Chapter SIXTEEN: Tricked

That piece of manuscript music was certainly as puzzling as the manner in which it had been placed in my hands.

“Where did you get it?” asked Teddy, much interested. “It’s been written by a woman evidently--somebody with a very firm handwriting.”

“Oh, it’s been given to me,” I said evasively. “A fellow knowing my ignorance of music has played a joke on me. I’ll play him one back before long.”

And, though I was much perplexed, I managed to laugh it off.

“I’m going up to Liverpool by the next train,” I said. “I’ll be at the Adelphi if anything turns up regarding Joan. I’ve got a bit of urgent business to attend to. Bruce will keep in touch with me and I’ll be back in about a couple of days.”

“Righto,” laughed my old chum. And he offered me a drink; but, because of my haste, I declined.

An hour later I was in the dining-car express on my way to Liverpool. I knew the Adelphi, and had no difficulty in getting a room. I arrived for late dinner, dressed hurriedly, descended to the restaurant, and read the evening paper over my lonely meal.

In the big, well-lit room there were no women save a girl with her father and an old, decrepit woman with a young man. The _table d’hôte_ was over long ago.

Later, I hastened to the big lounge, where many people were taking coffee, and, finding a corner table, looked around at my fellow-guests.

In a far corner I discerned a fair young man, of a Scandinavian type, with a mop of yellow hair, taking coffee with a little, dark-haired, vivacious woman who was all nerves and gestures. But it became impressed on me that the woman in question was not Illona, the woman who sent me false music.

Teddy’s declaration that the music was a fake puzzled and mystified me more than ever.

What could those false bars, so firmly written, denote? What in the world could they convey to me? Surely, in all conscience, and through no fault of mine, I had had enough of mystery without that folded piece of music being handed to me to still further mislead and mystify me.

“All silly rot!” Teddy had declared frankly, on reading over the carefully written notes of music. “Perfect rubbish! Some fool has had you here, my dear Lionel!”

Through the next hour I wandered about the hotel, trying to fix on some woman that might be my wife. But I could not discover one who answered to the description given by the pretty manicurist.

Yet she might be out at the theatre, I thought. Already it was ten o’clock, so I took up my position at a small table, whence I could command a view of all who entered the hotel by the big door of the main entrance. And I kept careful watch on those going to and fro.

One woman, auburn-haired, of middle height, and rather good-looking, entered about eleven o’clock. She wore a purple, brocaded velvet evening-coat trimmed with fur, while the man with her was slightly older, with fair hair, a trifle bald on the crown. They laughed together as they entered, and I had a faint suspicion that she spoke with a foreign accent.

She passed me without noticing me and from the _concierge_ they obtained their keys. Next moment they disappeared into the elevator.

“Who is that lady?” I asked anxiously of the night porter when they had gone.

For a moment he consulted his register, and then replied:

“That lady, sir, is Madame Stefen.”

Madame Stefen! Could she be Illona?

She was the only woman who in any way answered to the description given by Ruby Moss.

For yet another hour I waited at my post of vantage, but without avail. Then, tired out by my adventure in Kensington Gardens, my journey, and my long vigilance, I ascended to bed.

Next day, though I wandered through the great hotel, I saw nothing of Madame Stefen; she evidently kept to her room. I spent hours idling about the Landing Stage, which is always full of interest, and after tea in the hotel lounge, where again I sat with alert eyes, I awaited the coming of my little friend, the manicurist.

I entered the toilet saloon of the hotel at a quarter to seven, and there saw her alone, wearing her long white cotton robe.

She greeted me merrily. Then I suggested to her that, after her duties had ended, she should join me, and, if possible, point out the lady who had called herself Illona.

She raised a difficult point, saying that the management would not allow her to sit with the guests. Such a thing was strictly forbidden. I realized her argument instantly. But, after some discussion, she arranged to look into the _table d’hôte_ room and restaurant during dinner and see if she could recognize the lady in question.

“I’d know her instantly,” she said. “If I can find her I’ll ascertain her name and the number of her room from the reception clerk. It will be better for me to carry out my search alone.”

She was insistent on this; hence I allowed her to have her way.

A dozen times during the evening I saw her flit across the lounge, the waiting-rooms, and the other public apartments, and, though I waited till about half past ten, she did not approach me.

Where, I wondered, was the elusive woman who, after arranging to meet me, only fooled me by sending me a sheet of faked music?

The girl met me at last in a quiet corner of the lounge, where I was seated, waiting expectantly for her.

“I’m very much afraid that the lady must have left, sir,” she said disappointedly. My spirits instantly dropped.

That Madame Stefen was not the lady in question was proved, because only five minutes before, she had entered the lounge and passed her on her way upstairs.

“She may be out,” I said, clinging to the last hope.

