CHAPTER XXV
THE MAN IN THE YELLOW BOOTS
The two men did not meet again until luncheon-time, Anglicized into aone-o'clock meal for their benefit. Already seated at the table theyfound a short fair man, in the costume of a pedestrian tourist. He wore atweed knickerbocker suit, and a knapsack lay upon the grass by his side.As Wrayson and his fellow-guest arrived almost at the same time, thenewcomer rose and bowed.
"Good morning, gentlemen!" he said. "I trust you will permit me a seat atyour table. It appears to be the only one."
Duncan contented himself with a nod. Wrayson felt compelled to be alittle more civil. The man certainly seemed harmless enough.
"A very delightful spot, gentlemen," he continued, "and a fine, a veryfine church that in the valley. I am spending my holiday takingphotographs of churches of a certain period in this vicinity. I amlooking forward to explore this one."
"I am afraid," Wrayson remarked, "that I do not know much ofecclesiastical architecture, but the aesthetic effect of this one, atleast, is very fine."
The newcomer nodded.
"You are an artist perhaps, sir?" he asked innocently.
"I hope so--in some degree," Wrayson answered.
"Every one is fundamentally an artist, I suppose, who is capable ofappreciating a work of beauty."
Duncan smiled slightly to himself. So far he had not spoken.
"It is all new country to me," the newcomer continued, "but from what Ihave seen of it, I should think it a grand place for painters. Not muchfor the ordinary tourist, eh?"
"That depends," Wrayson answered, "upon the ordinary tourist."
"Exactly! Quite so!" the little man agreed. "Of course, if one wanted aquiet time, what could be better than this? There must be others whothink so besides yourselves."
"Who?" Wrayson asked.
"Your fellow-guests here."
"We have no fellow-guests," Wrayson answered, a little incautiously.
The newcomer leaned back in his chair with a disconcerted look.
"Then I wonder why," he exclaimed, "the landlord told me that he had nota single room."
Wrayson bit his lip.
"I fancy," he said, "that he is not in the habit of having peoplestay here."
"I am afraid," the little fair man said, "that it is not an hospitablevillage. I tried to get a room elsewhere, but, alas! with no success.They do not seem to want tourists at St. Etarpe."
Wrayson looked at the knapsack, at the camera, and at the little manhimself. He spoke English easily, and without any trace of an accent.His clothes, too, had the look of having come from an Englishready-made shop. Yet there was something about the man himself notaltogether British.
"I fancy the people are busy getting ready for the harvest," Wraysonremarked at last. "You will find lots of places as pretty as this alongthe coast."
"Perhaps so," the visitor admitted, "and yet when one has taken a fancyto a place, it seems a pity to have to leave it so soon. You couldn'tspeak a word to the landlord for me, sir, I suppose--you or your friend.I don't fancy he understood my French very well."
Wrayson shook his head.
"I'm afraid it wouldn't be any use," he said. "As a matter of fact, Iknow that he does not intend to take any more visitors. He has not thestaff to deal with them."
"It is a pity," the little man said dejectedly. "I think that I must tryagain in the village. By the by, sir, perhaps you can tell me to whom thechateau there belongs?"
"Madame la Baronne de Sturm," Wrayson answered. "At least, so our hosttold me yesterday."
"It is a very beautiful place--very beautiful," the tourist saidreverently. "I dare say there is a chapel there, too! Can one gainadmission there, do you know, sir?"
Wrayson laid down his knife and fork.
"Look here," he said good-humouredly, "I'm not a guide-book, you know,and I only arrived here yesterday myself. You've reached the limit of myinformation. You had better try the landlord. He will tell you all thatyou want to know."
Duncan pushed his chair back. He had eaten very little luncheon, but hewas filling his pipe preparatory to leaving the table. As soon as itbegan to draw, he rose and turned to Wrayson. The little tourist heabsolutely ignored, as he had done all the time during the meal.
"I should like a word with you before you go out," he said.
Wrayson nodded, and followed him in a few minutes to the summer-house atthe end of the lawn. Duncan did not beat about the bush.
"That little brute over there," he said, inclining his head towards thetable, "is neither an Englishman nor a tourist. I have seen him before,and I never forget a face."
"What is he then?" Wrayson asked.
"Heaven knows what he is now," Duncan answered. "I saw him last atColenso, where he narrowly escaped being shot for a spy. He is either aDutchman or a German, and whatever he may be up to here, I'll swearecclesiastical architecture is not his game."
There was a moment's silence. Wrayson had turned involuntarily towardsthe chateau, and Duncan had followed suit. They both looked up thebroad green avenue to where the windows of the great building flashedback the sunlight. At the same moment their mutual action was realizedby both of them.
