She says,
though, that she never heard of him. And I may be all kinds of a fool,
but it sounded straight.
"Then, there's Van Blarcom, hang him! He seemed to take a fancy to
me. He warned me about the girl, but he kept a still tongue to Captain
Cecchi and the rest. He lied deliberately, for no earthly reason, to
shield me in that interrogation; yet when those papers materialized in
my trunk, though he must have thought just what I thought as to Miss
Falconer's share in it, he didn't breathe a word. He claimed that he had
met her. She said she had never seen him. And then--rather strong for a
coincidence--we all three met again on the express. What is he doing
on this side? Shadowing her? Nonsense? And yet he seemed almighty keen
about her--Oh, hang it! I'm no Sherlock Holmes!"
The taxi pausing at this juncture, I willingly abandoned my attempt at
sleuthing and got out in the highest spirits compatible with a strictly
correct mien. I dismissed my driver. If asked to remain to _dejeuner_, I
should certainly do so. Then, with feelings of natural interest, I gazed
at the house before which I stood.
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