Part 38 (2/2)
Before Valerie had resided at Coombe six weeks she grew weary of the monotony of country life. In her discontented mood her surroundings were dull and uninteresting, while the local people she met lacked polish and _chic_, which, to her eyes, were the two necessary qualifications in acquaintances. Nothing was extraordinary in this, however. Women of the world meet in their life so many men and women-- young, middle aged, and old--who commit all sorts of absurdities for or around them, that they end by entertaining a sovereign contempt for the whole human race, placing all persons in the same category. In each woman they see only an individual to impose upon and outvie in the matter of dress, and each fresh specimen of the genus man which is brought before them they regard only as a lamb destined for the sacrifice after being sufficiently shorn.
It was in consequence of an earnest wish she expressed that they had left Cornwall and travelled to Paris, taking up their abode at the Hotel Continental.
Lounging in a capacious chair in the smoking-room, Hugh was scanning some letters he had just received. A few days had elapsed since their arrival, and this morning Valerie had gone out alone in order to visit her milliner in the Rue de la Paix. Left to his own resources, her husband had taken the letters that Jacob had forwarded to him, and, repairing to the smoking-room, endeavoured to amuse himself with their contents.
One which he had read and still held in his hand caused him to twirl his moustache thoughtfully and knit his brows.
Upon a half sheet of notepaper one sentence only was written, in a fine angular hand, and read:
”If you obtain a copy of the Paris newspaper, _Le Gaulois_, for 10th May, 1886, you will find in it something that will interest you.”
It was dated from Chelsea, and signed by Dolly Vivian.
”Now, I wonder what on earth she means?” he exclaimed aloud, her strange request for an interview--to which he had not replied--recurring to him.
It was exceedingly curious, he thought, that she should write him these vague, puzzling letters, well knowing that he was married and could now be nothing more to her than a friend. There was a mystery about this last communication that had aroused his curiosity, and for some time he sat trying in vain to find an explanation of her strange conduct.
Suddenly he made a resolve. Gathering up his letters he thrust them into his pocket, and went to his room to get his overcoat.
”If your mistress returns, Nanette, tell her I've gone for a stroll, and shall return in an hour,” he said to his wife's maid, who handed him his hat.
”Very well, m'sieur,” the girl replied. Then, as Trethowen descended the stairs to leave the hotel, she watched him, and added to herself: ”You will return in an hour, will you? Perhaps so; we shall see.”
She laughed heartily, for something appeared to amuse her, and when he had disappeared she returned to her mistress's room and commenced packing a trunk.
As Trethowen walked along the Rue Castiglione, crossed the Place Vendome, and went on towards the Boulevard des Capucines, a tall well-dressed man, with dark, pointed beard and curled moustaches, followed leisurely in his footsteps. This individual lounged aimlessly along, halting now and then to gaze into shop windows; nevertheless, from under the rather broad brim of his glossy silk hat a pair of keen grey eyes watched every movement of the man upon whom he was keeping observation. In the boulevard he was careful to cross to the opposite side of the way, in case the other should take a fancy to retrace his steps, for it appeared as if he did not desire an encounter. Sauntering along contemplating the engravings of the ill.u.s.trated papers displayed in the kiosques, he loitered so naturally that to an ordinary observer he was but an honest citizen of the suburbs.
The morning was bright and frosty. Hugh, bent upon investigating the truth of Dolly's strange a.s.sertion, and unaware of the presence of the individual who had suddenly displayed such intense interest in his movements, walked down the Boulevard des Italiens, and, turning into the Rue Drouot, entered the offices of _Le Gaulois_.
Addressing one of the clerks at the counter, he said--
”I desire to search your file for May, 1886. Can I do so?”
”If m'sieur will have the kindness to fill up this form which we have for the purpose, I will see that the file is brought,” replied the man politely, handing him a dip of paper and a pen.
Trethowen complied with this request, and waited rather impatiently, taking Dolly's letter from his pocket, and glancing at it to rea.s.sure himself that he had made no mistake in the date. There were many persons in the office, some transacting business and others reading that day's newspapers, which were spread open upon stands. Consequently he did not observe the entrance of three men, who, although coming in separately, met a short distance from where he stood, and held a hurried consultation in an undertone.
One of the men, apparently a respectable workman, took out an unmounted photograph from his wallet, glanced at it, and afterwards looked intently at Hugh who stood calmly unconscious of the scrutiny.
”It's our man, without a doubt,” declared the workman emphatically.
”I'd know him again amongst ten thousand.”
”I wonder what his game is here?” asked the man who had dogged his footsteps from the hotel.
”Cannot you see? He's asked for the file of the month when the affair occurred,” observed the third man. ”Well, what of that?”
”The thing is quite plain. Out of morbid curiosity he wants to read what the paper said,” replied his companion, who, turning to the workman, asked, ”Have you any doubt that he is the same man?”
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