women's blouses--great swells, I canassure you."
"You never heard of any of their names?"
"No, how was I to 'ear? Once two of 'em came in one hot day andjabbered, sayin' `_boch! boch_!' an' grinnin' all over their faces. Itwas quite a long time before I discovered that they wanted twohalf-pints o' bitter. I suppose _boch_ is what they calls it inFrench."
"Yes," I laughed. "You're quite right."
The strangers had evidently been French, I reflected. Had they beenItalian they would have asked for _birra_.
Regarding Lucie, I learnt that on several occasions, while she had beenat home, a young, black-moustached foreigner had been guest at theManor, and that she frequently drove him out in the dogcart. My hostdid not know the visitor's name. He described him, however, as tall andthin with a narrow hatchet face, black eyes and moustaches that turnedup at the ends.
"They passed up and down the village once or twice on their way to thepost-office, and I 'eard 'em talking in some gibberish," added the oldfellow, as he raised his tankard to his lips. Like all his race in therural districts, he had no love for the foreigner, be he whatever hemight. In his estimation every person from beyond the Channel was "afroggie."
That evening I went for my usual lonely stroll by the sea, while allnext day I spent in watchful vigil in the vicinity of the Manor. Thoughfor hours I idled concealed in the park, within view of the stately oldhome of the Millers, my patience was unrewarded. No sign of Lucie did Isee, either at any of the windows or in the old rose-garden.
Next evening, however, having learnt from the landlord that she was muchinterested in a decrepit old woman who had been her nurse, and who livedin a cottage at the farther end of Studland, I idled in wait for her ina narrow green lane which ran at the back of the church, and was atlength rewarded by seeing her approaching. She was dressed in whitemuslin with a large lace garden hat, and beside her walked her pet dog,a beautiful fawn collie.
Boldly I went towards her, my hat in my hand in respectful greeting.
In an instant she recognised me, and drew back, half in surprise, halfin alarm.
Her countenance went white as death.
"You--Why--Mr Leaf!" she gasped, attempting to smile. "Only fancy--tomeet you here!"
"Miss Miller," I said calmly, taking the hand she offered me, andglancing around in order to see that we were not observed, "I came hereon purpose to meet you--to speak with you!"
"With me?" she cried in cold surprise, her brows contracting in markeddispleasure. "What have you to say? Explain quickly, for we must notbe seen together here." And I recognised from her trembling lips howanxious and agitated she had become. She was in some great fear. I wasconvinced of that.
She tried to smile me welcome, but it died from her white lips. Theexpression upon her face told me that she was in deadly fear lest Ishould discover her secret.
I was, I felt certain, the very last person whom she desired to meet.
The very fact of my presence there told her that I knew somethingconcerning her--something concerning the past that she intended at allcosts to hide from me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
LUCIE IS CONFIDENTIAL.
"This is not altogether an accidental meeting, Miss Miller," I confessedat once to her. "The fact is I have waited in vain for your return toGranville Gardens, and at length have thought it wise to come here insearch of you."
"Who told you that we lived here?" she inquired breathlessly.
"No one told me, I discovered the fact quite accidentally," was myanswer. "Remember that your family is an old one, and in Debrett,therefore it was easy to find out the home of the Dorsetshire Millers."My rather plausible explanation apparently satisfied her, for lookingsharply around, she said:--
"If we are to talk, Mr Leaf, let us cross yonder stile and slip acrossthe fields. We shall not be seen there." So I helped her over thestile she indicated and we passed together along a steep path beside ahigh hawthorn hedge, and a few minutes later descended into the hollowwhere the village and sea were lost to view.
"I certainly expected you to return," I said, half reproachfully. "Ibelieved that you would wish to hear something further regarding thedead man. You refused to tell me his name, but I have discovered it.He was Nardini, the absconding ex-Minister of Justice in Rome."
"Who told you so?" she inquired, looking at me with considerablesuspicion.
"I took possession of his papers. They explained everything," I repliedsimply. "And now," I added, "the reason I am here is to inquire if Ican assist you in any way, and to repeat my readiness to do so."
"No," she answered, shaking her head sadly. "No assistance that youcould render me, Mr Leaf, would, I regret to say, be of any avail," andI saw tears welling in her eyes.
"But you must not give up like this," I urged. "You must endeavour toshield yourself, even if you fail, after all. The man is dead; hismouth is closed."
"Ah, yes. That is just it. If he lived he might, perhaps, have hadcompassion upon me."
"He refused to tell the truth--that you were at his villa at Tivoli onthat evening, and therefore could not have been in Rome, eh?"
She halted, glaring at me open-mouthed. She saw that I knew the truth,and after a few moments' silence with her eyes fixed upon mine, sheexclaimed in a low, hoarse voice:--
"He preserved silence because he dared not tell the truth. He was a curand a coward."
"And also a thief, it would seem," I added.
"Yes--you have seen what the papers are saying about him, I suppose?The police are searching for him all over Europe. They have no ideathat he is already dead and buried."
"Perhaps it is as well; otherwise the papers would have fallen intotheir hands. As it is I took possession of them all and restored themto the Italian Embassy--all but this," and I drew out her letter ofappeal, and, opening it, handed it to her.
She glanced at it, crushed it in her hand with a sigh, her dark eyesstill fixed upon mine, as though she were trying to read my innermostthoughts.
"Who are your enemies?" I asked in a kindly tone of sympathy. "Tellme, Miss Miller, what have they alleged against you?"
Her brows again contracted. She set her lips hard but remained silent,determined not to satisfy me regarding the charge against her.
I pressed her to speak, but she was firm and quite immovable.
"Now that Nardini is dead I am helpless in the hands of my unscrupulousenemies," was her low, inert answer.
"That letter is best destroyed," I said. Then with murmured thanks shetore it into tiny fragments and scattered it to the wind which carriedthe pieces away across the wide field of ripe corn.
I told her nothing of the yellow document, that hideous record whichNardini had preserved with her letter.
On the contrary, I implored her pardon for my visit and for my piece ofaudacious imposture, and, as we walked on together, explained how herfather and myself had become friends.
At first she seemed full of fear and suspicion, but gradually, as I gavea full description of how Miller had taken me over the house to see thepictures and antiques, and she saw how enthusiastic I was over thebeautiful old place, she became reassured. Did she know the secret ofher father's double life? In any case I could see that she was preparedto go to any length in order to shield him.
"I expect my aunt has been very much puzzled by your card," she said."She will probably be wondering whoever you can be."
"If you so desire, Miss Miller, you can explain to your aunt that I am afriend of yours, and that by a mistake of the servant the card was sentto her."
"A most excellent excuse," she laughed. "I'll tell her so, and then ifyou are still remaining here over to-morrow, perhaps you will call."
"I shall be only too delighted," I assured her. "Your father I found amost charming man--almost as charming as his daughter."
"Now no compliments please, Mr Leaf," she exclaimed, flushing slightly.
"It is not an idle one, I assure you," I said. "
The compliment isequally to your father as to yourself." And then we strolled forwardagain along the banks of a small rippling brook overhung by willows andhawthorns. Was it possible that she, so full of grace and sweetness,was actually the woman who Sammy had declared her to be? No, I couldnot bring myself to believe it. She spoke with such feeling andsympathy, and she was so full of an ineffable charm that I refused tobelieve that she was a mere adventuress assisting her father in hisdirection of some ingenious gang of thieves who worked in secret.
Her father, too, was the very last man whom I should have believed to bean adventurer had not the proof been so plain. Was not that appeal ofLucie's to Nardini