gone by on the wings of the wind. I had notbeen conscious of the flight of time, although the hands on thetravelling clock in front of me had travelled round the dial two, if notthree, times. Now the seconds seemed made of lead. They would notpass. They hung about me, and fretted me. Again and again I askedmyself: "Why does not Jose Casteno telegraph me as he had promised andtell me where he is and how he has fared since he slipped off on thetrack of the hunchback?" It was no good. No answer came, and bit bybit there formed in my mind a new suspicion, a new dread. What if theSpaniard had taken fright at the publicity the crime had obtained andhad left his chase of Zouche to secure his own safety in some far-offland, where he would never be suspected and where he could never befound? I might wait, then, until the crack of doom: Colonel Napierwould remain unavenged.
Feverishly I tore out into the streets and bought up all the lateeditions of the evening papers which I could lay my hands on. Thismysterious crime had impressed the stolid imagination of Londoners sowell accustomed to horrors that end in nothingness to a degree that wasquite unusual; and all the journals had launched out into luriddescriptions of the dead man and the manner of his passing so that ahorrid sense of nausea seized on me, and I cursed journalism and all itsloathsome enterprise; albeit it I was most eager myself at the samemoment to take advantage of its discoveries.
One paper, however, had got a paragraph that threw a new light on theoccurrence--the _Star_--and I read it with throbbing eagerness:
A STARTLING THEORY
"Latest inquiries to-night tend to show that there is a good deal behindthe death of Colonel Napier. The police are certain that the murdererhas some other object than theft, at which task it was said that he musthave been disturbed by the sudden tapping on the door by the valet,Richardson. It is rumoured that the appearance of Detective Naylor onthe scene was of set design. Naylor, as was stated in the papers a fewdays ago, has the warrant in hand for the arrest of the murderer ofyoung George Sutton, a man who, it will be remembered, fled to thiscountry from a monastery in Mexico after he had committed the deed. Nowthe two crimes are connected in the minds of the police for some reasonthey will not divulge; and it is whispered freely at Scotland Yard thata man who puts his hands on the murderer of Sutton will at the same timearrest the assassin of brave Colonel Napier. Unfortunately, the questis highly complicated, and at the clubs there are some wild, romanticstories afloat, which connect the deaths with stories of vast, hiddentreasures and diplomatic intrigues, party jealousies, and mystery-lovingMexicans. For our own part, we advise the public to take little heed ofthese wild romances until they contain something which looks a triflemore substantial. A milkman, for instance, has been found who declareshe was passing Whitehall Court about the time the murder must have beencommitted, and he swears positively that he saw a young, dark-lookingforeigner, aged about twenty-five, run from the direction of EmbankmentMansions and disappear up Northumberland Avenue. He says, also, that hesaw the man's features quite distinctly, and that he will be able torecognise them again in any circumstances and after any lapse of time.Now clues like these are worth a thousand of the utterly preposterousyarns they are whispering in Clubland to-night about Jesuits andparliamentary personages who are much too busy to be mixed up with allthe numberless scandals and tarradiddles that affect the House ofCommons under its present party _regime_."
Surely, if this theory pointed to anyone it did most certainly to JoseCasteno!
Further speculation, however, was cut short by the arrival of atelegraph messenger. With trembling fingers I tore open the envelope,and found that, after all, the Spaniard had kept his word and had wiredme, most fully, news of his whereabouts and wishes:
To Hugh Glynn, 99 Stanton Street, London, WC.
"Have accompanied our good friend to Green Dragon Hotel, Shrewsbury. AtBirmingham he met a clever but needy aeronaut named Captain Sparhawk.This man has invented a flying machine which he has arranged to show atGreat Shropshire Floral Fete here on Monday. Z. has promised to financehim and to ascend with him to test the machine's capacities. Two otherseats were on sale in the town at twenty pounds each. I have boughtthem, and propose you and I ascend with them disguised as military menin undress uniform of engineers; otherwise fear, if the machine travelsfar, Z. may do a bolt to some other district. If you don't wire me, c/oPost Office, shall assume you will come.--C."
