“No, I was not. You know we Russians are reputed to be good linguists.”
“Yes, I had forgotten that. We will now return to the point from which we started. The band is excellent, and it is about to play one of four favorite selections, Mr. Katzburg.”
“Katzoff is the name. As to the selection, I don’t know much about music, although I am fond of popular pieces.”
Katzoff and I got along very nicely, although I did not seem to like him as well as either Johnson or Baumgarten. He left for Salzburg without bidding me good-bye. Missing him one day, I called at the Angleterre, and the porter told me he had gone.
Next day I searched for him, wondering in what garb I should find him. I passed him twice as he sat on the bench, before I was sure enough to accost him. The sacrifice of his moustache had made a remarkable difference. His clean-shaven face caused him to look at least ten years younger. He wore a tall silk hat, and a long black morning coat. I found myself hardly able to withdraw my eyes from the white spats that partially covered his polished boots. He was reading an English paper, and did not observe my scrutiny. I approached him.
“Well, Johnson,” I said, “this is a lay out. You’re English this time, I suppose?”
The man looked up in evident surprise. Fumbling around the front of his waistcoat for a moment, he found a black silk string, which he pulled, bringing to his hand a little round disc of glass. This he stuck in one eye, grimacing slightly to keep it in place, and so regarded me apparently with some curiosity. My certainty that it was Johnson wavered for a moment, but I braved it out.
“That monocle is a triumph, Johnson. In combination with the spats it absolutely staggers me. If you had tried that on as Baumgarten I don’t know that I should have recognized you. Johnson, what’s your game?”
“You seem to be laboring under some delusion,” he said at last. “My name is not Johnson. I am Lord Somerset Campbell, if you care to know.”
“Really? Oh, well, that’s all right. I’m the Duke of Argyll, so we must be relatives. Blood is thicker than water, Campbell. Confess. Whom have you murdered?”