first attitude of irritation
towards me. It was just as certain that her uncle had shown no desire
whatever to make my acquaintance. I remembered his curious agitation
as we had reached London, his muttered excuse of sea-sickness, and his
somewhat extraordinary conduct in leaving his niece alone with me--a
perfect stranger--while he hurried off to the hotel at which he had
never arrived. Presumably, if that was indeed he who had spoken to
the girl upon the telephone, she understood more about the matter than
I did. He may have given her some explanation which accounted for his
absence. If so, he had obviously desired it to remain a secret. What
was the nature of this mystery? Of what was it that he was afraid? Who
was this young man who, after his departure, had taken so much
interest in his niece and myself at Charing Cross? Was it some one
whom he had desired to evade?--a detective, perhaps, or an informer?
The riddle was not easy to solve. Common-sense told me that my wisest
course was to fulfil my original intention, and take the first train
on the morrow to my brother's house in Norfolk. On the other hand,
inclination strongly prompted me to stay where I was, to see this
thing through, to see more of Felicia Delora! I was thirty years old,
free and unencumbered, a moderately impressionable bachelor of
moderate means. Until the time when the shadow of this tragedy had
come into my life, which had found its culmination in the little
restaurant of the Place d'Anjou, things had moved smoothly enough with
me. I had had the average number of flirtations, many pleasant
friendships. Yet I asked myself now whether there was any one in the
past who had ever moved me in the same way as this girl, who was still
almost a perfect stranger to me. I hated the man, her uncle. I hated
the circumstances under which I had seen her. I hated the mystery by
which they were surrounded. It was absolutely maddening for me to
reflect that two floors below she was spending the night either with
some mysterious and secret knowledge, or in real distress as to her
uncle's fate. After all, I told myself a little bitterly, I was a
fool! I was old enough to know better! The man himself was an
adventurer,--there could be no doubt about it. How was it possible
that she could be altogether ignorant of his character?

Then, just as I was half undressed, there came a soft knock at my
door. I rose to my feet and stood for a moment undecided. For some
t