him--returnedto us, and a few minutes later we had landed at Dover and were seated inthe train for Charing Cross.
I got my pretty travelling companion a cup of tea, and soon after we hadstarted she closed her eyes, and, tired out, dropped off to sleep.Miller, however, as full of good-humour as ever, kept up a continualchatter. Little did he dream that I had been an eye-witness of thatwild scene of excitement when the dead man's hoard had been discovered,or that I knew the truth concerning the unfortunate guard who had beenstruck down by a cowardly but unerring hand.
"Oh!" he sighed. "After all, it's good to be back again in England. Aspell at home will do Lucie good. She's growing far too foreign in herways and ideas. For a long time she's wanted to spend a year or so inEngland, and now I'm going to indulge her."
"Then you won't be returning abroad for some time?"
"Not for a year, I think. This winter I shall do a little hunting up inthe Midlands, I know a nice hunting-box to let at Market Harborough.Years ago I used to love a run with the hounds, and even now the sightof the pink always sends a thrill through me."
"Does Lucie ride?"
"Ride, of course. She's ridden to hounds lots of times. She had herfirst pony when she was eight."
"Then she'll enjoy it. There's very good society about MarketHarborough, I've heard."
"Oh! yes. I know the hunting lot there quite well, and a merry crowdthey are. The Continent's all very well for many things, but for realgood sport of any kind you must come to England. In the Forest ofFontainebleau they hunt with an ambulance waggon in the rear!" helaughed.
And in the same strain he chattered until just after dawn we ran intoCharing Cross, where we parted, he and Lucie going to the BuckinghamPalace Hotel, while I took a cab out to Granville Gardens, Shepherd'sBush.
When I walked into Sammy's room at seven o'clock he sat up in bed andstared at me.
"Why? What on earth has brought you back so soon, old chap? I thoughtyou were going to be away all the autumn and winter!" he exclaimed.
"Oh, got a bit sick of travelling, you know," I laughed, "so I simplycame back, that's all. They can give me a room here, I hear, so I'llstay."
"You'll stay here till you go away again, eh?" my friend laughed, for heknew what an erratic wanderer I was.
I sat on the edge of the bed and chatted to him while he shaved anddressed.
While we breakfasted together in his sitting-room he suddenly said:--
"There was a fellow here the other day making inquiries regarding ourdead Italian friend."
"Oh, what was he? A detective?"
"No. I don't think so. Miss Gilbert referred him to me. He was athin-faced, clean-shaven chap, and gave his name as Gordon-Wright."
"Gordon-Wright!" I gasped, starting to my feet. "Has that fellow beenhere? What did you tell him?"
"Well, I told him nothing that he wanted to know. I didn't care abouthim, somehow, so I treated him to a few picturesque fictions," Sammylaughed.
"You didn't tell him that the dead man was Nardini?"
"Not likely. You recollect that you urged me to say nothing, as theItalian Embassy did not wish the fact revealed."
"Ah! That's fortunate!" I cried, much relieved. "What did you tellhim?"
"I said that it was true an Italian gentleman did die here, but he was avery old man named Massari. Before he died his son joined him, andafter his death took all his belongings away. Was that right?"
"Excellent."
"The stranger made very careful inquiries as to the appearance of theman who died, and I gave an entirely wrong description of him. I saidthat he had white hair and a long white beard, and that he walked ratherlame, with the help of a stick. In fact I showed him a stick in thehall which I said belonged to the dead man. He was also veryinquisitive regarding the man's son who I said had taken away all hisbelongings. I described him as having a short reddish beard, but a manof rather gentlemanly bearing. The fellow Gordon-Wright struck me as anawful bounder, and that's why I filled him up with lies. Do you knowhim? Is he a friend of yours?"
"Friend!" I echoed. "No, the reverse. I wonder what he wanted todiscover. You didn't mention me, I suppose?"
"No. Why should I?"
"I'm glad of that, for there's evidently some fresh conspiracy inprogress."
"Probably there is. He's a shrewd fellow without a doubt."
"An outsider, my dear Sammy," I declared. "That fellow's a thief--afriend of Miller's."
"Of Miller's!" he cried, in his turn surprised. "Is he really one ofthe gang?"
"Certainly he is. Moreover, I happened to be present when he robbed anAmerican in a hotel at Nervi, near Genoa, and if I said a word to thepolice he'd `do time,' depend upon it."
"Then why don't you?"
"Because just at the present time it doesn't suit my purpose," was myreply. "I want first to find out the reason of his visit here."
"Wants to establish the death of the fugitive, I suppose. He certainly,however, got nothing out of me. You know me too well, and can trust menot to give away anything that's a secret."
"Was he alone?"
"Yes. He came here alone, but Miss Gilbert says that a lady was waitingfor him in a hansom a few doors along the road--a young lady, shethinks."
Was it my Ella, I wondered? If so, she might be in London staying withher aunt, as she so frequently did in the old days.
"How long ago did all this occur?" I asked.
"On Saturday--that would be four days ago. He came about five in theafternoon. When Miss Gilbert referred him to me he apparently resentedit, believing that he could induce her to tell him all he wanted."
"But even she doesn't know that it was the notorious Nardini who died upstairs."
"No, but I don't fancy she's such a ready liar as I am, old chap,"laughed Sammy. "He started the haw-haw attitude, and with me that don'tpay--as you know. I did the haw-haw likewise, and led him to believethat I was most delighted to be of any assistance to him in helping himto trace his friend."
"His friend! Did he say that Nardini was his friend?"
"He didn't mention his name. He only said that an intimate friend ofhis, an Italian from Rome, had, he knew, arrived in London and suddenlydisappeared. He had prosecuted most diligent search, and havingascertained from the registrar of deaths that an Italian had died therehe wondered whether it might not be his friend. Whereupon I at oncedescribed a man something like Father Christmas without his muff andholly, and at length he went away quite satisfied that the man who diedupstairs was not the person he was in search of."
"He didn't say where he was living, or leave any address?"
"He wasn't likely to if he's one of Miller's crowd," my friendexclaimed. "But I wonder what's in the wind? He has some distinctobject in establishing Nardini's death."
"Probably fears some revelation which the fugitive might make if he hadfallen into the hands of the police," I suggested. "The ex-Ministerwasn't a very bright specimen himself from all accounts and from thosepapers we discovered. He was a blackmailer and a brute, as well as anembezzler."
"Well," declared Sammy, "if you really have direct evidence against thisfellow Gordon-Wright, I should just tell the truth at Scotland Yard.I'd dearly love to see Miller in the dock, too, for if any one deservesto pick oakum for a few years, he does. But he's such a cunning knave,and passes so well as a gentleman, that nobody ever suspects."
"They say he's dined and slept at half the best country-houses inDorsetshire and Devonshire, and I believe he's going to hunt from MarketHarborough this coming season."
"The deuce he is! What infernal audacity! I feel myself likedenouncing him."
"Better not--at least at present, my dear fellow. Besides--for hisdaughter's sake."
"Daughter be hanged! She's as bad as her father, every bit."
"No, I disagree with you there," I protested. "The girl is innocent ofit all. She believes implicitly in her father, but beyond that she isin some deadly fear--of w
hat I can't yet make out."
"Then you've seen her lately, eh?"
"Quite recently," I replied, though I told him nothing of the excitingevents of the past seven or eight days. The knowledge I had gathered Iintended to keep to myself, at least for the present.
About four o'clock that afternoon I called upon Ella's aunt, a widownamed Tremayne, who lived in a comfortable