ERCULES POPEAU and Captain Stuart were walking up and down in front of the Hôtel de Paris. Stuart held a letter in his hand. It had been left for him late that afternoon, but it had only just been given to him.
He held the letter out to the other man, and M. Popeau read it, slowly and carefully. It was written on the Hôtel de Paris paper:
“,
“I had hoped to find you in, and so convey my invitation in person. We hope that you will come and share our simple meal to-night at La Solitude. Miss Fairfield is not at all well, but she tells me that she will be able to come down this evening. I do not include Monsieur Popeau in my invitation, as I understand he leaves Monte Carlo to-day.
“It's very decent of the Countess to ask me. I don't see why I shouldn't accept the invitation,” he said hesitatingly. “You don't mind my leaving you, old chap?”
“I wish I could divine why the Countess Polda has asked you to dinner to-night, Stuart,” M. Popeau uttered these commonplace words in a hesitating, anxious tone.
“Perhaps Miss Fairfield suggested it,” said Stuart a little awkwardly.
“She may have done so.”
Then came a long pause between the two quaintly contrasted friends.
There was a soft spot in Hercules Popeau's heart. Some thirty-five years before he also had had his innocent, beautiful romance. He had been engaged to a girl he loved, and just before their marriage she had developed consumption.
His most precious possession was a bundle of her simple, formal, and yet how infinitely pathetic, little letters, each of them beginning, “Mon cher fiancé,” and telling him of the everyday, dull, quiet life she was leading in the Mentone of the late 'eighties.
He had never spoken of that piteous episode in his past life to any living being since his own mother's death, but now, all at once, he made up his mind that he would speak of it to his companion—to this young Scot, who, though he liked and trusted him, had never confided in him.
“Stuart,” he said, “T want to tell you something. You think me a cynical old fellow, but I, too, have loved—I, too, loved a beautiful, pure, sweet-natured girl. She died within a very few miles of where we are standing now. I did not feel, after her death, that I could build up my life again in the good, solid, sensible way which is the only right way for a man to do. That is why I am a bachelor. I know in my heart that you love Lily Fairfield as I loved my little Aimée, and that has much increased my affection for, and interest in, you. I will tell you frankly that I am somewhat uneasy. You trust Miss Fairfield entirely—I do not doubt that she is trustworthy. But still she has now been for many days given to the influence of that Italian lady-killer whom that sinister couple wish her to marry. Why has the Countess Polda asked you there to-night? Especially if Miss Lily is not well? Is it to make to you some disagreeable announcement? I fear so.”
“I shall soon know,” said Angus Stuart, “for I mean to go.”
He was touched by the Frenchman's confidence, but too shy to say so.
“Well!” exclaimed M. Popeau, “I will say no more! Accept the invitation, and good luck attend you. I may be a suspicious old fool after all!”
Again there was silence between them, and then M. Popeau observed: “I wish I were staying on, for this Vissering affair interests me intensely. It is so strange that there should have been another mysterious disappearance, and the discovery of a second body, so soon after that of poor Ponting! I had a very queer suspicion some time ago, but now I confess that I am at fault.”
“What did you suspect? asked Angus Stuart. He had been too absorbed in his own affairs to give much thought to the mystery which seemed to interest Hercules Popeau so deeply.
“It would not be fair to tell you what I suspected. But I will tell you this much. Yesterday Bouton and I had a talk with Count Beppo Polda about the affair. I had a half-suspicion that he knew Mr. Vissering, but it became perfectly clear to me that he had never even heard the Dutchman's name. By the way, he will not be at La Solitude to-night, for he left Monte Carlo to-day.”
“I am glad of that,” said Stuart shortly. “I do not care for the fellow.”
“There are worse people than Beppo Polda in the world,” said M. Popeau mildly. And Angus Stuart felt rather disgusted. Why, it was Popeau who had first set him against the young Count!
“So long!” he said quickly. “I think I'll buzz along now. It isn't good-bye for long.”
And Hercules Popeau answered quietly, “No, my friend, for I may still be here when you come back; they keep early hours at La Solitude.”