"Well, then, it depends on his answers regarding our next move."
Ronald put on his hat and gloves, then, taking his leave, went outside into the roar and bustle of Fleet Street. Through an archway he could see the quiet Temple Gardens, and could not help contrasting their solitariness and charm with the turmoil on the pavements.
"Hang it!" he said to himself, as he watched the busy crowds rushing past, "everyone here seems to live with their watches in their hands; I should not like to live here, but I suppose I'll have to stop till I find out all about Verschoyle's death;" and this last reflection putting him in mind of his engagement, he stepped into a hansom, and drove off to the Langham Hotel, to see Vassalla.
Vassalla was upstairs, in a private sitting-room, enjoying his breakfast, when Monteith's card was sent to him. Carmela had gone out with Sir Mark and his daughter, so the Marchese felt perfectly secure against the chance of Ronald meeting her. He dreaded the meeting, because disagreeable explanations might be made which would reconcile the lovers, and ruin all his carefully prepared schemes. As he looked at the card thoughtfully, he was rapidly running over in his mind the reasons which might make Ronald thus seek him. No feasible one, however, presenting itself to him, he told the waiter to show the gentleman up, and quietly went on with his breakfast.
"He has some reason for coming," he muttered, quietly; "and I'll find it out; don't trouble yourself Mr. Monteith--friend or enemy, I'm equal to either."
He arose from his seat with an enigmatical smile on his face as the Australian entered, and held out his hand. The other took it with a slight reluctance which was noticed by the clever Maltese gentleman.
"Hum!" he thought; "not quite friendly, I see."
Ronald took a seat, declined the offer of breakfast and prepared to talk.
"Miss Cotoner is out," he said, coldly.
"Yes, with Sir Mark Trevor and his charming daughter," replied Vassalla. "Do you wish to see her?"