"I have not finished," he replied. "When I have done so, you will, I think, only be anxious to learn more." He added quite calmly: "If you will kindly be seated, so as not to attract attention, I will go on."
I sank back into my seat without further effort to arrest his words. The adventure was most extraordinary, and certainly his grotesque appearance held me puzzled.
"Here, in Nice, not long ago," he continued, "you met a man who believed himself in love with you, yet a few nights later he was foully murdered in your sitting-room at the hotel."
"Reginald Thorne," I said quickly, in a strained voice, for the memory of that distressing event was very painful.
"Yes, Reginald Thorne," he repeated, in a low, hoarse voice.
"You knew him?" I asked.
"Yes, I knew him," was his response, in a deep, strange tone. "It is to speak of him that I have sought you to-night."
"If you are so well aware who I am, and of all my movements, you might surely have called upon me," I remarked dubiously.
"Ah, no! That would have been impossible. None must know that we have met!"
"Why?"