“Then perhaps you can solve some of these mysteries that have puzzled me so long? Come, tell me everything about it, Bob, and you’ll do me an inestimable service. However it may be viewed, I strive to convince myself that Vera is not to blame. Don’t keep me in suspense—tell me at once, is that so?”
Here was the grand chance come at last. Now I should hear that for which my ears had been on the alert all these weary months.
Bob regarded me with a stare of curiosity, mingled with suspicion, and maintained silence for a few moments. Then he said, incredulously,—
“Is it possible there is anything unknown to you, save what we used to discuss when we first met your wife?”
“I’m absolutely ignorant of all save the fact that, with an infatuation for which I cannot account, I loved Vera and married her. I love her still, in spite of— Oh, I cannot go further! For Heaven’s sake tell me all you know now, at once, or I shall not retain my senses?”
Bob’s face was a study for a time. It apparently struck him that I was playing a part and wished to learn the depth of his knowledge regarding my wife. After a short pause, however, he continued, and imparted to me the first facts I had ever learned on this mysteriously-guarded point.
“Well, you see, after you left Genoa business compelled me to return. I was thrown on my own resources for a day or two, and during that period I made it a point to keep my ears open so as to catch anything I could regarding the mysterious fair one who had so interested us. Having a friend with me who was known at the police bureau it needed not a great deal of ingenuity to ascertain a few particulars. The first thing that came to light was the fact that old Hertzen, the grumbling uncle, was living under an assumed name.”
“Vera’s uncle! Was he—is he—not her uncle?” I exclaimed.
“Oh, yes; he’s her uncle, I believe,” replied my friend, placidly. “It was not surprising that he was—and is—assuming another patronymic, because, being a Russian exile—”
“An exile!”