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.