“But who else could it be?” she objected; and then, after a pause, she added with a mischievous smile, “unless it should be your friend, Dr. Thorndyke. That would really be a quaint situation—if I should, after all, be indebted to you, Rupert, for these polite attentions.”
I brushed the suggestion aside hastily but with no conviction. And once more I recalled Wallingford’s observations on mare’s nests. Obviously this clumsy booby was not a professional detective. And if not, what could he be but some hired agent of Thorndyke’s. It was one more perplexity, and added to those with which my mind was already charged, it reduced me to moody silence which must have made me the very reverse of an exhilarating companion. Indeed, when Madeline had rallied me once or twice on my gloomy preoccupation, I felt that the position was becoming untenable. I wanted to be alone and think things out; but as it would have been hardly decent to break up our little party and take my departure, I determined, if possible, to escape from this oppressive tête-à-tête. Fortunately, I remembered that a famous pianist was giving a course of recitals at a hall within easy walking distance and ventured to suggest that we might go and hear him.
“I would rather stay here and gossip with you,” she replied, “but as you don’t seem to be in a gossiping humour, perhaps the music might be rather nice. Yes, let us go. I don’t often hear any good music nowadays.”
Accordingly we went, and on the way to the hall Madeline gave me a few further details of her experiences with her follower; and I was not a little impressed by her wariness and the ingenuity with which she had lured that guileless sleuth into exposed and well-lighted situations.
“By the way,” said I, “what was the fellow like? Give me a few particulars of his appearance in case I should happen to run across him.”
“Good Heavens, Rupert!” she exclaimed, laughing mischievously, “you don’t suppose he will take to haunting you, do you? That would really be the last straw, especially if he should happen to be employed by Dr. Thorndyke.”
“It would,” I admitted with a faint grin, “though Thorndyke is extremely thorough and he plumes himself on keeping an open mind. At any rate, let us have a few details.”
“There was nothing particularly startling about him. He was a medium-sized man, rather fair, with a longish, sharp, turned-up nose and a sandy moustache, rather bigger than men usually have nowadays. He was dressed in a blue serge suit, without an overcoat and he wore a brown soft felt hat, a turn-down collar and a dark green necktie with white spots. He had no gloves but he carried a walking-stick—a thickish yellow cane with a crooked handle.”
“Not very distinctive,” I remarked, disparagingly.
“Don’t you think so?” said she. “I thought he was rather easy to recognize with that brown hat and the blue suit and the big moustache and pointed nose. Of course, if he had worn a scarlet hat and emerald-green trousers and carried a brass fire-shovel instead of a walking-stick he would have been still easier to recognize; but you mustn’t expect too much, even from a detective.”