"Oh! not very long," replied the red-haired rustic beauty.

Whereupon I told her she need not send the copy up to the Hall, but as I was going back presently I would deliver it myself.

Warr was at the door of the inn as I pa.s.sed, and he called me in. When we were in his back parlour he said to me with a mysterious air--

"Do you know, sir, that that tramp who gave me a sovereign tip has been in Sibberton again? I saw him walking through the village the day before yesterday with another gentleman--one who's staying up at the Hall."

"No, you're mistaken," I answered laughing. "It's Mr Smeeton, who's very much like him, an old friend of his lordship's. I fell into just the same error myself when I first saw him," I added, in order, if possible, to remove any suspicion from the worthy man's mind.

"Well, do you know," he said laughing, "I could have sworn it was the same man, except that his beard has been trimmed. Of course he looks different, dressed as a gentleman."

"No," I rea.s.sured him. "The man you have evidently seen is Mr Smeeton, with whom his lordship hunted big game in Africa a year or two ago."

Then after a brief chat, in which he expressed surprise that the police had now relinquished all their efforts to discover the ident.i.ty of the murdered man or his a.s.sa.s.sin, I went out, returning to the little low-thatched cottage in which was the village post-office.

The red-haired girl handed me a telegram addressed to the Countess of Stanchester, remarking that no error had been discovered in its transmission, and placing it in my pocket I mounted the cycle and rode away up the avenue. As soon, however, as I was alone under the trees, I took out the envelope, tore it open, and saw that the message had been handed in at Ovington in Ess.e.x. It was unsigned and read--

"_To-night, Charing Cross, nine. Only bring handbag_."

It showed that her ladyship was on the point of flight! Therefore I at once resolved to ascertain her destination and watch her doings.

On returning to the Hall I learnt from the servants that she had not gone out visiting as she intended, but was in her room. The men had not returned, so I took Lolita aside, showed her the telegram, and told her to go upstairs and watch if there was any sign of her intended departure. A quarter of an hour later my love came secretly to my room and told me that she had remarked casually to her that she intended to go to town to fit a dress, which she specially wanted for a garden-party, and would probably go up to town that evening.

That was sufficient for me. I kissed my love fondly, and telling her to remain under Keene's care, crammed some things into a bag and took the train at five-thirty from Kettering to St Pancras.

I travelled by the train previous to the one she would catch, therefore I dined leisurely at the cafe _Royal_, and at a quarter to nine stood beneath the clock on Charing Cross platform, watching the idlers keeping their appointments and the bustle of departing pa.s.sengers by the midnight mail for the Continent.

I had to exercise a good deal of caution to avoid detection; but at last, just before the hour, I saw her approach dressed in a dark-brown travelling-gown with a brown gossamer veil that gave her the appearance of an American globe-trotter, and was so thick that it would prevent recognition of her features.

She hurried across from the booking-office to the platform where the Continental express was on the point of starting, as though in fear that some one might detain her.

She was not alone, but at her side walked a man in grey felt hat and long grey overcoat. In him all my interest was centred, for he was none other than Logan.

I had, however, no time for reflection. Only just sufficient, indeed, to dash back to the booking-office, obtain a ticket for Paris, and enter the last compartment of the train before it moved off to our unknown destination.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

WHAT! SAW IN THE NIGHT.

The night mail for the Continent backed into Cannon Street for the postal-vans, and then rushed away into the wet stormy night for Dover Pier.

The journey, as far as there, proved uneventful, but as soon as I stepped out upon the rain-swept landing-stage, I saw that our crossing was to be a "dirty" one. Beneath the electric lamps brawny seamen pa.s.sed in shining oil-skins, and amid the bustle and shouting I saw the neat figure of the Countess with her companion hurry across the gangway to the shelter of a private cabin, wherein she entered and closed the door, while Logan went below to get a drink, and change some money with the steward, an action which was that of the constant traveller.

Not wishing to appear too obtrusive, I remained on deck watching the mails being counted in, until the last bag had been flung into the hold, the cry "All out!" sounded, the hatches were closed, and then slowly the packet began to move out into the rough open Channel.

When Logan emerged on deck I stood back in the darkness, taking a good view of him. He was dressed with every appearance of a gentleman, but from the manner in which he paced the deck I saw that he was greatly agitated and concerned, whether of the Countess's safety or of his own I could, of course, not determine. Neither had I any idea why the pair were fleeing from England, unless it was to escape some exposure which her ladyship knew to be imminent.

That woman was the enemy of my love; she had deceived me. Therefore the compa.s.sion I held for her had been succeeded by a fierce and unrelenting antagonism, and I intended to watch her and discover the truth.

I sat beneath the bridge under shelter from the driving rain, and hidden by the darkness, while the man Logan walked to and fro, utterly heedless of the storm. He did not go to her ladyship's cabin to inquire after her, therefore it struck me that perhaps they might have quarrelled. In any case his anxiety was intense.

On landing at Calais he took her into the buffet, where they had hot coffee, and a few moments later were joined by a thin black-haired sallow-faced man, evidently a foreigner from the studied manner in which he bowed before her as she sat at the table of the restaurant.

Then the trio sat together in earnest consultation.

