Both had evidently left by the earlier train, and the absence of a fiacre at the door of the Casino had caused me to lose sight of them.
Alone in the dimly-lit railway compartment, as the train passed through the suburb of St. Denis and on to the Gare du Nord, I reflected deeply. My brain was awhirl with the events which had occurred so rapidly since landing at Leghorn. I knew not whether Captain Davis had received my telegram and had left for Genoa, or whether the message had been delayed until he had received that package which was destined to send the Vispera to the bottom.
On every side I saw plot and counterplot, the most dastardly of them all being the determination of Keppel to destroy his yacht. And Ulrica? What of her? That she was on board was almost certain; she might even then be sailing southward to her doom.
Yet I had warned her, and I hoped that she had come ashore as we had arranged. The only possibility I feared was a disinclination upon her part to offend the old millionaire. If she found the course altered to Genoa, a change which I had endeavoured to effect by my telegram, she might possibly have gone on there. All that I prayed for was that my wire had reached Davis's hand before the package supposed to contain the statuette.
Keppel at that moment no doubt believed the Vispera to have gone down, and was prepared for the receipt of the astounding news from one or other of the Mediterranean ports. Possibly he believed that he had a perfect answer to the question as to why he had left the vessel, but to me it seemed as though he would meet with considerable difficulty, if the worst had really happened.
There might, too, be a survivor, and a survivor's testimony in such a case would be awkward.
As the train, with its impériales, or seats above the third-class carriages, rushed on toward Paris, I pondered, too, upon Branca's sudden reappearance. There was something uncanny about the fellow. His knowledge was as extensive as his cunning was low and ingenious.
For what reason, I wondered, had he met that tow-haired woman who had been Ernest Cameron's good genius at Monte Carlo? Why, too, had she taken the trouble to go out to Enghien for the purpose of seeing him?
One theory alone took possession of my mind, namely, that there was a secret between them. Possibly he had been acquainted with her; they might even have been friends. But it was quite evident that they had quarrelled, and he had been gravely offended by the insult offered him.
Each night-train from Enghien to the Gare du Nord always brought home a large number of returning gamblers and pleasure-seekers, so when we came to a standstill, the quai quickly became crowded by persons whom I had noticed strolling in the Casino. In vain, however, I searched for the pair whose movements I had been watching. I was compelled to acknowledge myself baffled, and to take a fiacre back to the "Hôtel Terminus."