“She may. But I fear not. I’ve asked at the bureau, and of the chief hall-porter. They both think the lady left yesterday afternoon. I’ve described her, and especially the ring which attracted me so much. Do you know the name of Ugostini?”

“Ugostini!” I gasped, staring at her blankly. “How do you know that name?”

“Well, in the reception office they think that was the lady’s name--Countess Ugostini. I described her to Mr. Fraser, the chief clerk, and he thinks so.”

I held my breath.

Angela! If that were the truth, then she had posed as Illona, my wife! Lisely Hatten--or the Contessina as she was known--was my worst enemy. And yet she had fooled me into that strange meeting with the young manicurist.

With what motive? Only in order to send me a piece of pretended music!

My brain reeled. Could the thief-girl of Camberwell and Illona be one and the same?

That was the chief point before me. I went to the reception office and saw the dapper, clean-shaven chief clerk, in his morning-coat and grey trousers, who interviewed all newcomers and allotted rooms to them.

“The lady Countess Ugostini arrived three days ago, alone. She has signed the register as coming from Piacenza, in Italy.”

“Was she alone?” I asked.

“Yes. I received her. She had but little luggage, and mentioned that she was only passing through Liverpool,” said Mr. Fraser. “That evening, however, I saw her talking to a fair-haired man who had arrived early in the morning--an Englishman named Detmold.”

“When did the Countess leave?” I asked.

He turned over the leaves of a book upon the mahogany counter, and replied:

“At three-eighteen yesterday. She took a taxi to the Landing Stage.”

“You can’t find out which boat she boarded.”

“No,” he replied politely. “I fear I cannot. After she paid her bill and left, we have no further trace of her. Is she, by chance, a friend of yours, sir?”

“Yes,” I faltered. “A very great friend. I’ve come down from London to meet her, but I’m just too late.”

I bade good night to Miss Moss, and thanked her for assisting me. I went to my room.

I took from my pocket that inexplicable sheet of manuscript music and cast my eye over it. The notes were Chinese to me. To Teddy Day they had conveyed nothing. And, hence, to me they were utterly unintelligible.

I flung myself into a chair to think.

Was Illona, my wife, identical with the Little Countess, my enemy? It certainly seemed so. I reviewed the facts in their true sequence. That the little Italian pseudo-aristocrat was an intimate friend of the fugitive Owen had been proved by me, myself. In Rome she had wilfully misled me, knowing that in my condition of aberration I did not recognize her; and, she still believed in her power to impose on me. So far all was clear. But had she further imposed on me during my two years of unconsciousness so that I had married her under the euphonious name of Illona?

Could that be possible?

I rose and paced my narrow room in my fierce agitation of mind.

There were some facts which, when I clearly considered them, gave color to this idea. First, for some unknown and inconceivable reason, she had spared me the blindness which in her fury she had suggested. Why? Was it because she had relented, or because her young man friend had prevented her? Finding my brain in such a hopeless state owing to loss of memory caused by the drug she had injected into my veins, could she have married me pretending herself to be another person called Illona?

If so, why had she sent me that strange warning concerning the blind man? If she were my enemy, as she certainly had been, why, then, should she pose as my friend?

And again, why had she sent me that curious folio of tuneless music?

And now, the thought of Joan’s disappearance, and the utter inability of the whole police system of England to find the slightest trace of her, drove me to distraction. I felt myself going mad.

My sole desire was to return to London. I did not undress, for I knew I could not sleep. Instead, I went down to the night porter, and, finding that a train left at three o’clock in the morning for London, I flung my things into my bag, and left by it.

Just before eight o’clock I entered my rooms with my latch-key. Bruce was about and got me a cup of tea, while I undressed and threw myself upon my bed.

After drinking the tea I must have fallen asleep, for it was not till nearly noon, by my little traveling clock at my bedside, that I woke up in surprise.

Beside my bed were my letters, one of which, by the embossed stamp on the back, I knew, was from the governor at the House of Commons.

“I am much worried about you, my dear boy,” he wrote. “Come down and see me! Dine with me at the House to-morrow at eight.”

Dear old pater! I knew that his sole thoughts were of me, and of my future. No man had ever had a better father than mine. My only regret was the fierce enmity which existed between Joan’s father and him.

Two other letters I opened contained bills, but a third was in a square envelope, the address written in a bold hand.

It was Illona’s. I opened it instantly in great expectation.

There was neither address nor date, but on a plain card was written:

“My Adored Husband,--Why did you not keep our appointment in Kensington Gardens? I was, alas! half an hour late owing to the motor-car breaking down. I thought you would await me. But I fear you grew tired, as the rain came on.

“I have much to tell you. Be very careful of your dear self. You have many enemies, just as I have. Ring me up at the club and let us meet at the earliest possible instant.

“Your own Illona.”