and we rose, I said to her, "This is myfriend's last evening in Genoa. He returns to England to-morrow."
"And do you go also?" she asked, with an intonation--as I flatteredmyself--of disappointment.
"Well; no," I replied; "I shall remain a few days longer."
The shadow of anxiety which had rested momentarily upon her face,vanished at once, as she turned to Nugent, saying, "I am sorry you areleaving, and must wish you _bon voyage_. I hope, some day, we may meetagain, for our dinner-table discussions have been exceedingly pleasant."
"Thanks, Mademoiselle," replied Bob, grasping the tiny white hand sheheld out to him. "My business calls me to London, otherwise I shouldnot return just yet. However, I hope you will prevent my friend, here,from getting into any scrapes with the bloodthirsty Italians after I'mgone."
She laughed merrily as she answered, "He's quite old enough to take careof himself. I cannot undertake the responsibility. Good-bye," and shetripped away up the stairs to her own apartments.
"Old fellow," exclaimed Bob, after she was out of hearing, "if you feelinclined to pitch yourself into the matrimonial net, there's yourchance; and I wish you every success."
"Well, there are more unlikely things than my enlistment in the ranks ofBenedicts," I replied, laughing, as we sought our hats and went out tospend our last evening together.
Early the following morning Nugent departed for Turin, _en route_ forEngland, and I was left alone to amuse myself as best I could. Truth totell, I was not sorry Bob had gone, for now I felt free to devote myselfto the beautiful woman who held me under her spell. I lost no time incarrying out my object, for meeting her in the drawing-room beforedinner, I obtained permission to escort her on her evening walk.
It was already dusk when the tediously long meal was brought to aconclusion, and we left the hotel, strolling along the Galleria Mazzinitowards the public gardens of Aqua Sola, the most charming promenade inGenoa. It is situated upon a picturesque cliff overlooking the port andthe Mediterranean beyond, while at the rear rise the tall vine-coveredAppenines, with romantic-looking villas peeping out here and there fromamongst the olives and maize. The shadow of its great old trees form adelightful retreat from the scorching noon-day sun; but at night, whenthe people refresh themselves after the heat and burden of the day, itsgravelled walks are thronged by the _elite_. Fashionable Genoa enjoysherself with mad but harmless frolic, and under the deep shadowsfire-flies flit and couples flirt.
Upon an old stone seat near a plashing fountain we sat listening to thesweet melancholy strains of the _Sempre Vostro_ waltz, performed by thesplendid band of the National Guard. On the right the many-colouredfairy lamps of the gardens attached to the Caffe d'Italia shone throughthe dark foliage; on the left the ripple of the sea surged softly farbelow. Away across the moonlit waters flashed the warning beacon of theport, and the air was heavy with the sensuous odour of orange blossomand roses.
For upwards of an hour we sat talking; she _piquante_, bright, andamusing; I lazily enjoying a cigar, and watching her beautiful face inrapt admiration. I told her of myself--how the interest in my soleobject in life had been suddenly destroyed by affluence--and my presentposition, that of a world-weary tourist, with no definite purposefarther than killing time.
All my efforts to learn some events of her past life or her place ofabode were unavailing. "I am plain Vera Seroff," she replied, "and I,too, am a wanderer--what you call bird of passage. I have no country,alas! even if I have patriotism."
"But you are Russian?" I said.
"Quite true--yes. I shall return to Russia--some day." And she sighed,as if the mention of her native land stirred strangely sad memories.
"Where do you intend going when you leave here?" I asked.
"I have not the slightest idea. We have no fixed abode, and travelwhither it suits my uncle--London, New York, Paris; it matters littlewhere we go."
"You have been in England; have you not?"
"Yes; and I hate it," she replied, abruptly, at once turning theconversation into another channel. She appeared extremely reticentregarding her past, and by no amount of ingenuity could I obtain anyfurther information.
When it grew chilly, we rose and walked along past the forts, and outupon the Spezzia road, where a refreshing breeze blew in from the sea.
In her soft white dress, with a bunch of crimson roses at her throat, Ihad never seen her looking so beautiful. I loved her madly, blindly,and longed to tell her so.
Yet how could I?
Such a proceeding would be absurd, for our acquaintance had been of sobrief a duration that we scarcely knew anything of one another.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
A SECRET TIE.
On our return we traversed the road skirting the fortress, and pausedfor a few moments, resting upon a disused gun-carriage. The moon hadreappeared and cast its long line of pale light upon the rippling watersof the Mediterranean.
Suddenly, as we were seated side by side, her dark eyes met mine, and bysome inexplicable intuition, some mysterious _rapport_ between my souland hers, I knew I was something more to her than a mere casualacquaintance. My reason answered me that I must be mad to think sheloved me, but my heart told me different, and gradually all mymisgivings vanished before the hope and confidence that the convictionof her love raised in my mind.
"I have just been wondering," I said, "whether, when we part in a fewdays, we shall ever meet again, for, believe me, I shall cherish thefondest memory of this evening we have passed together. It ischarming."
"And I also," she replied, "but as you say in English, the best offriends must part."
It is useless to repeat the words I uttered. Suffice it to say that Icould restrain my feelings no longer, and there, in the bright Italianmoonlight, I declared my ecstatic passion, and asked her to be my wife.
Had I taken her unawares? Probably so; for, when I had finished, sherose with an effort, and withdrawing her hand gently, said, "No, Frank--for I may call you by that name--your request I am unable to grant, andthe reason I cannot now explain. There is, alas! an insurmountablebarrier between us, and had you known more of me you would not haveasked me this."
"But, Vera, you love me, you can't deny it!" I passionately exclaimed.
Tears stood in her eyes, as she answered, "Yes, yes, I do--I love youdearly!"
"Then what is this obstacle to our happiness?"
"No! no!" she cried, covering her face with her hands. "Request noexplanation, for, I--I cannot give it. It would be fatal."
"But why?" I asked, for it was a cruel and bitter disappointment. Allmy hopes had been shattered in those brief moments.
"From the day we first met I have known we loved one another," she saidslowly, "yet it would have
been better had we never become acquainted,since it causes pain to both."
"But, surely, if you love me, Vera, this obstacle can be removed! Tellme what it is; if a secret, it will be safe with me," I said earnestly.
She dashed the tears from her eyes, and with an effort stood erectbefore me, saying:
"No! it is impossible. Think no more of marriage, Frank; regard me onlyas a dear friend who loves you."
"Then you will not tell me why we cannot marry?" I said, gravely,rising and taking her hand.
"It--it is a secret. I would rather die than divulge it; though, someday, perhaps, the circumstances will alter, and I shall be at liberty totell you everything. For the present we love one another, but it mustend there; marriage is entirely out of the question."
I saw it was useless to press for any further explanation. Evidentlyshe was prepared for any self-sacrifice, to protect her secret, because,when finding herself wavering, she had summoned all her strength, andwith a mighty effort overcame her emotion, resolutely giving her answer.
As we rose and turned towards the city, a circumstance, slight initself, occurred, which afterwards caused me not a little perturbationand surprise, and which considerably enhanced the mystery surroundingthe fair Russian.
We were passing a buttress of the fort when my attention was arrested bywhat appeared to be a man standing bolt upright in the shadow.
I was too engrossed with thoughts of our _tete-a-tete_ to allow thediscovery of an eavesdropper--probably only a peasant--to cause me anyalarm, but, seeing my eyes upon him, for I had halted to make sure, thefigure suddenly drew from the shadow, and, with its face averted fromthe moonlight,
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