It was at least three-quarters of an hour later when Lawrence left the hotel and walked slowly toward Forty-second Street. He was puzzled, perplexed, and rather piqued; for, in spite of all his efforts, he had been unable to extract from the Englishman a single additional fact which would help him solve the problem which vexed him.
Brandon evidently took him for some one else, and the resemblance must have been astonishingly great; for it was evident that the Briton had spent a year, if not more, with Barry's double at Cambridge.
It was the famous English university, of course, and not the equally well-known Massachusetts college. Lawrence had realized that very early in the talk; but, in spite of his repeated efforts, he had been unable to elicit a single additional particular concerning his double, save the fact that Oscar Nordstrom had evidently spent some years as a student in England. While Brandon had plainly been on the most friendly terms with Nordstrom, he seemed curiously ignorant regarding the man's antecedents.
"It's a queer thing from beginning to end," he murmured as he pushed through the whirling doors of the Knickerbocker. "I wish I could find out who I'm supposed to be. I'll wager anything that this would solve the whole mystery."
For a moment he stood in the lobby glancing mechanically around. It was much too early to expect Jock, and he had just made up his mind to pass the time comfortably in the smoking room, when suddenly his eyes strayed to the face of a woman moving slowly and gracefully toward him from the elevator. She was tall and slim and very blond; and there was something about her attractive face which touched a chord in Barry's memory. Somehow the sight of her seemed to bring with it visions of a smooth, sandy beach, with the ocean stretching out beyond it, of merry sailing parties and clambakes, of drives and automobile excursions, and a host of other summer pleasures.
"Southampton, of course," he muttered. "But what the mischief is her name?"
The next instant their eyes met, and he saw that the recognition was mutual. She gave a sudden start, and stood for a second staring incredulously at him, a wave of color flaming into her face. Then, as he moved forward, she seemed to recover herself, and came slowly to meet him.
"How do you do?" she said, in a low, soft voice, which had in it an odd note which Barry could not quite fathom. "This is a very, very great surprise."
Hat in hand, Lawrence clasped the slender fingers she extended to him, and smiled. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered her.
"Isn't it?" he agreed pleasantly. "But here in New York one is constantly having surprises like this."