"It is exceedingly awkward for me," Jack said; "you can see how delicate the ground is I stand upon. But believe me I am only being cruel to be kind. I am sure that when I have finished my interview with Lord Barmouth he will be exceedingly glad that he has consented to see me."
"Oh, I quite understand your feelings," Lady Barmouth exclaimed. "It must be dreadful for a gentleman to appear obtruding like this. But are you quite sure that the figure you saw in the courtyard at Montrose Place last night was my husband? You seem to have forgotten the other Nostalgo who was supposed to have been found dead by yourself in Panton Square the other night."
Jack admitted readily enough that there were many sides to the mystery as yet unsolved. He was still discussing the point, when the footman entered, and gravely announced that Lord Barmouth was waiting to see Mr. Masefield. Lady Barmouth rose to her feet at once, and escorted Jack to a small room at the end of the corridor. The apartment was in complete darkness; it was just possible to discern the outline of a figure in an armchair.
"I am pleased to see you, Mr. Masefield. I think you will find an armchair on the other side of the fireplace. My dear, I shall be pleased if you will leave Mr. Masefield and myself alone together."
[CHAPTER XXII.]
THE PORTRAIT.
Jack sat there silently enough, waiting for Lord Barmouth to speak. The difficulty and delicacy of the situation were by no means lost upon him. He shuffled about uneasily in his chair, trying to make something definite out of the still figure opposite him.
"I quite appreciate your feelings," Lord Barmouth said, in the deep, thrilling tones that Jack remembered so well. "It is no nice thing for a gentleman to thrust himself into the private sorrows of an unfortunate man like myself. But my wife has told me all that you have been recently saying to her. You seem to be under the impression that you saw me in Montrose Place last night; in fact, that you recognized my face, which I imprudently disclosed whilst I was lighting a cigarette. Mr. Masefield, I am not disposed to deny the accusation."
"I hope you will be perfectly candid with me," Jack said, speaking with some hesitation; "believe me, I am actuated by the highest motives; believe me, I would do anything to rid you of the shadow that darkens your life. Of course, I have my theory on the subject of the strange business; a business which has been literally thrust upon me by stress of circumstances. Up to a short time ago, like most people, I looked upon the Nostalgo poster as a high ingenuity in the way of advertising art. It was a wonderful effort, and most cleverly executed. But I should not have been in the least surprised to find that Nostalgo was an acrobat or a juggler, or even some new and clever way of introducing a fresh kind of soap to the credulous British public."
"Yes," Barmouth said thoughtfully, "I suppose one would have been satisfied in that way."