The Paris express was announced to depart, but to my surprise they took no heed. The French capital proved not to be their destination, for presently they rose and walked to the Bale express, the _wagon-lit_ of which they entered, the conductor apparently expecting them.

I was compelled therefore to return to the booking-office and obtain a ticket. As, however, there was but one sleeping-car I could not travel in it for fear of detection, and was therefore forced to enter an ordinary first-cla.s.s carriage, with the prospect of a twelve hours'

tedious journey.

On we travelled until the dawn spread into a grey damp day, then the sun shone, it grew warmer, and I stretched myself upon the cushions and slept. To descend to get anything to eat was to invite detection; therefore I starved upon a pull from my flask and a couple of sandwiches with which I had provided myself at the Calais buffet.

From Bale I followed them to Lucerne, and from Lucerne by the Gothard railway to Milan, where we arrived late at night, her ladyship driving alone to the _Hotel Metropole_, opposite the _Duomo_, and the two men going off in a cab in another direction.

As soon as I had watched the Countess into the _Metropole_ I went along to the _Cavour_, where I quickly turned in and was very soon asleep.

Milan seemed to be their destination, for at the station they had been met by a second foreigner, an Italian evidently, a short ferret-eyed little man, smoking the stump of a cigar, and after the exchange of a few words he parted from them quickly and was lost to sight.

My own idea was that he had met Logan and his friend and had told them to what address to drive. I, however, could not follow them, being bent upon watching Marigold. Next morning I sent a telegram to Keene informing him of my whereabouts, and then set myself to keep observation on the Countess's movements.

Milan, the most noisy city of modern Italy, was parched and dusty at that season of the year, and save for a few German tourists the hotels seemed empty. There are, of course, visitors from all corners of the earth at all seasons of the year to see the wonders of the cathedral, but to the man who knows his Italy, and who loves it, there is something so incongruous, so ugly, so utterly rasping upon the nerves in Milan that it is decidedly a city to get away from. The place bears the impress of all that is bad in Italian art of to-day, combined with all the worst features of that complex life which is known as Modern Italy.

Opposite the hotel stood the great stucco arcade, the Gallery of Victor Emmanuel, one of the greatest, if not actually the greatest, in Europe, and about eleven o'clock her ladyship emerged from her hotel alone and wandered through the arcade looking into the shop windows, some of those establishments being the best and most expensive in Italy.

She little dreamed of my presence as I followed her. Previously I had bought a grey felt hat of Italian shape in order that my English "bowler" should not be conspicuous, and with my watchful eyes upon her I sauntered on, wondering why she was waiting. She returned to the hotel to lunch, and in the afternoon went for a drive around the bastions, which, planted with limes now, form the _pa.s.seggiata_ of the prosperous Milanese.

It surprised me that Logan and his companion did not return to her, and I regretted that I had not ascertained whither they had gone. At seven o'clock that evening, however, she went alone to the large restaurant in the Galleria known as Biffi's, and entering found the three men seated at table expecting her. Each greeted her with deep deference, then reseated themselves, and she dined with them.

From where I sat, engrossed in my _Tribuna_--the top of my head concealed by my new grey hat--I could see that now and then the conversation was of a confidential character, and I also noticed certain strange meaning looks exchanged between the men when the woman's attention was otherwise engaged.

The three men were certainly not the kind of persons one would have expected as a.s.sociates of a woman of the Countess of Stanchester's wealth and social distinction. Her beauty, however, was, I saw, everywhere remarked, even in that foreign cafe.

"Una bellissima donna!" remarked a man seated near to me to his companion, as he sipped his vermouth and seltzer. "English, I believe.

I wonder what those thieves want with her? She evidently don't know their character, or she and the Englishman wouldn't be seen with them here, in a public restaurant!"

I was quickly on the alert. These men, probably petty officials employed in the Munic.i.p.al Offices, had recognised the sallow-faced man who had met Logan at Calais, and his companion. I recollected the curious incident at Hayes's Farm, and the fact that two foreigners had been of the mysterious party who had lived in concealment there. Were they, I wondered, these self-same men. They were Italians, no doubt, for had they not read the _Avanti_ and the _Secolo_ and other journals, some of which they had left behind on their sudden flight?

Fortunately one of the Continental languages with which I was acquainted was Italian; therefore I turned to the two men seated close to me, and raising my hat politely explained that I had overheard their remarks, and that as the lady and gentleman were my friends I would esteem it a favour if they would give me some further information regarding the two men seated with them at table.

"Why do you wish to know?" inquired the man who had made the remark that had so attracted my attention.

"Well, because my English friends are negotiating some financial business with them," I explained.

"Oh!" he smiled. "Well then, you can tell your friends that those two men are well-known in Milan, and especially in this cafe, as knights of industry--persons who live by their wits. I haven't see them here for months, and believed that they'd fallen into the hands of the law. But it seems that they're flourishing still."

"What is known against them?" I asked in Italian. "Are you aware of their names?"

"Yes," was his reply. "I may as well tell you that I am a _delegato_ of police myself, and I happen to know those two very interesting gentlemen. The tall man is t.i.to Belotto, a Roman, and the other Bernardo Ostini, a Lucchese. And the name of the beautiful Englishwoman? Who is she?"

"She is from London--a Mrs Price," I answered, p.r.o.nouncing the first name that came into my head, for I was by no means anxious that this detective should know her real name.