CHAPTER XLII.
NEWS OF MR. MARX.
For a moment or two I remained quite silent, for the simple reason that I was far too astonished to make any remark. My new acquaintance sat looking at me with slightly-raised eyebrows and carelessly toying with his eyeglass; yet, notwithstanding his apparent nonchalance, I felt somehow aware that he was watching me keenly.
“My name appears to be a surprise to you,” he remarked, keeping his eyes fixed steadily upon my face. “Have you heard it before, may I ask?”
“Yes,” I assented, “one of the fellows down at Borden Tower——”
“What, you know Leonard?” he interrupted. “Egad! how strange! Then you are one of Dr. Randall’s pupils, I suppose?”
“Yes; I have only been there a very short time, though. And Leonard is——”
“My son.”
I looked at him intently. Now that the fact itself had been suggested to me, I could certainly trace come faint likeness. But what puzzled me most was that he seemed also to remind me, although more vaguely, of someone else, whom I could not call to mind at all. Neither did he seem particularly anxious for me to assist him, for, as though somewhat annoyed at my close scrutiny, he rose abruptly to his feet.
“Come, what do you say to cigarettes and coffee? We are outstaying everybody here.”
I followed him downstairs into the smoke-room. We seated ourselves upon a luxurious divan, and the Count immediately began to talk about his son.