Royal Amethyst/Chapter 7

so astounded at the sight of the tall man that I dropped into the nearest chair, staring at him. He sat in an easy chair at a table in the center of the room, and occasionally took a sip from a cup of coffee which, with an empty liqueur glass, stood convenient to his hand. On his knee lay a letter, to which he was giving his attention. He looked tired and sleepy.

At last he caught my eyes fixed upon him. He smiled, rose from his chair, and left the room.

I got up from my chair and began walking about the room. I had seen the man standing on the platform at Euston after the last carriage of the mail train passed him. How, then, had he arrived in Dublin at this hour of the morning? It was strange to meet this particular man in Paddington in the afternoon, at Euston in the evening, and in Dublin early next morning. In plain truth, the third appearance of the man made me uneasy.

A waiter came into the smoking room. I beckoned to him.

“Can you tell me,” I inquired, “if there is any way of reaching Dublin from London early in the morning except by the mail?”

“There is, sir,” he replied. “The night express arrives here at North Wall at half past seven. It was a trifle late this morning, sir.”

“Ah!” I said. “Of course!”

It was quite evident that the man had traveled by the express, instead of the mail. He had just driven down from North Wall when I encountered him.

I lighted a cigar, and prepared to go out into the sunlit streets. I had not seen Dublin for nearly fifteen years, and there were certain spots I was anxious to visit. I felt almost free of anxiety just then, for I had the princess's satchel locked up in the manager's safe. The princess and Nancy I was not to see till noon, when we were to lunch together. I therefore set out in good spirits.

Happening to glance at a clock, I noticed that it was just half past ten. Shortly before noon I drifted into Sackville Street. There, near the Nelson Monument, I caught sight of the little artist. He stood with his back to the window of a tobacco shop, and with his arms folded tightly across his breast. I walked close up to him before he saw me.

“Well?” I said interrogatively. “So you have not yet departed for the scene of golden peace?”

He pointed across the street.

“Look there!” he said. “Did you ever see such a glorious color in your life?”

I looked. On the steps of a small hotel a tall girl in a print frock was twirling a mop. Her head flamed like the rising sun.

“A decidedly warm tone,” I remarked.

“Ah!” he sighed. “That woman's hair is a dream. It's just the sort of hair Venus must have had.”

“Does it tempt you from the landscape on the Fergus?” I inquired.

“No, sir—I'm off this evening,” he told me. “I shall sleep in Limerick to-night and go on to Ennis in the morning. To-morrow afternoon will find me settling down to work. By the bye, I didn't give you my card. Here it is.”

Without another word he thrust a card into my hand, turned away, and went off at such a swift pace that he had disappeared among the crowd on the sidewalk before I had recovered from my astonishment. I glanced at the card, which bore the legend:

“Mr. Paul Carburton appears to be an original,” I said to myself. “If things prove dull at Annalleen, he may be worth cultivating.”

That reminded me that I had to send a telegram to Sir Desmond Adare's household, telling them of our arrival next day, and I went over to the post office. As I entered the telegraph department, a tall man came through the swinging doors and almost brushed against me. It was the man whom I had already met three times within twenty-four hours.

He muttered a hasty apology for swinging the door in my face, and hurried off. I entered and found an empty desk. I was just going to write when I caught sight of something that made me pause. The person who had last used the pad of blanks had used extra pressure in writing, and here and there letters showed clearly on the paper. A familiar word met my eye, and I bent down and examined the blank more closely.

There was no portion of the telegram that I could make out in full. What I was able to decipher ran as follows:

I folded the blank up, placed it in my pocket, and left the telegraph office without sending a telegram to Annalleen. That could wait. I hailed a car, drove back to the Shelbourne at top speed, and sat down to decipher the telegram.

That was not a difficult task, and within ten minutes I had written down my interpretation of the message. According to my reckoning it ran thus:

Here was not only proof that we had been tracked, but that we were even now under surveillance. What was to be done next? Feeling that three heads were better than one, I went to the princess and Nancy. They were just leaving to join me at luncheon. I took them back into the sitting room and told them of my adventure and discovery.

Nancy looked alarmed, but Princess Amirel appeared unconcerned.

“It is exactly what I expected, Mr. Hanmer,” the princess remarked. “Count Hofberg discovered my flight soon after I left Amavia, and immediately set his agents to work. There is no doubt that this man is following us and communicating his news to the count, who is probably in London by this time. Never mind—Desmond will soon be here!”

“But in the meantime, princess? Had we not better reach Annalleen as quickly as possible? Shall we not start this afternoon?”

“Oh, not so soon!” she answered pleadingly. “Nancy and I have set our hearts on sight-seeing in Dublin to-day. Besides, Mr. Hanmer, the jewels are quite secure in the manager's safe.”

It seemed to me wiser to go south by the evening train, but I allowed them to have their way, and we arranged to continue our journey early next morning. This settled, we lunched together, spent the afternoon in visiting the little house in which Nancy and I had first met, and for the rest of the day we forgot that we were being followed.

But in the smoking room of the hotel, that night, I was reminded of everything by again encountering the man whom I now felt certain to be a spy. When I entered, he had the effrontery to smile and nod.

“You and I appear to have some attraction for each other,” he remarked jocularly, as I sat down near him. “I think we've met four times since yesterday at five o'clock.”

“I believe we have met before,” I replied, in as distant tones as I could command.

“Yes,” he said. “However, we shan't meet again after to-night. Confound it! I can't go to bed to-night—got to catch the White Star express at North Wall at ten minutes to three, and I can't sleep on a train. I'll make up for it when I get on board the steamer at Queenstown!”

“Ah! You are crossing the Atlantic?”

“Glad to say I am. I've been touring Europe for twelve months, and now I'm ready to go home. Europe is very fine indeed, but I prefer America.”

So the man was an American! I could have sworn he was German. My suspicions about him began to fade.

“I meant to cross by the mail last night,” he went on; “but a friend of mine, who has an apartment in the house I saw you coming out of, and who is returning with me to New York, missed it at Euston, and so we came by the express. We were here almost as soon as you were.”

It was evident that I had been on the wrong track. I sat smoking with him until midnight, and learned that he was an American theatrical agent.

And so I went to bed asking myself over and over again—since this man didn't, who did send that confounded telegram?