“I’ll tell you the whole thing from first to last, darling,” he said, seating himself beside her. “The moment I knew the papers were stolen I thought of her instinctively, and when I learned she was out I thought of the queer incident of Tuesday night. While Sir Robert was questioning the servants I turned up the Directory. There’s only one foreign name among all the list at Rivercourt Mansions: ‘G. Cacciola, Professor of Voice-Production.’”
“Cacciola! Good gracious!” gasped Grace. “Why, I know him quite well. He’s Winnie’s maestro, the dearest, kindest, funniest old thing imaginable. You must have heard me speak of him!”
“Don’t remember it. But anyhow I thought I’d go there on spec. and ask for her. It couldn’t do any harm and might be of immense service. As it was so near the church I’d just time, if I didn’t go to Starr’s to change, and I knew you’d forgive me for not turning up in glad rags, darling, if I told you all about it afterwards. So I said good-bye to Sir Robert, jumped into a taxi, and drove straight there. I saw an old Italian woman, and asked boldly for Lady Rawson. I’d guessed rightly—she was there, I’m convinced from the woman’s manner, though she swore she wasn’t, but she knew the name well enough, and I’d take my oath she was lying. I couldn’t very well force my way in and search the place; and as time was running short there was nothing to be done but push off. Like an ass I had paid the taxi and never told the man to wait, and there wasn’t another in sight.”
“There never is thereabouts.”
“That’s why I was so late—that and the fog. I jumped on a tram, got down at the Avenue, and plunged right into the fog. My hat! how thick it was—you couldn’t see your hand before your face! Pretty position for a bridegroom, eh? I thought I never should get through in time; I kept barging into trees and palings till—well, you know the rest, darling.”
“You poor boy! No wonder you looked half dead,” Grace commented. Somehow his vivacious narrative had relieved the tension, diverted her mind from the main tragedy. “But how very queer about the maestro—Signor Cacciola, I mean. I wonder if Winnie knows that poor Lady Rawson knew him? I don’t think she can, or she would certainly have said something about it.”
“Well, she was there. But you see now, don’t you, darling, why I am so reluctant to put the police on this? If her visits were innocent, why did she disguise herself? If they were not innocent—may I be forgiven if I wrong her—goodness knows what might come out, to add to poor Sir Robert’s distress. So I’m sure it’s best to do and say nothing, for the moment anyhow, except to ring up as I said I would.”
He returned in about twenty minutes, and found her at the writing-table.
“Thomson again. Sir Robert is going on fairly well, but is not allowed to see anyone but him, and the nurse, of course. He says he gave him my message, and he seemed very touched, and begged me not to dream of coming back, as I could do nothing; I offered to, you know——”