My brother was not much interested. I was glad of the excuse to bury myself in the pages of the Daily Telegraph. Here at last, then, was something definite. The man Delora was not a fraud. He was everything that he professed to be—a wealthy man, without a doubt. I suddenly began to see things differently. What a coward I had been to think of running away! After all, there might be some explanation, even, of that meeting between the girl and Louis.
We finished our breakfast, and my brother hobbled over to the window. For several minutes he remained there, looking out upon the street with the aimless air of a man who scarcely knows what to do with his day.
“What are you thinking of doing, Austen?” he asked me.
“I had no plans,” I answered. “Some part of the day I thought I would look up these people—the Deloras.”
Ralph nodded and turned to his servant.
“Goreham,” he said, “I will have the motor in an hour. Come and dine with me, will you, Austen?” he said, turning to me. “I don’t suppose you will go down to Feltham for a day or two.”
“I will come, with pleasure,” I answered. “Where are you going to motor to?”
Ralph answered a little vaguely. He had some calls to make, and he was not altogether sure. I left him in a few minutes and descended to the street. I turned westward and walked for some little distance, when suddenly I was attracted by the sight of a familiar figure issuing from the door of a large, gray stone house. We came face to face upon the pavement. It was the man whose life I had probably saved only a few hours ago.
He lifted his hat, and his dark eyes sought mine interrogatively.
“You were not, by chance, on the way to call upon me?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Not only,” I answered, “was I ignorant of where you lived, but I do not even know your name.”
“Both matters,” he remarked quietly, “are unimportant.”
I glanced at the house from which he had issued.
“It would seem,” I remarked, “that you have diplomatic connections.”
“Why not?” he answered. “Indeed,” he continued thoughtfully, “I do not see, Captain Rotherby, why my name should remain a secret to you.”
He drew a card from his pocket, and handed it to me. I read it with ill-concealed curiosity.
MR. ALFONSE LAMARTINE
Brazilian Legation.
12, Porchester Square.
“You are a South American?” I asked quickly.
“By birth,” he answered. “I have lived chiefly in Paris, and here in London.”
“You knew Mr. Delora at Brazil, then?” I asked.
“I know the family quite well,” he answered. “They are very influential people. I have told you my name, Captain Rotherby,” he continued, “because I see no reason why we two should not be frank with one another. I am of necessity interested in the movements and doings of Mr. Delora and his niece. You,” he continued, “appear to have been drawn a little way into the mesh of intrigue by which they are surrounded.”
I drew my arm through his. We were walking now side by side.
“Look here,” I said, “you were quite right in what you said. There is no reason why we should have secrets from one another. Tell me about these people, and why on earth they have any connections at all with persons of the class of Louis and those others.”
My companion spread out his hand. He stopped short on the pavement, and gesticulated violently.
“It is you who ask me these things!” he exclaimed. “Yet it is from you I hoped to obtain information. I know nothing,—absolutely nothing! Simply my instructions were to meet Mr. Delora on his arrival in London, to show him every possible civility, and to assist him in any purpose where my help would be useful. I go to meet him—he has disappeared! I haunt his rooms—he has not returned! His niece knows nothing. I try to force my way into his rooms, and my life is attempted!”
“Wait a moment,” I said. “You spoke of instructions. From whom do you receive them?”
“From my government,” he answered a little shortly. “Mr. Delora has some private business of importance here in England, in which they are interested.”
“Do you know anything of his niece?” I asked.
“Nothing whatever,” the young man answered, “except that she seems a very charming young lady, and will, I believe, inherit a great fortune.”
“Do you know of any enemies that he might have?” I asked. “For instance, is this business of his connected with any affairs which might bring him into touch with such people as Louis and his associates?”
“I will be frank with you,” the young man said. “I do not know what his business was. Neither, curiously enough, does my chief. My instructions simply were to meet him, and to see him day by day. You yourself can judge how well I have succeeded!”
“Have you been to the police?” I asked.
“I have not,” Lamartine answered. “We have written out to Brazil explaining the circumstances, and asking for a cablegram in reply. By the bye,” he continued, a little diffidently, “did it strike you last night that Miss Delora must have been associated with that blackguard Louis in his little attempt upon me?”
“I do not believe anything of the sort!” I answered shortly.
The young man smiled cynically.
“It is perhaps natural,” he answered.
“You are not seriously suggesting,” I asked, “that a young lady in the position of Miss Delora would descend to scheming with a head-waiter?”
“Captain Rotherby,” my companion said, “I do not know anything. I do not understand anything. I only know that the Delora business has puzzled me,—has puzzled my chief. We have important communications for Mr. Delora, and he cannot be found.”
“It is not possible,” I declared, “for a man to disappear in London.”
“A man may disappear anywhere,” Lamartine said dryly, “when such people as Louis are interested in him! However, we do no good by comparing notes when we neither of us know anything. If I should gain any information of Mr. Delora’s whereabouts—”
I gave him my card quickly.
