THE MAN IN THE YELLOW BOOTS
The two men did not meet again until luncheon-time, Anglicized into a
one-o'clock meal for their benefit. Already seated at the table they
found a short fair man, in the costume of a pedestrian tourist. He wore a
tweed knickerbocker suit, and a knapsack lay upon the grass by his side.
As Wrayson and his fellow-guest arrived almost at the same time, the
newcomer rose and bowed.
"Good morning, gentlemen!" he said. "I trust you will permit me a seat at
your table. It appears to be the only one."
Duncan contented himself with a nod. Wrayson felt compelled to be a
little more civil. The man certainly seemed harmless enough.
"A very delightful spot, gentlemen," he continued, "and a fine, a very
fine church that in the valley. I am spending my holiday taking
photographs of churches of a certain period in this vicinity. I am
looking forward to explore this one."
"I am afraid," Wrayson remarked, "that I do not know much of
ecclesiastical architecture, but the aesthetic effect of this one, at
least, is very fine."
The newcomer nodded.
"You are an artist perhaps, sir?" he asked innocently.
"I hope so--in some degree," Wrayson answered.
"Every one is fundamentally an artist, I suppose, who is capable of
appreciating a work of beauty."
Duncan smiled slightly to himself. So far he had not spoken.
"It is all new country to me," the newcomer continued, "but from what I
have seen of it, I should think it a grand place for painters. Not much
for the ordinary tourist, eh?"
"That depends," Wrayson answered, "upon the ordinary tourist."
"Exactly! Quite so!" the little man agreed. "Of course, if one wanted a
quiet time, what could be better than this? There must be others who
think so besides yourselves."
"Who?" Wrayson asked.
"Your fellow-guests here."
"We have no fellow-guests," Wrayson answered, a little incautiously.
The newcomer leaned back in his chair with a disconcerted look.
"Then I wonder why," he exclaimed, "the landlord told me that he had not
a single room."
Wrayson bit his lip.
"I fancy," he said, "that he is not in the habit of having people
stay here."
"I am afraid," the little fair man said, "that it is not an hospitable
village. I tried to get a room elsewhere, but, alas! with no success.
They do not seem to want tourists at St. Étarpe."
Wrayson looked at the knapsack, at the camera, and at the little man
himself. He spoke English easily, and without any trace of an accent.
His clothes, too, had the look of having come from an English
ready-made shop. Yet there was something about the man himself not
altogether British.
"I fancy the people are busy getting ready for the harvest," Wrayson
remarked at last. "You will find lots of places as pretty as this along
the coast."
"Perhaps so," the visitor admitted, "and yet when one has taken a fancy
to a place, it seems a pity to have to leave it so soon. You couldn't
speak a word to the landlord for me, sir, I suppose--you or your friend.
I don't fancy he understood my French very well."
Wrayson shook his head.
"I'm afraid it wouldn't be any use," he said. "As a matter of fact, I
know that he does not intend to take any more visitors. He has not the
staff to deal with them."
"It is a pity," the little man said dejectedly. "I think that I must try
again in the village. By the by, sir, perhaps you can tell me to whom the
château there belongs?"
"Madame la Baronne de Sturm," Wrayson answered. "At least, so our host
told me yesterday."
"It is a very beautiful place--very beautiful," the tourist said
reverently. "I dare say there is a chapel there, too! Can one gain
admission there, do you know, sir?"
Wrayson laid down his knife and fork.
"Look here," he said good-humouredly, "I'm not a guide-book, you know,
and I only arrived here yesterday myself. You've reached the limit of my
information. You had better try the landlord. He will tell you all that
you want to know."
Duncan pushed his chair back. He had eaten very little luncheon, but he
was filling his pipe preparatory to leaving the table. As soon as it
began to draw, he rose and turned to Wrayson. The little tourist he
absolutely ignored, as he had done all the time during the meal.
"I should like a word with you before you go out," he said.
Wrayson nodded, and followed him in a few minutes to the summer-house at
the end of the lawn. Duncan did not beat about the bush.
"That little brute over there," he said, inclining his head towards the
table, "is neither an Englishman nor a tourist. I have seen him before,
and I never forget a face."
"What is he then?" Wrayson asked.
"Heaven knows what he is now," Duncan answered. "I saw him last at
Colenso, where he narrowly escaped being shot for a spy. He is either a
Dutchman or a German, and whatever he may be up to here, I'll swear
ecclesiastical architecture is not his game."
There was a moment's silence. Wrayson had turned involuntarily towards
the château, and Duncan had followed suit. They both looked up the
broad green avenue to where the windows of the great building flashed
back the sunlight. At the same moment their mutual action was realized
by both of them.
