“Show Captain Fyffe out,” said her ladyship. And so, a definite end being put to the interview, I left the house as wrathful and as humiliated a man as any to be found that hour in London. So long as I live I shall not forget the smug alacrity with which the servant obeyed the behest of his mistress. I was in a state to wreak my own ill-humor upon anybody, and it was in my mind, and more than half in my heart, to kick that smug man in livery down the steps. I have suffered all my life from a certain Scotch vivacity of temperament which it has cost me many and many a hard struggle to control. It has not often been more unreasonable or more vigorous in its internal demonstrations than it was then, but I managed to reach the street and to walk away without exposing myself. As to where I went for the next few hours I never had the remotest idea. I must have walked a good many miles, for at last, when I pulled up, I found myself, at five o'clock in the evening, in a part of the town to which I was a complete stranger, and I had a confused remembrance of Oxford Street and the parks, and then of Highgate Archway. I made out, after a while, that I was at the East End, and, turning westward, I tramped back to my own lodgings with a return to self-possession which was partly due to the fact that bodily fatigue had dulled the sting of resentment.
Hinge had dinner ready when I reached home, but I had no appetite for it, and, to the good fellow's dismay, I sent it away untasted. I turned over a thousand schemes that evening, and rejected each in turn. But I decided, finally, to prepare an advertisement for the newspapers, Which might perhaps prevent further mischief. I concocted so many subterfuges, each of which in turn proved to reveal too much or to be too enigmatical, that at ten o'clock I found myself with a dozen sheets of closely-written paper before me. But at last I hit on this:
“Dear Violet,—Distrust altogether anything you may hear to
my disadvantage until I have found an opportunity to
explain. Do not wonder at not hearing from me. Both your
letters and mine are intercepted. When you next write, post
letter with your own hand.”
After much consideration, I hit upon “John of Itzia” as a signature, and having made three clear copies, I drove round to the offices of the three great daily newspapers of that date, and at each secured the insertion of this advertisement for a week. A little comforted by that achievement, I went to bed, and, being dog tired, got to sleep.
The days that followed were among the dreariest I can remember. I spent them for the most part at home, sitting at the open window which looked upon the street, and waiting for the advent of the postman.
I was there in the morning an hour before his arrival could reasonably be expected, and I was there all day, and there still an hour after his last round had been made. Every time he came in sight my heart beat furiously; and as the short official note on the knocker came nearer and nearer, I strove in vain to resist the temptation to run down-stairs and await him at the front door. Every man on that beat got to know me, and I grew to be utterly ashamed of myself at last, for day after day went by, and there came no answer to my advertisement and no note from anywhere of Violet's existence. At last the week for which I had prepaid the advertisement expired. I had determined to renew my warning and entreaty if no answer came, and I waited the last part of that day with a throbbing heart. The minutes of the dull, rainy night—it was mid-April by this time—crawled slowly on, and at last I heard the belated knocker at the far end of the street, and hurried on my overcoat and hat in case I should be disappointed once again. Then I slipped down to the door, and waited in the portico. The postman knocked next door, and I was ashamed to show myself; but only a second or two later he appeared with a single letter in his hand.
“Captain Fyffe?” he asked, inquiringly, and I responding “Captain Fyffe,” he handed me the letter.
The superscription was in Violet's hand. I tore it open and read, in embossed letters at the top of the first page, “Scarfell House, Richmond.” Then came this:
“My Dearest,—Is the strange advertisement addressed to
Violet and signed 'John of Itzia' yours? I almost think it
must be, and yet I am half afraid and half ashamed to say
so. But since I left town, nine days ago, I have written
to you every day, and have not received a line in answer. If
you will look in either the Times or the Advertiser, if the
advertisement should not have been put there by yourself,
you will see what I mean. I shall obey its instructions, and
shall post this letter with my own hands. So far I have
given my letters to my maid, and I cannot think of any
reason which could induce her to be wicked enough to destroy
or suppress them. This, at least, will be sure to reach you,
and if my fancy is absurd, I know you well enough to trust
to your forgiveness. If you are not 'John of Itzia,' I can
only fear that something dreadful has happened, for I do not
believe that you could be so unkind as to leave eight
consecutive letters of mine unanswered by a single word. I
have only just seen the advertisement by chance, and if you
are at home when this arrives it ought to reach you at about
nine o'clock. It is very little over an hour's drive to
Richmond, and I beg you to come down at once. If the whole
thing is a mistake, you have still something to explain, and
must have, I am sure a great deal to tell me.
“Yours always,
“Violet.”
I had no sooner read this than, with the letter crumpled in my hand, I dashed into the street and made at full-speed for the nearest cab-stand. Half a dozen whips were waved at me at once, but I walked up and down the line inspecting the horses before I would choose a vehicle. A sorrier lot of screws I never saw, but I chose the one that looked the least unpromising, and gave the driver the word for Richmond.