“We will exchange our news,” I assured him. “It is a promise.”
He bowed, and left me with a little farewell wave of the hand.
XXII. A FORMAL CALL
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I changed my mind about calling at the Milan that morning, but toward five o’clock in the afternoon I presented myself there, and gave the hall-porter my card to send up to Miss Delora. He received me with some surprise, but I explained that I had been obliged to postpone my visit into the country.
“Miss Delora has asked twice about you this morning, sir,” he announced. “I gave her your country address.”
“Quite right,” I answered. “By the bye, is Mr. Delora visible yet?”
“Not yet, sir,” the man answered. “Rather a curious thing about his return, sir,” he added. “Not a soul has even seen him yet.”
I nodded, but made no remark. Presently the boy who had taken my card up returned.
“Miss Delora would be glad if you would step upstairs, sir,” he announced.
I followed him into the lift and up to number 157. Felicia was there alone. She rose from the couch as I entered, and waited until the door had closed behind the disappearing page. Then she held out her hands, and there was something in her eyes which I could not resist. I was suddenly ashamed of all my suspicions.
“So you have come back,” she said softly. “That is very kind of you, Capitaine Rotherby. I have been lonely—very lonely, indeed.”
“I have come back,” I answered, taking her hands into mine and holding them for a moment.
“I am nervous all the time, and afraid,” she continued, standing close by my side and looking up. “Only think of it, Capitaine Rotherby,—it is this journey to London to which I have been looking forward for so many, many years, and now that it has come I am miserable!”
“Your
uncle—” I asked.
“They told me what was not true!” she exclaimed. “He is not back. I am here all alone. He does not come to me, and he will not let me go to him. But you will sit down, Capitaine Rotherby?” she added. “You are not in a hurry? You are not going away again?”
“Not just yet, at any rate,” I admitted. “Do you know that after all this is a very small world! I have come to pay you a formal call on behalf of my brother who is an invalid.”
Her eyes grew round with surprise.
“But I do not understand!” she said.
I told her of my brother’s letter from South America. She listened with interest which seemed mingled with anxiety.
“It is very strange,” she said, when I had finished,—“very delightful, too, of course!” she added hurriedly. “Tell me, is it my uncle Maurice or my uncle Ferdinand of whom your brother spoke most in his letter?”
“He did not mention the Christian names of either,” I told her. “He simply said that one of the Mr. Deloras and his niece were coming to London, and he begged us to do all we could to make their visit pleasant. Do you know,” I continued, “that as I came along I had an idea?”
“Yes?” she exclaimed.
“Why shouldn’t you come down into the country,” I said, “to my aunt’s? She will send you a telegram at once if I tell her to, and we could all stay together down at Feltham,—my brother’s house in Norfolk. You are out of place here. You are not enjoying yourself, and you are worried to death. Beside which,” I added more slowly, “you are mixed up with people with whom you should have nothing whatever to do.”
“If only I could!” she murmured. “If only I could!”
“Why not?” I said. “Mr. Delora comes here with an introduction which precludes my criticising his friends or his connections, however strange they may be, but it is very certain that you ought not to be left here alone to rely upon the advice of a head-waiter, to be practically at the beck and call of men of whose existence you should be unconscious. I want you to make up your mind and come away with me.”
A little flush of color stole into her cheeks, and her eyes danced with excitement.
“I do no good here!” she exclaimed. “Why not? You, too, Capitaine Rotherby,—you would come?”
“I would take you there,” I answered, “and I would do my best, my very best, to keep you entertained.”
“I shall ask!” she exclaimed. “To-night I shall ask.”
“Ask whom?” I inquired. “Louis?”
She shook her head.
“My uncle,” she answered.
“You will not see him!” I exclaimed.
“He will telephone,” she answered. “He has promised.”
I reached over towards her and took her hands into mine.
“Felicia,” I said boldly, “I am your friend. The letter I have told you of should prove that. I am only anxious for your good. Tell me what reason your uncle can have for behaving in this extraordinary way, for allowing himself to be associated even for a moment with such people as Louis and his friends?”
Everything that it had made me so happy to see in her face died away. She was once more wan and anxious.
“I cannot tell you,” she said,—“I cannot, because I dare not! I have promised! Only remember this. My uncle has lived in Paris for so many years—”
“But I thought that he had just come from South America!” I interrupted.
“Yes, but before that,” she explained breathlessly,—“before that! He loves the mysterious. He likes to be associated with strange people, and I do believe, too,” she continued, “that he has business just now which must be kept secret for the sake of other people. Oh, I know it must all seem so strange to you! Won’t you believe, Capitaine Rotherby, that I am grateful for your kindness, and that I would tell you if I could?”
“I must,” I answered, with a sigh. “I must believe what you tell me. Listen, then. I shall wait until you hear from your uncle.”
“Have you come back to your rooms?” she asked timidly.
“I shall do so,” I announced, “but I hope that it will be only for the night. To-morrow, if all goes well, we may be on our way to Norfolk.”
