“This is curious, and no kid. The Captain ain’t often so generous as to give me a tenner, especially when he only paid me yesterday. I wonder who the lady is? I wish I could speak to her. She’s somebody he’s met, I suppose, when abroad.”
He went to the hall, and noted what coats his master had taken, when suddenly it occurred to him that without assistance it was impossible that he could have carried them all downstairs; somebody must have helped him.
Into the small bachelor’s kitchen he passed, pondering deeply over the strange occurrence. Only an hour before, his master had arrived home from dining at the club, and putting on his well-worn velvet lounge-coat, had announced his intention of remaining at home and smoking. Smayle had asked him whether he was under orders to leave with despatches, when he had answered that it was not yet his turn, and that he expected to have a fortnight in London. Three days ago he had returned from St. Petersburg, tired, hungry, irritable, as he always was after that tedious journey. A run home from Brussels, Paris, or even Berlin, never made him short-tempered, but always when he arrived from Petersburg, Madrid, or “Constant,” he grumbled at everything; always declared that Smayle had been drinking his whisky; that the place was dirty; that the weather in London was brutal; and ten thousand a year wouldn’t repay him for the loss of nerve-power on “those infernal gridirons they call railways.”
Yet he had made a serious attempt upon the life of a strange lady who had called, and had left hurriedly with sufficient kit to last him six months.
He was reflecting deeply, wondering what he should do with the lady, when suddenly he was startled by the door-bell ringing. With military promptness he answered it, and found his master’s new acquaintance, Arnoldo Romanelli. The latter had spent several evenings at Tristram’s chambers since the night they had dined together at Bonciani’s, therefore Smayle knew him well.
“The Captain’s not at home, sir,” he answered, in reply to the visitor’s inquiry.
“Is he away?”
“He left this evening suddenly.”
“On important business, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir,” Smayle answered. Then he added, “Excuse me, sir, but you are Italian, aren’t you?”