Part 30 (1/2)

”Ralph!” I said presently.

My brother looked up.

”Have you got d.i.c.ky's letter on you?” I asked.

He pa.s.sed it over to me. I skimmed through the first part until I came to the sentence which interested me.

I have been out staying at an awfully fine estate here, right on the Pampas. It belongs to some people called Delora. One of the brothers is just off to Europe, on some Government business, and will be in London for a few days with his niece, I expect. He is going to stay at the Milan Hotel, and it would be awfully good of you if you would look him up, or drop him a line. They really have been very kind to me out here.

I pushed the letter back to Ralph.

”Have you done anything yet,” I asked, ”about this?”

Ralph shook his head.

”I thought you would not mind calling for me,” he remarked. ”I would like to be civil to any one who has done anything for d.i.c.ky. If he shoots, you might take him down to the Court. Mary's there, of course, but that would not matter. There is the whole of the bachelor wing at your disposal.”

I nodded.

”I will look after it for you,” I said. ”You can leave it in my hands. It is rather an odd thing, but I believe that I have met this man in Paris.”

My brother was not much interested. I was glad of the excuse to bury myself in the pages of the _Daily Telegraph_. Here at last, then, was something definite. The man Delora was not a fraud. He was everything that he professed to be--a wealthy man, without a doubt. I suddenly began to see things differently. What a coward I had been to think of running away! After all, there might be some explanation, even, of that meeting between the girl and Louis.

We finished our breakfast, and my brother hobbled over to the window. For several minutes he remained there, looking out upon the street with the aimless air of a man who scarcely knows what to do with his day.

”What are you thinking of doing, Austen?” he asked me.

”I had no plans,” I answered. ”Some part of the day I thought I would look up these people--the Deloras.”

Ralph nodded and turned to his servant.

”Goreham,” he said, ”I will have the motor in an hour. Come and dine with me, will you, Austen?” he said, turning to me. ”I don't suppose you will go down to Feltham for a day or two.”

”I will come, with pleasure,” I answered. ”Where are you going to motor to?”

Ralph answered a little vaguely. He had some calls to make, and he was not altogether sure. I left him in a few minutes and descended to the street. I turned westward and walked for some little distance, when suddenly I was attracted by the sight of a familiar figure issuing from the door of a large, gray stone house. We came face to face upon the pavement. It was the man whose life I had probably saved only a few hours ago.

He lifted his hat, and his dark eyes sought mine interrogatively.

”You were not, by chance, on the way to call upon me?” he asked.

I shook my head.

”Not only,” I answered, ”was I ignorant of where you lived, but I do not even know your name.”

”Both matters,” he remarked quietly, ”are unimportant.”

I glanced at the house from which he had issued.

”It would seem,” I remarked, ”that you have diplomatic connections.”