“So,” he said at last, “you really were listening? Or had you other motives?”
“No,” I said, quite truthfully. “You know perfectly well that I was not listening.”
“I thought so. I am so sorry that I have disturbed Mr. Hume. And now to-night, I suppose, it is useless to keep an eye on him longer. There will be no adventures to-night, I am afraid.”
There was a note of real regret in his voice. Had he really known that I was here, or was he lying as usual? In any case, if I could convince him that for to-night, at least, I should make no further attempt to find the casket, he would leave St. Hilary in peace.
“You have beaten me to-night, it is true, but there are other nights. Remember that there are yet five days.”
We descended the tower. I walked deliberately through the palace. The duke pretended not to watch me, but I knew that I should be followed. It was some minutes before my gondola came; for the last of the guests were leaving. I went at once to my rooms. I lighted the gas and exchanged the mummery in which I was clad for a suit of tweeds. Then, with an ulster and golf-cap for St. Hilary, I turned out the gas, made my way out into the garden at the rear, and in ten minutes had pushed open the little gate in the garden wall.
CHAPTER XXVI
The garden was dark. Only the bloom of a cherry tree and a line of lilies planted the length of the pergola showed white against the gloom. The waning moon hardly touched the top of the garden wall now, but fell full on the palace windows and the tower.
No light was to be seen. The last guest had departed. The Princess Caesarini was grand enough lady to have her own ways in spite of those of the world; and one of them was to be in bed by two o’clock.
The question was, where should I find St. Hilary? I should look for him first, of course, in the tower. It was barely possible that he had waited for me. Scarcely half an hour had passed since I left the palace.