“Pooh! My banking account is limited. Let us go. The moral atmosphere in this room is vile.”
Outside the Central Police Office they separated, Brett to pay some long-neglected calls, Winter to hunt up Capella’s movements and initiate inquiries about Okasaki.
The detective came to Brett’s chambers at five o’clock, in a great state of excitement.
“Thank goodness you are at home, sir.” he cried, when Smith admitted him to the barrister’s sanctum. “Capella is off to Naples.”
Naples, the scene of his marriage! What did this journey portend? Naught but the gravest considerations would take him so far away from home when he knew that David and Helen were reunited.
“How did you discover this fact?” asked Brett, awaking out of a brown study.
“Easily enough, as it happened. Ninety-nine per cent. of gentlemen’s valets are keen sports. Barbers and hotel-porters run them close. I do a bit that way myself—”
The barrister groaned.
“Not often, sir, but this is holiday time, you see. Anyhow, I gave the hall-porter, whom I know, the wink to come to a neighbouring bar during his time off for tea. He actually brought Capella’s man—William his name is—with him. I told them I had backed the first winner to-day, an eight to one chance, and that started them. I offered to put them on a certainty next week, and William’s face fell. ‘It’s a beastly nuisance,’ he said, ‘I’m off to Naples with my boss to-morrow.’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘if you’re not going before the night train, perhaps I may be able—’ But that made him worse, because they leave by the 11 A.M., Victoria.”
Brett began to pace the room. He could not make up his mind to visit Naples in person. For one thing, he did not speak Italian. But Capella must be followed. At last he decided upon a course of action.