"Not at all," replied Mr. Genardius, who appeared to her a rather unusual figure in his quaint hat and an equally quaint overcoat. "But as I got out of my automobile I saw him at the gate. I recognised him from portraits in newspapers. He was an army aviator, I believe, who got leave on account of wounds, and came over to see a play produced."
"Oh, yes, The Key—a lovely detective play," was the flattering reply, as reported to me later.
As she spoke, the young woman (Miss Murphy) gave the letters to the boy, who went out, needing no directions. Hardly had the door shut, when Mr. Genardius rose. "Oh, that reminds me!" he exclaimed, "I should have wired to a friend! The doctor is sure to be engaged for some moments. I'll step out and send my chauffeur with the telegram." For an invalid, he walked briskly. The boy hadn't disposed of his letters and parcels, or mounted the bicycle which leaned against the fence, when Mr. Genardius reached the gate. Miss Murphy glanced from the window, interested in the queer personage. She was unable to see the motor from where she sat; but it must have been near, for the black felt hat and the black caped coat came flapping up the garden path again in less than five minutes. The thought flitted through Miss Murphy's head that the bandages worn by the invalid wouldn't make a bad disguise. Mr. Genardius returned to his chair, and selected a newspaper.
About this time came a telephone call, which Miss Murphy answered. And though two days had passed before I realised the need of questioning the young woman, she was able to recall a rustle as of tearing paper at this moment. Her attention was occupied at the 'phone; but when Genardius had departed, and she wished to glance at the theatrical advertisements, she noticed that a page was gone from The World. Had she not remembered the name of the paper, a link would have been missing from the chain of evidence. As it was, I was able to deduce that the torn page contained a news item "exclusive to The World." Mr. Genardius had doubtless read some other newspaper at home, and it had interested him that "Millionaire Roger Odell's Egyptian Present for His Bride" was likely to reach New York that night on an Italian liner.
How The World had got hold of this story remains a mystery. It had leaked out that Roger had bought for a great sum an opal "Eye of Horus," supposed to be the mate of a curious ornament possessed by his adopted sister, and the only other jewel resembling it, in existence. Grace Odell (nee Grace Callender) had admired Maida's fetish. That was enough for Roger. He made inquiries, and learned from a firm of jewellers that a duplicate of Miss Odell's opal had been sold years ago by a certain Sir Anthony Annesley to the Museum of Cairo.
How it had come into Annesley's hands was not known; and he had long ago died. Maida had been satisfied with her fetish, and did not covet its fellow, but Grace's chance word caused Roger to cable an agent in Egypt, and, after bargaining, the Museum authorities had consented to part with the treasure. This information the newspapers had obtained, but the time and the way of the opal's arrival in America had, Roger thought, been kept a dead secret.
In order that jewel-thieves, ever on the alert for a prize, should not stalk the messenger, Roger's agent had engaged the services of a private person. A relative of his, an American girl who had acted as stenographer in Naples, was giving up her position to return to New York. Taking advantage of this fact, and his confidence in her, the agent had given Miss Mary Gibson charge of the Eye of Horus. Having no connection with any jewel firm it was believed that she might pass unsuspected. The curio being thousands of years old, was not subject to duty, and could, it was hoped, be placed by Miss Gibson directly in the hands of its owner, before anyone discovered that it had been in hers. Roger Odell had intended to meet the young woman; but his suddenly arranged journey upset that plan, and the day before my visit to Dr. Thorne I had received the following cable:
"Stenographer will go straight from ship to Priscilla Alden. If ship late, meet her there early morning after. Will be expecting you."
Had I not come to an understanding with Roger before he sailed for Rio Janeiro, this message would have been gibberish. But he had asked me to take over the jewel because he hoped thus to bring me into touch with Maida. If I could bestow the opal in Roger's bank, Miss Odell (whose vows did not bind her to absolute seclusion) might run up to New York and compare it with her own curio. I had caught eagerly at the plan. Gladly would I have waited hours on the dock for Miss Gibson, but fearing I might be suspected as his agent, if thieves were on the watch, Roger had thought it best for the young woman not to be met. In order to avoid attention, she was to proceed as if she had been the insignificant stranger she was supposed to be. She was to inquire on shipboard for an hotel in New York, taking lady guests only. The Priscilla Alden would be mentioned, and she would send a wireless, engaging a room. As clients of the Priscilla Alden were allowed no male visitors after ten p.m., my call would have to depend upon the time the ship docked. Even before Roger's cable, I had ascertained that the Reina Elenora was likely to get in late, and I made up my mind to spend the night at my own old hotel in New York. That would enable me to present myself early next day at the Priscilla Alden.
While I described my nightmare dreams to the doctor (keeping Maida's name to myself), Miss Murphy left Mr. Genardius for a few moments. A rich old lady patient drew up at the gate in an automobile and sent her chauffeur to fetch the young woman. There was a verbal message to be delivered, and while Miss Murphy committed it to heart, doubtless the bandaged man listened at the keyhole. He heard enough to realise that John Hasle was close upon the trail of Miss Odell's enemies.