In the morning, however, my friend of the cafe entered briskly with the doctor, who had conducted him to the scene of the tragedy on the previous day, and in a moment our recognition was mutual.

"Well," he exclaimed, standing by me and regarding me with some surprise. "What has happened to you?"

"I'm under arrest," was my reply. "Accused of murder."

"So I hear," he answered. "It seems that our meeting at Biffi's was rather fortunate for you--eh?"

"Now you recognise me, I'll tell you all that occurred," I said quickly.

And then I related to them both in detail all the startling incidents, just as I have already written them down.

"Then it was not the Englishwoman who was murdered?" he said. "You told me her name was Price--if I mistake not. After I left Biffi's that night I somehow felt convinced that Ostini and Belotto were up to some mischief, and I afterwards regretted that I had not waited and watched them. They looked rather too prosperous to suit my fancy. You, of course, believed the dead woman to be your friend, the English lady?"

"Yes," I said.

"And the Englishman--what of him?"

"I did not see him after he entered the house," I answered.

Then, after I had furnished him with many other minute details of my startling adventure of that night in which I had so narrowly escaped death at the hands of the a.s.sa.s.sins, he held a brief consultation in private with his colleague, who was apparently his superior in rank.

And presently they both returned to my bedside and, to my joy, announced that it was decided to release me from custody.

Within half an hour an active search was being made for the four who had sat at table that night at Biffi's, and although I hoped that the a.s.sa.s.sin would be caught, I felt a little apprehensive lest Marigold should fall into the hands of the police and the Earl's name be dragged into the criminal court.

If she still remained at the _Metropole_ the police must certainly discover her. I could only hope that she had already fled.

The mystery as to who had attacked me was still unsolved. If it were Logan, then was it not probable that she was aware of the blow that had been dealt me? The circ.u.mstances, indeed, pointed to the fact that, in the murder of Marie Lejeune, she was at least an accomplice.

That day I begged the doctors to allow me to go forth, but they were inexorable. Therefore for yet another day was I compelled to remain there in anxious uncertainty although free from the irritating presence of the guard.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

GIVES THE KEYWORD.

Still very unwell, my head gave me excruciating pain when next morning I joyfully took my discharge from the hospital. My first destination was the telegraph-office, whence I sent a message to Lolita, and afterwards I went to the _Cavour_, where I found that, in consequence of my protracted absence, my bag had been taken from my room.

However, I soon had another apartment, although the hotel people looked askance at my bandaged head, and after a wash and a change of clothes, I went forth to the Questore, as I had arranged to meet my friend the _delegato_ to whom I had so fortunately spoken in Biffi's.

In his upstairs room he explained how he had circulated the description of the two men, Belotto and Ostini, to the various cities and to the frontiers, and how, owing to the pair being so well-known as bad characters, he felt certain of their arrest. That day I attended the official inquiry regarding the death of the woman Lejeune, and after giving some formal evidence, was allowed to leave.

My great fear had been that Marigold and Logan might be arrested. If so the arrest of the former must produce a terrible scandal, and if the latter the result, I feared, must reflect upon my love's good name. My only hope, therefore, was that they had already pa.s.sed the frontier police at Modane, Ventimiglia or Chia.s.so, and had escaped from Italy.

The chief of police was very emphatic in his order that I must remain in Milan for an indefinite period, as perhaps my evidence would be wanted against the men, but after consultation with Mr Martin Johnson, now most active on my behalf, because he hoped to obtain the good-will of my cousin, his chief, I resolved to disobey the mandate of the Questore and slip away from Italy in secret. I was not under arrest, hence the police had no power to detain me.

Therefore, travelling by Turin, Modane and Paris, I arrived at Charing Cross at dawn three days later, and took train at once to Sibberton.

What had happened during my absence I feared to guess. On entering my room at the Hall at noon, I found my table piled with the acc.u.mulated correspondence. I had before my departure from London telegraphed to the Earl my intention of taking a fortnight's holiday, therefore my absence had not been remarked. Only Keene and Lolita knew the truth.

I rang the bell, and old Slater appeared.

"Is his lordship hunting this morning?" I inquired.

"No, sir," responded the aged retainer, surely a model servant. "He's across with her ladyship at the stables looking at some new horses."

"How long has her ladyship been back?"

"She returned from London yesterday, sir."

"And Lady Lolita?"

"Her ladyship has gone in the motor to luncheon at Deene, sir. Lady Maud Dallas, and one of the other visitors, a lady, are with her."

With that I dismissed the servant, and walking down the corridor went out into the wide courtyard, through the servants' quarters and round to the left wing of the house to the great stables where there were stalls for a hundred horses.

The stablemen and grooms in their jerseys of hunting red always gave a picturesque touch of colour to the huge grey old place, and I saw in a corner of the great paved yard, the Earl with a small group of his visitors watching a fine bay mare being paraded by a groom.

One of the traditions of the Stanchesters was to keep good horses, and George spared no expense to maintain the high standard of his forefathers. He had three motors, but Marigold used them more than he did because they were the fashion.

She had learnt to drive herself, and would often drive up to London, eighty-five miles, accompanied by Jacques, the French chauffeur. In town, too, she had an electric brougham in which she paid afternoon calls and did her shopping. Indeed her motor brougham with yellow wheels was a common object in Regent Street in the season.

"Hulloa, Willoughby!" cried the Earl as I approached. "Didn't know you were back?"

"I'm a day or so earlier than I expected," I laughed, at the same time saluting the woman whose adventure in Milan had undoubtedly been a strangely tragic one, as well as Keene and the other guests.

"Why, what's the matter with your head?" asked old Lord Cotterstock, noticing a bandage upon it as I raised my straw hat.

"Oh, nothing very much," I answered then. "I slipped on the kerb in the Strand, fell back, and struck it rather badly. But it's getting better.

The unsightliness of the plaster is its worst part."

I dared not glance at Marigold as I uttered this excuse. I felt sure that she was aware of the attack made upon me--whether it had been by Logan or any one else.

The colour had left her cheeks when her startled eyes encountered me, and she glared at me as though I were a ghost. By that alone I knew that my re-appearance there was utterly unexpected--in truth, that she believed that I was dead!

She had turned away from the party at once, to speak with the stud-groom in order to conceal her dismay. Her face had, in an instant, a.s.sumed a death-like pallor, and I saw how anxious she was to escape me. Though she made a desperate effort to remain calm and to face me, she was unable, for her att.i.tude in itself betrayed her guilty knowledge.

I saw in her face sufficient to convince me of the truth. She managed to move away, still giving instructions to the man, while I remained with the party watching the cantering of the horse on show. Every man or woman present there was a judge of a horse, for all were hunting people and knew what, in stable parlance in the Midlands, is known as "a good bit of stuff" when they saw it.

Presently when the decision was given, I moved away with Keene, and as soon as we were alone in the pleasure-garden I told him quickly of my startling adventure. He stood open-mouthed.

"Then the woman Lejeune is actually dead," he gasped, his brows knit thoughtfully. "The Italians must have murdered her!"

"Undoubtedly," I said, recollecting that he was acquainted with them, for had not one of them, if not both, been in concealment at Hayes's Farm.

"Well," he sighed. "This means, I'm afraid, the worst to Lolita."

"Ah! no!" I cried. "Don't say that. We must save her! We must! If I could only know the truth I feel sure I could devise some means by which she could be extricated from this perilous position."

"No," he answered sadly. "I think not. The a.s.sa.s.sination of that woman tells me that the conspiracy is a more daring and formidable one than I had even imagined."