There was a knock at the door. She started, and looked at me a little uneasily. Almost immediately the door was pushed open. It was Louis who entered, bearing a menu card. He addressed me with a little air of surprise. I was at once certain that he had known of my visit, and had come to see what it might mean.
“Monsieur has returned very soon,” he remarked, bowing pleasantly.
“My journey was not a long one, Louis,” I answered. “What have you brought that thing for?” I continued, pointing to the menu card. “Do you want an order for dinner? Miss Delora is dining elsewhere with me!”
My tone was purposely aggressive. Louis’ manners, however, remained perfection.
“Miss Delora has engaged a table in the café,” he said. “I have come myself to suggest a little dinner. I trust she will not disappoint us.”
She looked at me pathetically. There was something which I could not understand in her face. Only I knew that whatever she might ask me I was prepared to grant.
“Will you not stay and dine here with me?” she said. “Louis will give us a very good dinner, and afterwards I shall have my message, and I shall know whether I may go or not.”
The humor of the idea appealed to me. There was suddenly something fantastic, unbelievable, in the events of last night.
“With pleasure!” I answered.
Louis bowed, and for a moment or two seemed entirely engrossed in the few additions he was making to the menu he carried. Then he handed it to me with a little bow.
“There, monsieur,” he said. “I think that you will find that excellent.”
“I have no doubt that we shall, Louis,” I answered. “I will only ask you to remember one thing.”
“And that, monsieur?” he asked.
“I dine with mademoiselle,” I said, “and our appetites are identical!”
Louis smiled. There were times when I suspected him of a sense of humor!
“Monsieur has not the thick neck of Bartot!” he murmured, as he withdrew.
XXIII. FELICIA
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It seemed to me that Felicia that night was in her most charming mood. She wore a dress of some soft white material, and a large black hat, under which her face—a little paler even than usual—wore almost a pathetic aspect. Her fingers touched my arm as we entered the restaurant together. She seemed, in a way, to have lost some of her self-control,—the exclusiveness with which she had surrounded herself,—and to have become at once more natural and more girlish. I noticed that she chose a seat with her back to the room, and I understood her reason even before she told me.
“I think,” she said, “that to-night it would be pleasant to forget that there is any one here who disturbs me. I think it would be pleasant to remember only that this great holiday of mine, which I have looked forward to so long, has really begun.”
“You have looked forward to coming to London so much?” I asked.
“Yes!” she answered. “I have lived a very quiet life, Capitaine Rotherby. After the Sisters had finished with me—and I stayed at the school longer than any of the others—I went straight to the house of a friend of my uncle’s, where I had only a dame de compagnie. My uncle—he was so long coming, and the life was very dull. But always he wrote to me, ‘Some day I will take you to London!’ Even when we were in Paris together he would tell me that.”
“Tell me,” I asked, “what is your uncle’s Christian name?”
“I have three uncles,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation,—“Maurice, Ferdinand, and Nicholas. Nicholas lives all the time in South America. Maurice and Ferdinand are often in Paris.”
“And the uncle with whom you are now?” I asked.
I seemed to have been unfortunate in my choice of a conversation. Her eyes had grown larger. The quiv
ering of her lips was almost pitiful.
“I am a clumsy ass!” I interrupted quickly. “I am asking you questions which you do not wish to answer. A little later on, perhaps, you will tell me everything of your own accord. But to-night I shall ask you nothing. We will remember only that the holiday has begun.”
She drew a little sigh of relief.
“You are so kind,” she murmured, “so very kind. Indeed I do not want to think of these things, which I do not understand, and which only puzzle me all the time. We will let them alone, is it not so? We will let them alone and talk about foolish things. Or you shall tell me about London, and the country—tell me what we will do. Indeed, I may go down to your home in Norfolk.”
“I think you will like it there,” I said. “It is too stuffy for London these months. My brother’s house is not far from the sea. There is a great park which stretches down to some marshes, and beyond that the sands.”
“Can one bathe?” she asked breathlessly.
“Of course,” I answered. “There is a private beach, and when we have people in the house at this time of the year we always have the motor-car ready to take them down and back. That is for those who bathe early. Later on it is only a pleasant walk. Then you can learn games if you like,—golf and tennis, cricket and croquet.”
“I should be so stupid,” she said, with a little regretful sigh. “In France they did not teach me those things. I can play tennis a little, but oh! so badly; and in England,” she continued, “you think so much of your games. Tell me, Capitaine Rotherby, will you think me very stupid in the country if I can do nothing but swim a little and play tennis very badly?”
“Rather not!” I answered. “There is the motor, you know. I could take you for some delightful drives. We should find plenty to do, I am sure, and I promise you that if only you will be as amiable as you are here I shall not find any fault.”
“You will like to have me there?” she asked.
Her question came with the simplicity of a child. She laughed softly with pleasure when I leaned over the table and whispered to her,—
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