"You gave some letters and a telegram to a rather short gentleman in
grey a few minutes ago. Was that Mr. Du Cane?"
"Yes, sir," was the reply. "He went across yonder into the lounge."
"You know him--eh?"
"Oh yes, sir. He's often been here. Not lately. At one time, however,
he was a frequent visitor."
And so Sylvia's father was living there under the assumed name of
Arnold Du Cane!
For business purposes names are often assumed, of course. But
Pennington's business was such a mysterious one that, even against my
will, I became filled with suspicion.
I resolved to wait and catch him on his return. He had probably only
gone to the telegraph office. Had Sylvia wilfully concealed the fact
that her father travelled under the name of Du Cane, in order that I
should not meet him? Surely there could be no reason why she should
have done so.
Therefore I returned to a chair near the entrance to the
smoking-lounge, and waited in patience.
My vigil was not a long one, for after ten minutes or so he
re-entered, spruce and gay, and cast a quick glance around, as though
in search of somebody.
I rose from my chair, and as I did so saw that he regarded me
strangely, as though half conscious of having met me somewhere before.