“Oh, got a bit sick of travelling, you know,” I laughed, “so I simply came back, that’s all. They can give me a room here, I hear, so I’ll stay.”
“You’ll stay here till you go away again, eh?” my friend laughed, for he knew what an erratic wanderer I was.
I sat on the edge of the bed and chatted to him while he shaved and dressed.
While we breakfasted together in his sitting-room he suddenly said:—
“There was a fellow here the other day making inquiries regarding our dead Italian friend.”
“Oh, what was he? A detective?”
“No. I don’t think so. Miss Gilbert referred him to me. He was a thin-faced, clean-shaven chap, and gave his name as Gordon-Wright.”
“Gordon-Wright!” I gasped, starting to my feet. “Has that fellow been here? What did you tell him?”
“Well, I told him nothing that he wanted to know. I didn’t care about him, somehow, so I treated him to a few picturesque fictions,” Sammy laughed.
“You didn’t tell him that the dead man was Nardini?”