It was close to noon, when she ceased her musings, and rising, went toward the house. Sitting so long in the open air had made her a bit chilly. She determined to seek the grateful warmth of the reception-room. As she mounted the steps of the house she heard sounds of a cab being driven rapidly along the main street, and a sudden intuition warned her that something of an unusual nature was about to happen. She glanced back, as the servant opened the door in response to her ring, and was not surprised to see that the vehicle had entered the grounds, and was rapidly approaching the house.
Her hasty glance showed her that it contained but a single occupant, a man, and in spite of the distance, she fancied that she detected something familiar about the poise of his head and shoulders. The thought was but momentary—she stepped at once into the reception-room at the right, sat down by the fire, and opening her book, pretended to be deeply absorbed in its contents. In reality she was observing narrowly the maid in the hallway, who stood at the open door, waiting to admit the man who was driving up in the cab.
CHAPTER VIII
When Richard Duvall and Dufrenne arrived at Harwich, on their way from London, the former requested his companion to turn up his coat collar, pull his soft hat over his eyes, and put on his spectacles. He feared that the man they were trying to locate might recognize the curio dealer as the person who had occupied the chair next to him in Monsieur Perrier's barber shop earlier in the evening. He also requested the Frenchman to make his way to the boat alone, keeping a sharp lookout for the man in the brown overcoat.
Duvall himself joined the straggling crowd of sleepy passengers as they went aboard the steamer for Antwerp, his eyes searching every passenger about him for some sight of the one he sought. Once he thought he recognized the man, a long way off, going up the steamer's gang plank, but he could not be sure, in the flickering light, that he was right.
He went aboard the boat, in some doubt as to whether, after all, his course of reasoning might not be incorrect. Here he was bound for the Continent, on the heels of a man whom he had no real proof was not at this moment sleeping peacefully in his bed in London.
The situation was a trying one. He lit a cigar and began to pace the deck nervously, inspecting the few passengers who had elected to remain outside, before directing his steps to the saloon below.
After some five minutes spent in a useless search, he observed a familiar figure approaching him from the direction of the companionway, and at once saw that it was Dufrenne. The latter passed him without any sign of recognition, but just as their elbows were almost touching, said in a low voice, "He is below, in the saloon, monsieur. Has not taken a stateroom."
Duvall continued his walk about the decks for a few moments longer, then threw away his cigar, and descended to the saloon. A number of passengers were dozing on the sofas, or in chairs, and at a table several were playing cards. He paused for a moment to watch the game, his eyes searching the room for the man in the brown overcoat. After a time he located him, sprawled in an easy chair, his eyes closed, his satchel tossed carelessly upon the floor beside him.