"Father is so erratic in his movements that he probably never went to
Edinburgh, after all. I have not heard from him now for a full week."
I somehow felt, why, I cannot well explain, that she was rather
disinclined to allow me to communicate with Pennington. Did she fear
that he might forbid our marriage?
Without seeing him or obtaining his consent, I confess I did not feel
absolute security. The mystery surrounding her was such a curious and
complicated one that the deeper I probed into it, the more complex did
it appear.
Some few days later, in reply to my question, she said that she had
heard from her father, who was at the Midland Grand Hotel in
Manchester. He would not, however, be in London for two or three
weeks, as he was about to leave in two days' time, by way of Hook of
Holland, for Berlin, where he had business.
Therefore, early the following morning, I took train to Manchester,
and made inquiry at the big hotel.
"We have no gentleman of that name here, sir," replied the smart
reception clerk, referring to his list. "He hasn't arrived yet, I
expect. A lady was asking for a Mr. Pennington yesterday--a French
lady."
"You don't know the name, then?"
He replied in the negative.
"No doubt he is expected, if the lady called to see him?"
"No doubt, sir. Perhaps he'll be here to-day."
And with that, I was compelled to turn disappointed away. I wandered
into the restaurant, and there ate my lunch alone. The place was
crowded, as it always is, mostly by people interested in cotton and
its products, for it is, perhaps, one of the most cosmopolitan hotels
in the whole kingdom. Sick of the chatter and clatter of the place, I
paid my bill and passed out into the big smoking-lounge to take my
coffee and liqueur and idle over the newspaper.
I was not quite certain whether to remain there the night and watch
for Pennington's arrival, or to return to London. As a matter of fact,
so certain had I been of finding him that I had not brought a
suit-case.
I suppose I had been in the lounge half-an-hour or so, when I looked
up, and then, to my surprise, saw Pennington, smartly dressed, and
looking very spruce for his years, crossing from the bureau with a
number of letters in his hand. It was apparent that he had just
received them from the mail-clerk.
And yet I had been told that he was not staying there!
I held my paper in such position as to conceal my face while I watched
his movements.
He halted, opened a telegram, and read it eagerly. Then, crushing it
in his hand with a gesture of annoyance, he thrust it into his jacket
pocket.
He was dressed in a smart dark grey suit, which fitted him perfectly,
a grey soft felt hat, while his easy manner and bearing were those of
a gentleman of wealth and leisure. He held a cigar between his
fingers, and, walking slowly as he opened one of the letters, he
presently threw himself into one of the big arm-chairs near me, and
became absorbed in his correspondence.
There was a waste-paper basket near, and into this he tossed something
as valueless. One of the letters evidently caused him considerable
annoyance, for, removing his hat, he passed his hand slowly over his
bald head as he sat staring at it in mystification. Then he rang the
bell, and ordered something from a waiter. A liqueur of brandy was
brought, and, tossing it off at a gulp, he rose, wrote a telegram at
the table near him, and went quickly out.
After he had gone I also rose, and, without attracting attention,
crossed, took up another paper, and then seated myself in the chair he
had vacated.
My eye was upon the waste-paper basket, and when no one was looking I
reached out and took therefrom a crumpled blue envelope--the paper he
had flung away.
Smoothing it out, I found that it was not addressed to him, but to
"Arnold Du Cane, Esq., Travellers' Club, Paris," and had been
re-directed to this hotel.
This surprised me.