“I hope you will soon be all right and that you will enjoy your visit to our Tuscany,” he said very pleasantly. “Florence is very full of visitors just now. Are you remaining long?”
“I really can’t tell,” was my reply. “My business in London may recall me at any time.”
Then I thanked him for his visit, and remarked that if the mixture gave me no relief I would probably call upon him.
Indeed, it was for this latter reason that I had called him in. By making his acquaintance in that manner I would, I saw, excite no suspicion, and I hoped to be able to meet the girl who was apparently under his charge.
While I had been consulting him I noticed that he seemed a man of curious moods. At one moment his dark countenance was sullen and sinister, while at the next his face broadened into an expression of easy-going bonhomie. He spoke English extremely well, and was apparently a man of considerable taste and refinement. Truly, the situation was so puzzling that I was bewildered.
After he had gone, I re-dressed myself and went across to the Gambrinus, where I had an appointment with Robertson.
I found him seated alone at a table in the corner awaiting me.
“Well?” he said, “I’ve got that address for you, Mr. Garfield—the address of Miss Thurston,” and he handed me a slip of paper upon which was written: Miss Rose Thurston, Cedar Cottage, Overstrand, Norfolk.
“But I thought you said she lived near Detroit?” I remarked.