"My friend is heir to an enormous property in England. Perhaps that may assist you in discovering one?"
"Very possibly. But still I am inclined to think you are a little hasty in coming to so terrible a conclusion, Mr. ——?"
"Hatteras is my name, and I am staying at the General Officer Hotel in Palgrave Street."
"Well, Mr. Hatteras, if I were you I would go back to your hotel. You will probably find your friend there eating his dinner and thinking about instituting a search for you. If, however, he has not turned up, and does not do so by to-morrow morning, call here again and report the matter, and I will give you every assistance."
Thanking him for his courtesy I left the station and walked quickly back to the hotel, hoping to find Beckenham safely returned and at his dinner. But when the landlady met me in the verandah, and asked if I had any news of my friend, I realized that a disappointment was in store for me. By this time the excitement and worry were getting too much for me. What with Nikola, the spy, Beckenham, Phyllis, the unknown lover, and old Mr. Wetherell, I had more than enough to keep my brain occupied. I sat down on a chair on the verandah with a sigh and reviewed the whole case. Nine o'clock struck by the time my reverie was finished. Just as I did so a newspaper boy came down the street lustily crying his wares. To divert my mind from its unpleasant thoughts, I called him up and bought an Evening Mercury. Having done so I passed into my sitting-room to read it. The first, second, and third pages held nothing of much interest to me, but on the fourth was an item which was astonishing enough to almost make my hair stand on end. It ran as follows:
IMPORTANT ENGAGEMENT IN HIGH LIFE.
We have it on the very best authority that an engagement will shortly be announced between a certain illustrious young nobleman, now a visitor in our city, and the beautiful daughter of one of Sydney's most prominent politicians, who has lately returned from a visit to England. The Evening Mercury tenders the young couple their sincerest congratulations.
Could this be the solution of the whole mystery? Could it be that the engagement of Baxter, the telegram, the idea of travel, the drugging, the imprisonment in Port Said, the substitution of the false marquis, were all means to this end? Was is possible that this man, who was masquerading as a man of title, was to marry Phyllis (for there could be no possible doubt as to the person to whom that paragraph referred)? The very thought of such a thing was not to be endured.
There must be no delay now, I told myself, in revealing all I knew. The villains must be unmasked this very night. Wetherell should know all as soon as I could tell him. As I came to this conclusion I crushed my paper into my pocket and set off, without a moment's delay, for Potts Point. The night was dark, and now a thick drizzle was falling.
Though it really did not take me very long, it seemed an eternity before I reached the house and rang the bell. The butler opened the door, and was evidently surprised to see me. "Is Mr. Wetherell at home?" I asked.