Then he followed the bearded man down to the station, where, from a European official of whom he made a confidential inquiry, he learnt that the stranger had arrived in Assouan from Cairo only two hours before, bearing a return ticket to Europe by the mail route via Port Said and Brindisi.
With curiosity he watched the Italian leave by the mail for Cairo ten minutes later, and then turned away and retraced his steps to the Cataract Hotel, plunged deep in thought.
There was a mystery somewhere—a strange and very grave mystery.
What could be that message of such extreme importance and secrecy that it could not be trusted to the post?
Who was old Gigleux of whom Mademoiselle Duprez went in such fear? Was she really what she represented herself to be?
No. He felt somehow assured that all was not as it should be. A mystery surrounded both uncle and niece, while the angular Miss Lambert remained as silent and impenetrable as the sphinx.
Diplomat and man of the world as was Hubert Waldron—a man who had run the whole gamut of life in the gay centres of Europe—he was naturally suspicious, for the incident of that night seemed inexplicable.
Something most secret and important must be in progress to necessitate the travelling of a special messenger from Europe far away into Upper Egypt, merely to deliver a letter and obtain a response.
“Yes,” he murmured to himself as he passed through the portals of the hotel, which were thrown open to him by two statuesque Nubian servants, who bowed low as he passed. “Yes; there are some curious features about this affair. I will watch and discover the truth. Lola is in some secret and imminent peril. Of that I feel absolutely convinced.”