He opened it, glanced at it for a few moments, and then, looking up to
me, said:
“Who’s playing the fool with you, Lionel? This is only rubbish! There
isn’t any music in it!”
“It looks like music,” I said in surprise.
“Yes. But if you knew anything about music you would see that there is
neither time nor rhythm in it.”
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.”