Then turning his dark eyes upon me, he continued—
"Señor, in Italy I am a gentleman, and my name, which is not Gairdi, is an honoured one. What I am accused of, and what I admit doing, was no crime. The dead man was a traitor, and I was deputed to kill him. I did it, and this is the end."
"HE FELL WITH A CRASH AT MY FEET."
The words had scarcely left his lips before he took a revolver from his coat-pocket, placed it to his right temple and, before I could prevent him, had pulled the trigger. He fell with a crash at my feet, and before the ship's doctor could be brought to his side, he was dead. Who he really was, or to what Secret Society he belonged—for his last words to me warranted the belief that he was a member of some such organization—we were never able to discover. He was dead, and there was an end to it. Such is the story of the first big case in which I was engaged, and one that led me step by step to the position I now hold. I have told it perhaps at somewhat greater length than I need have done, but I trust the reader will forgive me. As a matter of fact I am rather proud of it; more so perhaps than I have any reason to be.
Having resigned my position in the police of the Northern Colony, I was not to be tempted to reconsider my decision. My liking for the life, however, and my interest in the unravelling of mysterious crimes, proved too strong, and I joined the Detective Staff in Melbourne, seeing in their service a good deal of queer life and ferreting out not a small number of extraordinary cases. The experience gained there was invaluable, and led me, after one particularly interesting piece of business in which I had the good fortune to be most successful, to entertain the notion of quitting Government employ altogether, and setting up for myself. I did so, and soon had more work upon my hand than I could very well accomplish. But I was too ambitious to be content with small things, and eventually came to the conclusion that there was not enough scope in the Colonies for me. After fifteen years' absence, therefore, I returned to England, spending a year in the Further East en route in order to enlarge my experience, and to qualify myself for any work that might come to me from that quarter.
On a certain bitterly cold day in January I reached Liverpool from the United States, and took the train for my old home. My father and mother had long since died, and now all that remained to me of them was the stone slab that covered their resting place in the quiet little churchyard at the foot of the hill.
"Well, here I am," I said to myself, "thirty-three years old, and alone in the world. Nobody knows me in England, but it won't be my fault if they don't hear of George Fairfax before very long. I'll be off to London and try my fortune there."
Next day I made my way to the Great Metropolis, and installed myself at a small private hotel, while I looked about me preparatory to commencing business. To talk of gaining a footing in London is all very well in its way, but it is by no means so easy a task to accomplish as it might appear. Doubtless it can be done fairly quickly if one is prepared to spend large sums of money in advertising, and is not afraid to blow one's own trumpet on every possible occasion, but that is not my line, and besides, even had I so wished, I had not the money to do it. For a multitude of reasons I did not feel inclined to embark my hard-earned savings on such a risky enterprise. I preferred to make my way by my own diligence, and with that end in view I rented an office in a convenient quarter, furnished it, put a small advertisement in a few of the papers, and then awaited the coming of my clients.