"Certainly I will come," I said to myself grimly as I folded up themessage and placed it in my pocket-book. "It would be a pity for you,Master Jose, to undertake any fresh adventures without my personalassistance. You might come to some harm before we had cleared up themystery of the death of Colonel Napier, and that would be a pity, agreat pity, indeed."
And snatching up the travelling-bag which I always kept ready packed forsuch emergencies I dashed off to a costumier I knew who lived near, inWellington Street. Then I made for Euston, and catching the night mailto the Midlands, contrived such a good use of my time, that, beforechurch time, I found myself in Shrewsbury, scrambling up the hill thatled from the main railway station to the far-famed Green Dragon Hotel,where I understood both Zouche and Casteno were.
On the way down, however, I had effected certain changes in myappearance. A dark wig was on my head. A black moustache hid my mouth.My plain civilian clothes had given place at the costumier's to theuniform of a sergeant of royal engineers. I had done this to deceivethe hunchback, and to satisfy Casteno I had brought no disguise for theSpaniard.
I did not think he would need one after I had finished my firstconversation with him!
And as I turned into the courtyard of the hotel he came out and met mewith outstretched hand.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
THE TWO BROTHERS.
There was nothing in the way Casteno received me to suggest a man with aguilty secret. On the contrary, as I advanced through the doorway thatled to the Green Dragon he stepped out boldly towards me the instant herecognised me beneath the disguise which he himself had suggested."Welcome, my good friend," he said in a bluff and hearty fashion,stretching out his hand; "Welcome!"
I took the greeting he proffered, although I turned my head away andwould not let him detect my real feelings. At first I was sorelytempted to take him by surprise and to denounce him there and then asthe man who had stolen into Whitehall Court in those early morninghours, climbed through that open bedroom window, and had killed poorColonel Napier, one of the truest and most loyal soldiers that everlived. But I crushed all those temptations down. There was much for meto discover before I could show my suspicions so plainly as that. I hadto go very slowly and carefully to work.
"I am glad to see you," I answered at length, and that sentiment,indeed, was true. I was glad--more glad than he could guess. "Let theporter carry my luggage in, and let you and I have a walk."
"Excellent," said he, "that was just what I was going to propose if youwere not too tired." And giving the necessary directions to the hotelservants he calmly linked his arm in mine, and led me down the streettowards the river, whither all the passers-by seemed to be hastening ontheir way homeward after service at church.
"Well, and how did you get on with Miss Velasquon?" he asked later.
"Very badly," I returned. "I lost her at Vauxhall Bridge Station."
"Oh, never mind about that," he replied lightly. "Your duty ended assoon as you arrived with her in London. As a matter of fact, I sent afriend to intercept her at that point. He didn't quite understandwhether he could trust you or not, so he hit on that ruse by which sheslipped out of the carriage whilst you were looking out at an oppositeplatform. She wired me, however, that you had had some extraordinaryadventure on the way up. What was that?"
"Oh, merely some women tried to lure her off to Broadmoor LunaticAsylum," I snapped. "Why on earth didn't you tell me I was safe when wereached town? Do you know, I searched the station from top to bottombefore I decided your friend had come to no harm."
"No, I don't. In fact, I am very sorry about what the
man whom I sentdid. I was, however, under the impression that I had told you not toworry after she had reached town. The real danger existed on the wayup. I had most specific warning that it was on the actual journey fromSouthampton Lord Fotheringay would make the semi-criminal effort he didto get her out of my hands."
"Why should he?" I demanded, stopping suddenly and gazing fixedly atthe speaker.
"Why should two men ever strive after the same sweetheart?" Castenoanswered, his features flushing crimson. "Call it Life--Fate--Providence--Luck--Destiny--what you like. There it is. It oftenhappens. The whole truth is, the earl and I are both in love withCamille Velasquon. She prefers me, hence his quest for the documents ismixed up in a thirst for personal revenge."
"And the documents you asked her to bring?" I cut in
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