"But I speak with the discovery that I was mistaken," Jack went on. "The first thing that aroused my suspicions was more a girlish fancy than anything else. Of course you know Mr. Spencer Anstruther very well by name?"
"Ay, I know him by something more than name," Barmouth said, in deep, thrilling tones. "If that scoundrel had never been born I should--but I am interrupting you. Pray proceed."
"Well, to revert to what I was saying," Jack went on, "that Nostalgo poster was hardly fully impressed upon my mind's eye, before I began to notice some grotesque resemblance between it and Spencer Anstruther. Without hurting your feelings, the poster is devilishly hideous; Anstruther, on the other hand, is a singularly handsome man. But, despite all this, despite my common sense, I could not rid myself of the idea that the likeness was somewhere.
"A chance remark of mine served to confirm my impression. It threw Anstruther into a sudden fit of passion. His face was literally convulsed with fury, but only for an instant. Still, that instant sufficed. There was Nostalgo in the flesh before me--the same drawn-up lips, the same hideous squint of the oblique eyes, the same dreadful, hawkish look about the nose. A second later the likeness was gone. I cannot forget, I never shall forget my feelings at that moment. If I fail to interest you----"
"You are interesting me more than words can tell," Barmouth said hoarsely. "Pray proceed."
"There is not much more to tell," Jack said. "Perhaps you have heard of the Nostalgo devil whom I found dead the other night in Panton Square? I mean the man whose body so mysteriously vanished from the Shannon Street station?"
"Yes, I heard of that," Barmouth admitted; "but you will not be in the least astonished to learn that the whole affair was no surprise to me. All the same, I think you will find later on that the supposed victim is not dead at all. And now I am going to speak, and you are going to listen."
Jack intimated that he desired nothing better. He could make out the outline of the figure opposite him, wriggling and twisting in his chair.
"As you are quite aware, a little more than two years ago I went to Mexico. There was no thought of evil in my mind; I went out merely with an eye to sport. I have been fond of adventure all my life, and Mexico seemed to afford a fine field for such amusements as I was looking for. But the shooting was a great disappointment, and I had to turn elsewhere for recreation. A little later on I found myself in Southern Mexico, living with a half-savage tribe, who showed signs that at some long-forgotten period the same tribe had enjoyed a high state of civilization. As a matter of fact, there were two of these tribes living only a few leagues apart, and both exceedingly antagonistic to each other.
"Of course I had to throw my lot in with one section, and take care that I didn't fall into the hands of the other. The reason of this bitterness I discovered arose from the fact that both claimed possession of a belt of land which was supposed to contain gold. Now, I am an exceedingly rich man, as you know. But I got the gold fever as badly as if I had been the neediest adventurer who ever wielded pick and shovel.