"I'll try," he said. "But I fear I shan't succeed. Mr. Henderson, the master's secretary, would know, of course."
The point at issue now was whether the young American girl, who had been the millionaire's guest at the villa, and Gabrielle Engledue were actually one and the same person. If they were, then I had made one step towards the solution of the enigma.
I confess to utter bewilderment. My brain was still confused. Sometimes my skull seemed wrapped in cotton wool. From a mere unimportant person in the world of electrical engineering I had suddenly become a man upon whom rested a great and criminal responsibility!
In that huge, garish café, with its great arc lamps glowing though night had not yet fallen, and with a noisy orchestra playing selections from the latest crazes of music from the revues in London, I sat with a perfectly open mind. I had been the victim of some extremely clever plot. But of its motive, of its ramifications, or of its conception, I had no knowledge. Even my wildest imagination was at fault.
All I knew was that the sallow-faced De Gex--the millionaire who lived up at the huge Villa Clementini--had plotted against the handsome girl, and she had died in his wife's bedroom in Stretton Street.
"Well, Mr. Robertson, how can I find out anything more about Miss Thurston? Give me your advice."
"I'll try and see what I can do," he said. "Perhaps I may be able to get a glance at the mistress's address book. I have seen it. I'll try."
"Yes--do!" I said very anxiously. "It means so very much to me."
I hesitated. My intention was to mislead both of my companions.
"Well," I said with a laugh, "the fact is, I--I'm very fond of her!"
Both men exchanged glances. Then they smiled, almost imperceptibly, I know, but it struck them as humorous that I had fallen in love with the daughter of a wealthy American.
"Of course I'm not yet certain whether she is the same lady," I went on. "She may not be. But on calm consideration I believe she is. The description you give of her is exact."
"Well," exclaimed the butler, "I'll see if I can get at the address book. She keeps it in a drawer in her boudoir, which is usually locked. But sometimes she leaves it open. At any rate, I'll see what I can do and let you know."