At O'Mulligan's rooms we drank out of long glasses and were accorded the privilege of inspecting his "pots." The trophies of the amateur middle-weight champion of Great Britain, who claimed Dublin as his natal city, made an extremely brave array. But neither they, nor the refreshment that was offered to us, were able to dispel the gloom that had descended upon one and all.
"There is one thing to be said for this chap Fitzwaren," said Alexander O'Mulligan, in a tone that was not devoid of reverence. "He is grit all through!"
Truth there might be in this reflection, but there was little consolation. Sadly we bade adieu to Alexander O'Mulligan and went to our hotel to bed, yet not to sleep. For myself, I can answer that throughout the night I had dark forebodings and distorted images for my bed-fellows; and it was not until it was almost time to rise that I was at last able to snatch a brief doze.
It was fair to assume that the slumbers of the others had been equally precarious, for at ten o'clock I found myself to be the first of our party at the breakfast table. In a few minutes I was joined by Coverdale, who carried the morning paper in his hand.
He directed my attention to the obituary notice of H.E. the Illyrian Ambassador, who, it appeared, had met his death at the Illyrian Embassy in Portland Place at 11.30 o'clock the previous evening, in peculiarly tragic and distressing circumstances. It appeared that his Excellency, a noted shot who took a keen interest in firearms of every description, was engaged in demonstrating to various members of the Embassy certain merits in the mechanism of a new type of revolver, of which his Excellency claimed to be the inventor, when the weapon went off, killing the unfortunate nobleman instantly. The brief statement of the tragic event was followed by a eulogium, in which the dead Ambassador's martial, political and social attainments, and the irreparable loss, not only to his sovereign, but to the polity of nations, was dealt with at length.
"Those fellows have done well," said Coverdale. "But I should be glad to think that the last has been heard of this."
This conviction I shared with the Chief Constable, but it was good to find that thus far Illyrian diplomacy had proved equal to the occasion. It had the effect of giving me a better appetite for breakfast, and in consequence I ordered two boiled eggs instead of one.
There was one other item of sinister interest to be found among the morning's news. In glancing over it my attention was drawn to the brief account of a mysterious tragedy which had been enacted in Hyde Park near the Broad Walk the previous evening between six and seven o'clock. A man who, according to papers found in his possession, bore the name of Ludovic Bolland, of Illyrian extraction, had been found dead with a bullet wound in the brain. It was not clear whether it was a case of murder or suicide. The police inclined to the former opinion, but at present were not in possession of any information capable of throwing light upon the subject.
I did not reveal to Coverdale the fell suspicion that I could not keep out of my thought. The incident of the taxi following us, the foreign-looking man who had entered the hotel, and Fitz's words and subsequent conduct, all conspired to form a theory that I was very loth to entertain and yet from which I was unable to escape. It certainly had the effect of making me profoundly uncomfortable and caused the second egg I had ordered to be superfluous after all.
Beyond all things now I longed to return to my country home without delay. The past twenty-four hours formed a page in my experience which, if impossible to erase, I earnestly desired to forget.