Of the mysterious Mr. Hoffman, who had turned up at the house on the second day after my arrival, I saw or heard nothing more. I asked Sonia about him one day, but she only replied curtly that he was a business friend of the doctor's, and with this meagre information I had to remain content.
The point that I felt perhaps most inquisitive about was whom McMurtrie could have mistaken me for when I had crawled in through the kitchen window. I had a distinct recollection of his having mentioned some name just before I had collapsed, but it had gone out of my head and for the life of me I couldn't recall it. You know the maddening way a name will hang about the tip of one's tongue, just avoiding every effort at recapture.
Apart from my talks with Sonia, my chief entertainment was reading the Daily Mail. Not a day passed but some one seemed to discover a fresh clue to my hiding-place. I was seen and recognized at Manchester, Yarmouth, London, and Edinburgh; while one gentleman wrote to inform the editor he had trustworthy information I was actually in St. Petersburg, having been engaged by the Russian Government to effect certain improvements in their torpedo service. All this was quite pleasing, for, in addition to showing me that the police were still utterly at sea as to my whereabouts, I knew that each fresh report would help to keep George in an acute state of nervous tension.
Just as my imprisonment was becoming almost unbearably irksome, the end arrived with an unexpected abruptness. I was sitting at the window one morning smoking an after-breakfast pipe—a pipe which Sonia had brought me back from Plymouth at the same time as the books—when I heard a loud ring at the front door-bell, followed by a couple of sharp knocks. Despite my three years' absence from worldly affairs, I recognized the unmistakable touch of a telegraph-boy.
Since it was hardly likely that the wire was for me, I continued to smoke with undisturbed serenity. Perhaps ten minutes passed, and I was just wondering whether the message had anything to do with the arrangements which McMurtrie was making on my behalf, when a door slammed and I heard someone coming up the stairs. I knew from the sound that it was the doctor himself.
He entered the room, and looked round with his usual suave smile. To all outward appearance he was as composed as ever, but I had a curious presentiment that something unexpected had happened. However, I thought it best to show no sign of any such impression.
"Good-morning," I said, knocking out my pipe and stuffing it away in my pocket—or rather Savaroff's pocket. "A grand day, isn't it!"
"Beautiful," he answered genially—"quite beautiful." Then he walked across and sat down on the end of the bed. "As a matter of fact, I came up to see whether you felt like taking advantage of it."
"Do you mean that it's safe for me to go out?" I asked with some eagerness.
He shrugged his shoulders. "It's as safe as it ever will be; but I meant rather more than that."