“Thank you. By the way,” I added, “do you happen to know who is the landlord of these houses?”
“Mr Epgrave, sir. He lives just there—that new-painted house at the corner;” and she pointed to the residence in question.
And with that information I re-entered the cab and drove back to the club.
So Madame was enjoying the war in Sicilian sunshine! Lucky old woman. I had only been back in London a week, and was already longing for warmth and brightness again.
That night, seated alone, trying to form some plan for the immediate future, I found myself suggesting a flying visit to Palermo. The Villa Igiea was a favourite hotel of mine, and I could there enjoy the winter warmth, and at the same time keep an eye upon the modest old lady of Toddington Terrace, who appeared to blossom forth into a wealthy countess whenever occasion required.
The idea grew upon me. Indeed, a fortnight later, constant traveller that I am, I ran from Paris to Naples in the “sixty,” with Garrett, and shipped the car over to Palermo, where I soon found myself idling in the big white and pale green lounge of the Igiea, wondering how best to get sight of Madame, who I had already ascertained, was at the Excelsior at the other end of the town, still passing as Countess Gemsenberg. The pretty Elise was with her, and my informant—an Italian—told me in confidence that the young Marquis Torquato Torrini, head of the well-known firm of Genoese shipowners who was staying in the hotel, was head over heels in love with her, and that engagement was imminent.
I heard this in silence. What, I wondered had become of the young Austrian millionaire, Hausner?
I, however, kept my own counsel, waited and watched. The Parson also turned up a couple of days later and started gossip and tea-drinking in the hotel. But, of course, we posed as strangers to each other.
The Igiea being the best hotel in Palermo and situated on the sea, the blue Mediterranean lapping the grey rocks at the end of the beautiful garden, it is the mode for people at other hotels to go there to tea, just as they go to the “Reserve,” at Beaulieu, or the Star and Garter at Richmond.
I therefore waited from day to day, expecting her to come there. Each day I pottered about in the car, but in vain.