Wrayson first turned away and glanced round at the table which they hadjust quitted. The little man, who was still seated there, had lit a cigarand was talking to the waiter. He looked back again and moved his headthoughtfully in the direction of the chateau.
"He asked questions about the chateau," Wrayson remarked. "Do you supposethat there can be anything going on there to interest him?"
"You should know better than I," Duncan answered. "You received a visitthis morning from one of the two ladies who are staying there."
Wrayson turned a little pale. He looked at Duncan steadily for a moment.A giant in height, his features, too, were of a large and resolute type.His eyes were clear and truthful; his expression, notwithstanding acertain gloom which scarcely accorded with his years and apparenthealth, was unmistakably honest. Wrayson felt instinctively that he wasto be trusted.
"Look here," he said, "I should like to tell you the truth--as much of itas is necessary. I happen to know that the young lady with whom you sawme talking this morning, and who is a friend of the Baroness de Sturm's,is suspected in certain quarters of being implicated in a--criminalaffair which took place recently in London. I myself, in a lesser degree,am also under suspicion. I came over here to warn her."
Duncan was looking very grave indeed.
"In a criminal affair," he repeated. "That is a little vague."
"I am sorry," Wrayson answered, "but I cannot very well be moreexplicit. The matter is one in which a good many other people areconcerned, and I might add that it is a hopeless mystery to me. All Iknow is that a crime was committed; that this young lady was presentunder suspicious circumstances; that I, in certain evidence I had togive, concealed the fact of her presence; and that now a third personturns up, who also knew of the young lady's presence, but who was notcalled upon to give evidence, who is working on his own account to clearup the whole affair. He happens to be a friend of mine, and he warned mefrankly to clear out."
"I am beginning to follow you," Duncan said thoughtfully. "Now whatabout Madame de Melbain?"
"I know absolutely nothing of her," Wrayson answered. "I found out wherethe young lady was from the Baroness de Sturm, with whom she was livingin London, and I came over to warn her."
"The young lady was living with the Baroness de Sturm?" Duncan repeated."Is she, then, an orphan?"
"No!" Wrayson answered. "She is, for some reason--I do not knowwhy--estranged from her family. Now the question arises, has this fellowhere come over to track her down? Is he an English detective?"
Duncan turned deliberately round and stared at the person whom they werediscussing.
"I should doubt it very much," he answered. "For my part, I don't believefor a moment that he is an Englishman at all."
"I am very glad to hear you say so," Wrayson declared.
"But the questionis, if he is not on this business, what the devil is he doing here?"
"Have you the _entree_ to the chateau?" Duncan asked abruptly.
"I am invited to dine there this evening," Wrayson answered.
"Then, if I were you," Duncan said, "I should make a point ofascertaining, if you can, the personality of this Madame de Melbain."
Wrayson nodded.
"I shall see her, of course," he said, "and I will do so."
"My own idea," Duncan said deliberately, "is that it is in connectionwith her presence here that the landlord of the inn and the villagershave received these injunctions about strangers. Try and find out whatyou can about her, and in the meantime I will look after the gentlemanover there. He wants to be friendly--I will make a companion of him. Whenyou come back to-night we will have another talk."
"It's awfully good of you," Wrayson said. "And now--I've one thingmore to say."
Duncan nodded.
"Go on," he said.
"I have taken you into my confidence so far as was possible," Wraysonsaid slowly. "I am going to ask you a question now."
"I cannot promise to answer it," Duncan declared, taking up his pipe andcarefully refilling it.
"Naturally! But I am going to ask it," Wrayson said. "An hour or so ago Iwas talking to the young lady in front of the inn, and you were watchingus. I saw your face at the window as she was driving off."
"Well?"
The monosyllable was hard and dry.
"You are neither an inquisitive nor an emotional person," Wrayson said."I am sure of that. I want an explanation."
"Of what?"
"Of your suddenly becoming both!"
Duncan had lit his pipe now, and smoked for a few moments furiously.
"I will not bandy words with you," he said at last. "You want anexplanation which I cannot give."
Wrayson looked as he felt, dissatisfied.
"Look here," he said, "I'm not asking for your confidence. I'm simplyasking you to explain why the sight of that young lady should be a matterof emotion to you. You know who she is, I am convinced. What else?"
Duncan shook his head.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You may trust me or not, as you like. All I cansay about myself is this. I've been up against it hard--very hard. So faras regards the ordinary affairs of life I simply don't count. I'm anegation--a purely subjective personage. I may be able to help you alittle here--I shall certainly never be in your way. My interest in theplace--there, I will tell you that--is purely of a sentimental nature. Myinterest in life itself is something of the same sort. Take my advice.Let it go at that."
"I will," Wrayson declared, with sudden heartiness.
Duncan nodded.
"I'll go and look after our little friend in the yellow boots," he said.
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