“I wish I knew whether Audley were alive or dead!” I said bitterly. “His wife has heard that he is dead, yet I can find no evidence at all that this is so.”
“She told you that he could never return to her,” Feng remarked.
“Yes; but that is another puzzle upon which she refused to throw any light,” I replied.
“Oh! by the way,” Feng exclaimed suddenly. “You recollect old Hartley Humphreys at Mürren? He wrote to me a few days ago and I went to dine with him at the Carlton. He’s just back from Constantinople, and do you know, his lameness is quite cured. He’s been to some German specialist who has put him right. He was enquiring about you.”
“I’d like to see him again,” I said. “He is quite a pleasant old fellow.”
“Go and call. He’d like to see you, I’m sure. He was interested in your romance, and asked me how it had ended. I pretended ignorance, for I did not know how much you would like him to learn. I never care to obtrude in other people’s affairs.”
“I will certainly go and see him,” I said. “It’s good news that he is cured.”
“Yes. He walks without a stick and seems rejuvenated.”
Next day I went to the Carlton and sent up my card, after which I was conducted to a handsome private sitting-room on the second floor. As I approached the door, I saw disappearing along the corridor, the back of a man whom I could have sworn was Harold Ruthen. I recognized him mainly by his walk, his grey felt hat, the well-cut brown suit and the drab spats. But he had turned the corner and disappeared before I could make sure.
In the room old Mr. Humphreys rose to meet me.