queried. "He wasblind, and therefore saw nothing. He is now mad, and nobody willbelieve him."
"Even though he may be an idiot his mouth is better closed," hercompanion growled.
His words startled me. This unseen man's intention was apparently tomake a further attempt upon my life. But I chuckled within myself.Forewarned is forearmed.
Just at that moment I heard the waiter tap at the door, and opening it,announce the arrival of another visitor--a Mr Roesch.
"Why, I wonder, has he sought you here?" exclaimed the man when thewaiter had gone. "He must have some important news!"
Next moment the door was again thrown open, and the new arrival entered.
All three spoke quickly together in a foreign tongue. The man Roeschthen made a brief statement, which apparently held his two companionsfor some moments speechless in alarm. Then again they all commencedtalking in low confidential tones in that strange language--Slav Ibelieve it was.
Whatever it might have been, and although I understood no word of it, itbrought back vividly to my memory the indelible recollection of thenight of the tragedy at The Boltons.
I listened attentively. Yes, there was no mistake--those tones werefamiliar. That trio of voices were the same that with my sharpened earsI had overheard conversing in the inner room immediately before thecommission of the crime.
I have said that my nerves were shattered. All the past was a torturingmemory to me, but the quintessence of that torture was my failure todiscover my love. I believed that she alone could supply the solutionof the enigma, and what truth there was in that suspicion you shall dulysee.
The three voices continued to speak in that foreign tongue for perhapshalf an hour, during which period I was unable to form any idea of thetrend of the new-comer's announcement.
Then I heard the visitors taking their leave, apparently with many ofthose gesticulated reassurances of respect which mark the shallowforeigner. I extinguished my light and opened my door cautiously. Asthey passed on their way down the corridor I succeeded in obtaining avery good view of the interesting pair. They were talking together, andI distinguished the man who had first called upon Edna by his deepvoice. He was a short, thick-set, black-bearded man of forty,well-dressed in black, with a heavy gold albert across his ample vest.His companion, whose name was apparently Roesch, was considerably older,about fifty-five or so, of spare build, erect, thin-faced, with longgrey whiskers descending from either cheek, and shaven chin. He wore afrock-coat and silk hat, and was of a type altogether superior to hiscompanion.
The woman Grainger's coffee was brought to her as usual in the morning,but about ten o'clock she rang again, and when the chambermaidresponded, said--
"Here are two letters. Post them for me in the box in the bureau, andtell them to send my bill at once. I leave at ten forty-five."
"Yes'm." And the girl departed to post the letters.
To whom, I wondered, were those letters addressed? Within my mind Istrove to devise some plan whereby I could obtain a glance at theaddresses. The box, however, was only at the foot of the stairs,therefore ere I could resolve upon any plan the girl had dropped theminto it, and I heard her linen flounces beating along the corridoragain. Those letters were in the post, and beyond my reach.
She had written those two missives during the night, and after thedeparture of her visitors. They had, no doubt, some connexion with thematter which the trio had so earnestly discussed in that tantalisingforeign tongue.
In hesitancy I remained some little time, then a sudden thought occurredto me. I addressed an envelope to the hall-porter of my club, enclosinga blank sheet of paper, and then descending, posted it. The box wasplaced outside the bureau, and the instant I had dropped the letter in Iturned, as though in anger with myself, and, entering the bureau, saidto the clerk--
"I've unfortunately posted a letter without a stamp. Have you the keyof the box?"
"The box belongs to the Post Office, sir," he answered. "But we have akey to it."
"Then I should esteem it a favour if you would recover my letter for me.It is most important that the addressee should not be charged for itspostage. I regret that my absent-mindedness should give you thistrouble."
The clerk took the key from a drawer at the end of the bureau, andopening the box, took out the half-dozen or so letters which itcontained, and spread them upon the desk. Among them were two square,pale-faced envelopes. As I took my own letter and affixed a stamp Iglanced eagerly at the address of both.
One bore the superscription: "Mr P. Gechkuloff, 98, King Henry's Road,Hampstead, N.W."
Upon the other were words which caused my heart to leap joyfully withinme. They were--
"Miss Mabel Anson, _Langham Hotel_, London."
I posted my letter, hurried upstairs and paid my bill. Edna had alreadypacked her trunk, but had changed her mind, and did not intend leavingHull that day. I heard her inform the chambermaid of her intention ofremaining, then I left the hotel, and caught the ten-forty-five expressfor London.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
THE ENIGMA.
At five o'clock that same afternoon I alighted from a taxi before the_Langham Hotel_, and presenting my card at the bureau, inquired for MissAnson. The clerk looked at me rather curiously, I thought, glanced atthe card, and entering the telephone-box, spoke some words into theinstrument.
I was shown into a small room on the first floor, where I waited until agentlemanly, middle-aged, fair-headed man entered, with my card in hishand.
"Good afternoon," he said, greeting me rather stiffly. "Her Highness isat present out driving. Is there anything I can do? I am hersecretary."
"Her Highness?" I echoed, with a smile. "There must be some mistake.I have called to see Miss Mabel Anson."
He regarded me with some surprise.
"Are you, then, unaware that Anson is the name adopted by Her Highnessto preserve her _incognita_?" he asked, glancing at me in quicksuspicion. "Are you not aware of her real rank and station?"
"No!" I cried, in blank amazement. "This is indeed a revelation to me!I have known Miss Anson intimately during the past six years. What isher true rank?"
"The lady whom you know as Miss Anson is Her Imperial Highness theArchduchess Marie Elizabeth Mabel, third daughter of His Majesty theEmperor Francis Joseph of Austria."
"Mabel! The daughter of an Emperor?" I gasped involuntarily."Impossible!"
He shrugged his shoulders. He was a foreigner, although he spokeEnglish well--an Austrian most probably.
"You are surprised," he laughed. "Many people have also been surprised,as the Archduchess, living in England nearly her whole life, hasfrequently been taken for an Englishwoman."
"I can't believe it!" I cried. "Surely there must be some mistake!"
I remembered those days of long ago when we had wandered together inKensington Gardens. How charming and ingenuous she was: how sweet andunaffected by worldly vanities, how trustful was that look when shegazed into my eyes! Her air was never that of the daughter of thereigning House of Hapsbourg-Lorraine. She had possessed all theenchantment of ideal grace without the dignity of rank, and it seemedincredible that she was actually a princess whose home was the mostbrilliant Court of Europe.
"I can quite understand your surprise," observed the secretary. "Butwhat is the nature of your business with Her Highness?"
"It is of a purely private nature."
He glanced at the card. "The Archduchess does not receive callers," heanswered coldly.
"But at least you will give her my name, and tell her that I havesomething of urgent importance to communicate to her," I cried eagerly.
He hesitated. "If you are, as you allege, an old friend, I will placeyour card before her," he said at last, with some hesitation. "You mayleave your address, and if Her Highness consents to receive you I willcommunicate with you."
"No," I answered in desperation; "I will remain and await her return."
"That is impossible
," he responded. "She has many engagements, andcertainly cannot receive you to-day."
I recollected that the letter I had found at Denbury made it plain thatwe had parted abruptly. If this man gave her my card without any word,it was more than likely that she would refuse to see me.
Therefore I entered into argument with him, but while I was speaking thedoor opened suddenly, and my love stood before me.
She halted there, elegantly dressed, having just returned from herdrive, and for a moment we faced each other speechless.
"Mr Heaton!" she cried, and then, in breathless hurry arising from thesudden and joyful surprise, she rushed forward.
Our hands grasped. For the moment I could utter no word. Thesecretary, noticing our mutual embarrassment, discreetly