"I fear I have paid you an unconscionably long visit," I said. "Your beautiful music, however, must be blamed for my over-stepping the bounds of politeness. I hope you will forgive me?"
"It has been a pleasure to me to play to you," she answered. "One does not always have such a sympathetic audience."
With that I left her, and on reaching the street turned in the direction of the Park.
"I should have just time enough for a sharp walk before I dress," I said to myself, and took my watch from my pocket and glanced at the dial. The clock on the mantel-piece of the Countess's boudoir, when I had said good-bye to her, had pointed to half-past five. My watch showed a quarter to six. This was very singular, for I remembered looking at my watch as I stood in the portico, after ringing the bell, and also my laughing remark to the Countess to the effect that I was glad to have found her at home at such an hour, glancing at the clock as I did so. Yet now there was a difference of rather more than a quarter of an hour between the two? What did this signify? Could the Countess's clock have stopped while she was playing and then have gone on again of its own accord? It was scarcely likely that, while I was asleep, she had risen from the piano and had set it going, for going it certainly was when I bade her good-bye. The remembrance of the dream I had had still weighed heavily upon my mind, and, do what I would, I could not throw it off. Yet how absurd it was. Moreover, though I had more than once suspected her of taking an interest in European politics, she had always denied the fact to me. Besides, even if this were so, and granted that she had the power, what reason could she possibly have had for extracting secrets from me? At this point the remembrance of her eyes and the singular influence they had had over me in Paris, returned to me.
"What does it all mean?" I asked myself, as if in despair of arriving at a definite conclusion.
I was to find that out, however, in good time!
CHAPTER V
You will remember that in the preceding chapter I described to you the conflicting emotions with which I viewed my now famous call at Wiltshire House. Beyond remarking that I was quite at a loss to account for it, and that the passing of time did not throw any further light upon the mystery, I need say no more about it. There is so much to tell of vital importance, that it behoves me to be economical of space. Needless to say, the Colonial Secretary's disappearance continued to attract its full measure of public attention. Despite the endeavours of the police, however, no clue of any sort could be discovered, either as to his present whereabouts, or as to the manner of his departure. Enormous rewards were offered, but without success. He was gone, and that was all that could be said about it.