Part 17 (1/2)

Then next moment he was lost in the darkness.

”Do you know that man?” asked my companion suddenly.

”No. Why?”

”I don't know,” she answered. ”I fancy I've seen him somewhere or other before. He looked like a Russian.”

That was just my own thought at that moment, and I wondered if Oleg, who was lurking near, had noticed him.

”Yes,” I said. ”But I don't recollect ever having seen him before. I wonder who he is? Let's turn back.”

We did so, but though we hastened our steps, we did not find him. He had, it seemed, already left the pier. Apparently he believed that he had been recognised.

Once again we repa.s.sed Drury and his friend just as the theatre disgorged its crowd of homeward-bound pleasure-seekers.

We were walking in the same direction, Oleg following at a respectable distance, and I was enabled to obtain a good look at him, for, as though in wonder as to whom I could be, he turned several times to eye me, with some little indignation, I thought.

I judged him to be about twenty-five, over six feet in height, athletic and wiry, with handsome, clear-cut, clean-shaven features and a pair of sharp, dark, alert eyes, which told of an active outdoor life. His face was a refined one, his gait easy and swinging, and both in dress and manner he betrayed the gentleman.

Truth to tell, though I did not admit it to Natalia, I became very favourably impressed by him. By his exterior he seemed to be a well-set-up, sportsmanlike young fellow, who might, perhaps, belong to one of the Suss.e.x county families.

His friend the doctor was of quite a different type, a short, fair-haired man in gold-rimmed spectacles, whose face was somewhat unattractive, though it bore an expression of studiousness and professional knowledge. He certainly had the appearance of a doctor.

But before I went farther I resolved to make searching inquiry unto the antecedents of this mysterious d.i.c.k Drury.

The walk in the moonlight along the broad promenade towards Hove was delightful. I begged Her Highness to drive, but she preferred to walk; the autumn night was so perfect, she said.

As we strolled along, she suddenly exclaimed:

”I can't help recalling that man we saw on the pier. I remember now! I met him about a week ago, when I was shopping in Western Road, and he followed me for quite a distance. He was then much better dressed.”

”You believe, then, he is a Russian?” I asked quickly.

”I feel certain he is.”

”But you were not alone--Oleg was out with you, I suppose?”

”Oh, yes,” she laughed. ”He never leaves me. I only wish he would sometimes. I hate to be spied upon like this. Either Dmitri or Oleg is always with me.”

”It is highly necessary,” I declared. ”Recollect the fate of your poor father.”

”But why should the revolutionists wish to harm me--a girl?” she asked.

”My own idea is that they're not half as black as they're painted.”

I did not reveal to her the serious facts which I had recently learnt.

”Did you make any mention to Oleg of the man following you?”

”No, it never occurred to me. But there, I suppose, he only followed me, just as other men seem sometimes to follow me--to look into my face.”

”You are used to admiration,” I said, ”and therefore take no notice of it. Pretty women so soon become blase.”