Hugo looked innocent and attentive, but made no comment. His aunt kissed him with more warmth than usual when she said good-night. She had seldom kissed her sons after they reached manhood; but she caressed Hugo very frequently. She was softer in her manner with him than she had been even with Richard.

"Take care of yourself in London," she said to him. "Do you want any money?"

"No, thank you, Aunt Margaret. I shall be back in three days if I start to-morrow--at least, I think so. I'll telegraph if I am detained."

"Yes, do so. To-morrow is the seventeenth. You will be back by the twentieth?"

"If my business is done," said Hugo. And then he went back to his little experiments in caligraphy.

It was not until the afternoon of the 18th of August that he found himself at the door of No. 14, Tarragon-street. It was a dingy-looking house in a dismal-looking street. Hugo shivered a little as he pulled the tarnished bell-handle. "How can people live in streets like this?"

he said to himself, with a slight contemptuous shrug of his shoulders.

"Mr. Vasari?" he said, interrogatively, as a downcast-looking woman came to the door.

"Yes, sir. What name, sir, if you please?"

"Say that a gentleman from Scotland wishes to see him."

The woman gave him a keen look, as if she knew something of the errand upon which Dino Vasari had come to her house; but said nothing, and ushered him at once into a sitting-room on the ground-floor. The room was curtained so heavily that it seemed nearly dark. Hugo could not see whether it was tenanted by more than one person; of one he was sure, because that one person came to meet him with outstretched hands and eager words of greeting.

"Mr. Luttrell! You have come, then; you have come--I knew you would!"

"I beg your pardon," said Hugo, and at the sound of his voice the first speaker fell back amazed; "but I am Hugo Luttrell--not Brian. I come from him."

"A thousand pardons; this English darkness is to blame," said the other, in fluent English speech, though with a slightly foreign accent. "Let us have lights; then we can know each other. I am--Dino Vasari."

He said the name with a certain hesitation, as though not sure whether or no he ought to call himself by it. The light of a candle fell suddenly upon the two faces--which were turned towards one another in some curiosity. The two had a kind of superficial likeness of feature, but a total dissimilarity of expression. The subtlety of Hugo's eyes and mouth was never shown more clearly than when contrasted with the noble gravity that marked every line of Dino's traits. They stood and looked at each other for a moment--Dino, wrapped in admiration; Hugo, lost in a thought of dark significance.

"So you are the man!" he was saying to himself. "You call yourself my cousin, do you? And you want the Strathleckie and the Luttrell estates?

Be warned and go back to Italy, my good cousin, while you have time; you will never reach Scotland alive, I promise you. I shall kill you first, as I should kill a snake lying in my path. Never in your life, Mr. Dino Vasari, were you in greater danger than you are just now."

CHAPTER XXI.

A FLASK OF ITALIAN WINE.

"I am Brian Luttrell's cousin," said Hugo, quietly, "and I come from him."

"Then you know--you know----" Dino stammered, and he looked eagerly into Hugo's face.

"I know all."

"You know where he is now?"

"I do. I have brought you a letter from him--a sort of introduction,"

said Hugo, with a faint smile. "I trust that you will find it satisfactory."

"No introduction is necessary," was Dino's polite reply. "I have heard him speak of you."

Hugo's eyes flashed an interrogation. What had Brian said of him? But Dino's tones were so courteous, his face so calmly impassive, that Hugo was reassured. He bowed slightly, and placed a card and a letter on the table. Dino made an apology for opening the letter, and moved away from the table whilst he read it.

There was a pause. Hugo's face flushed, his hands twitched a little. He was actually nervous about the success of his scheme. Suppose Dino were to doubt the genuineness of that letter!

It consisted of a few words only, and they were Italian:--

"Dino mio," it began, "the bearer of this letter is my cousin Hugo, who knows all the circumstances and will explain to you what are my views. I am ill, and cannot come to London. Burn this note.

"Brian Luttrell."

Dino read it twice, and then handed it to Hugo, who perused it with as profound attention as though he had never seen the document before. When he gave it back, he was almost surprised to see Dino take it at once to the grate, deposit it amongst the coals, and wait until it was consumed to ashes before he spoke. There was a slight sternness of aspect, a compression of the lips, and a contraction of the brow, which impressed Hugo unfavourably during the performance of this action. It seemed to show that Dino Vasari might not be a man so easy to deal with as Brian Luttrell.

"I have done what I was asked to do," he said, drawing himself up to his full height, and turning round with folded arms and darkening brow. "I have burnt his letter, and I should now be glad, Mr. Luttrell, to hear the views which you were to explain to me."

"My cousin Brian----" began Hugo, with some deliberation; but he was not allowed to finish his sentence. Quick as thought, Dino Vasari interrupted him.

"Pardon me, would it not be as well--under the circumstances--to speak of the gentleman in question as Mr. Stretton?"

Hugo shrugged his shoulders.

"I have no objection," he said, "so long as you do not take my calling him by that name to be the expression of my opinion concerning the subject under consideration."

This was so elaborate a sentence that Dino took some little time to consider it.

"I see," he said at last, with a questioning look; "you mean that you are not convinced that he is the son of Vincenza Vasari?"

"Neither is he," said Hugo.

"But if we have proof----"

"Mr. Vasari, you cannot imagine that my cousin will give up his rights without a struggle?"

"But he has given them up," said Dino, vehemently. "He refuses to be called by his own name; he has let the estates pass away from him----"

"But he means to claim his rights again," said Hugo.

"Oh." Then there was a long silence. Dino sat down in a chair facing that of Hugo, and confronted him steadily. "I understood," he said at last, "when I was in Italy, that he had resolved to give up all claim to his name, or to his estate. He had disagreeable associations with both.

He determined to let himself be thought dead, and to earn his own living under the name of John Stretton."

"He did do so," said Hugo, softly; "but he has changed his mind."

"And why?"

"If I tell you why, may I ask you to keep what I say a profound secret?"

Dino hesitated. Then he said firmly, "I will keep it secret so long as he desires me to do so."