Wrayson first turned away and glanced round at the table which they had
just quitted. The little man, who was still seated there, had lit a cigar
and was talking to the waiter. He looked back again and moved his head
thoughtfully in the direction of the château.
"He asked questions about the château," Wrayson remarked. "Do you suppose
that there can be anything going on there to interest him?"
"You should know better than I," Duncan answered. "You received a visit
this morning from one of the two ladies who are staying there."
Wrayson turned a little pale. He looked at Duncan steadily for a moment.
A giant in height, his features, too, were of a large and resolute type.
His eyes were clear and truthful; his expression, notwithstanding a
certain gloom which scarcely accorded with his years and apparent
health, was unmistakably honest. Wrayson felt instinctively that he was
to be trusted.
"Look here," he said, "I should like to tell you the truth--as much of it
as is necessary. I happen to know that the young lady with whom you saw
me talking this morning, and who is a friend of the Baroness de Sturm's,
is suspected in certain quarters of being implicated in a--criminal
affair which took place recently in London. I myself, in a lesser degree,
am also under suspicion. I came over here to warn her."
Duncan was looking very grave indeed.
"In a criminal affair," he repeated. "That is a little vague."
"I am sorry," Wrayson answered, "but I cannot very well be more
explicit. The matter is one in which a good many other people are
concerned, and I might add that it is a hopeless mystery to me. All I
know is that a crime was committed; that this young lady was present
under suspicious circumstances; that I, in certain evidence I had to
give, concealed the fact of her presence; and that now a third person
turns up, who also knew of the young lady's presence, but who was not
called upon to give evidence, who is working on his own account to clear
up the whole affair. He happens to be a friend of mine, and he warned me
frankly to clear out."
"I am beginning to follow you," Duncan said thoughtfully. "Now what
about Madame de Melbain?"
"I know absolutely nothing of her," Wrayson answered. "I found out where
the young lady was from the Baroness de Sturm, with whom she was living
in London, and I came over to warn her."
"The young lady was living with the Baroness de Sturm?" Duncan repeated.
"Is she, then, an orphan?"
"No!" Wrayson answered. "She is, for some reason--I do not know
why--estranged from her family. Now the question arises, has this fellow
here come over to track her down? Is he an English detective?"
Duncan turned deliberately round and stared at the person whom they were
discussing.
"I should doubt it very much," he answered. "For my part, I don't believe
for a moment that he is an Englishman at all."
"I am very glad to hear you say so," Wrayson declared. "But the question
is, if he is not on this business, what the devil is he doing here?"
"Have you the _entrée_ to the chateâu?" Duncan asked abruptly.
"I am invited to dine there this evening," Wrayson answered.
"Then, if I were you," Duncan said, "I should make a point of
ascertaining, if you can, the personality of this Madame de Melbain."
Wrayson nodded.
"I shall see her, of course," he said, "and I will do so."
"My own idea," Duncan said deliberately, "is that it is in connection
with her presence here that the landlord of the inn and the villagers
have received these injunctions about strangers. Try and find out what
you can about her, and in the meantime I will look after the gentleman
over there. He wants to be friendly--I will make a companion of him. When
you come back to-night we will have another talk."
"It's awfully good of you," Wrayson said. "And now--I've one thing
more to say."
Duncan nodded.
"Go on," he said.
"I have taken you into my confidence so far as was possible," Wrayson
said slowly. "I am going to ask you a question now."
"I cannot promise to answer it," Duncan declared, taking up his pipe and
carefully refilling it.
"Naturally! But I am going to ask it," Wrayson said. "An hour or so ago I
was talking to the young lady in front of the inn, and you were watching
us. I saw your face at the window as she was driving off."
"Well?"
The monosyllable was hard and dry.
"You are neither an inquisitive nor an emotional person," Wrayson said.
"I am sure of that. I want an explanation."
"Of what?"
"Of your suddenly becoming both!"
Duncan had lit his pipe now, and smoked for a few moments furiously.
"I will not bandy words with you," he said at last. "You want an
explanation which I cannot give."
Wrayson looked as he felt, dissatisfied.
"Look here," he said, "I'm not asking for your confidence. I'm simply
asking you to explain why the sight of that young lady should be a matter
of emotion to you. You know who she is, I am convinced. What else?"
Duncan shook his head.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You may trust me or not, as you like. All I can
say about myself is this. I've been up against it hard--very hard. So far
as regards the ordinary affairs of life I simply don't count. I'm a
negation--a purely subjective personage. I may be able to help you a
little here--I shall certainly never be in your way. My interest in the
place--there, I will tell you that--is purely of a sentimental nature. My
interest in life itself is something of the same sort. Take my advice.
Let it go at that."
"I will," Wrayson declared, with sudden heartiness.
Duncan nodded.
"I'll go and look after our little friend in the yellow boots," he said.