“Of course I do! … He’s been with me for ten years! … But Edwards goes to lunch at the same time that we do; and that’s a mistake. He must not go down, in future, until we come back.”
Chapman gave a slight shrug of the shoulders. There was no doubt about it, the Lord of the Cape was becoming a trifle eccentric, with those incomprehensible fears of his. What risk can you run in an hotel, especially when you carry no valuables, no important sum of money on you or with you?
They heard the hall-door opening. It was Edwards. Mr. Kesselbach called him:
“Are you dressed, Edwards? Ah, that’s right! … I am expecting no visitors today, Edwards … or, rather, one visitor only, M. Gourel. Meantime, remain in the lobby and keep an eye on the door. Mr. Chapman and I have some serious work to do.”
The serious work lasted for a few minutes, during which Mr. Kesselbach went through his correspondence, read three or four letters and gave instructions how they were to be answered. But, suddenly, Chapman, waiting with pen poised, saw that Mr. Kesselbach was thinking of something quite different from his correspondence. He was holding between his fingers and attentively examining a pin, a black pin bent like a fishhook:
“Chapman,” he said, “look what I’ve found on the table. This bent pin obviously means something. It’s a proof, a material piece of evidence. You can’t pretend now that no one has been in the room. For, after all, this pin did not come here of itself.”
“Certainly not,” replied the secretary. “It came here through me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, it’s a pin which I used to fasten my tie to my collar. I took it out last night, while you were reading, and I twisted it mechanically.”
Mr. Kesselbach rose from his chair, with a great air of vexation, took a few steps and stopped.
“You’re laughing at me, Chapman, I feel you are … and you’re quite right. … I won’t deny it, I have been rather … odd, since my last journey to the Cape. It’s because … well … you don’t know the new factor in my life … a tremendous plan … a huge thing … I can only see it, as yet, in the haze of the future … but it’s taking shape for all that … and it will be something colossal. … Ah, Chapman, you can’t imagine. … Money I don’t care a fig for: I have money, I have too much money. … But this, this means a great deal more; it means power, might, authority. If the reality comes up to my expectations, I shall be not only Lord of the Cape, but lord of other realms as well. … Rudolf Kesselbach, the son of the Augsburg ironmonger, will be on a par with many people who till now have looked down upon him. … He will even take precedence of them, Chapman; he will, take precedence of them, mark my words … and, if ever I …”
He interrupted himself, looked at Chapman as though he regretted having said too much and, nevertheless, carried away by his excitement, concluded:
“You now understand the reasons of my anxiety, Chapman. … Here, in this brain, is an idea that is worth a great deal … and this idea is suspected perhaps … and I am being spied upon. … I’m convinced of it. …”
A bell sounded.
“The telephone,” said Chapman.
“Could it,” muttered Kesselbach, “by any chance be … ?” He took down the instrument. “Hullo! … Who? The Colonel? Ah, good! Yes, it’s I. … Any news? … Good! … Then I shall expect you. … You will come with one of your men? Very well. … What? No, we shan’t be disturbed. … I will give the necessary orders. … It’s as serious as that, is it? … I tell you, my instructions will be positive … my secretary and my man shall keep the door; and no one shall be allowed in. … You know the way, don’t you? … Then don’t lose a minute.”
He hung up the receiver and said:
“Chapman, there are two gentlemen coming. Edwards will show them in. …”
“But M. Gourel … the detective-sergeant. … ?”
“He will come later … in an hour. … And, even then, there’s no harm in their meeting. So send Edwards down to the office at once, to tell them. I am at home to nobody … except two gentlemen, the Colonel and his friend, and M. Gourel. He must make them take down the names.”
Chapman did as he was asked. When he returned to the room, he found Mr. Kesselbach holding in his hand an envelope, or, rather, a little pocket-case, in black morocco leather, apparently empty. He seemed to hesitate, as though he did not know what to do with it. Should he put it in his pocket or lay it down elsewhere? At last he went to the mantelpiece and threw the leather envelope into his traveling-bag:
“Let us finish the mail, Chapman. We have ten minutes left. Ah, a letter from Mrs. Kesselbach! Why didn’t you tell me of it, Chapman? Didn’t you recognize the handwriting?”
He made no attempt to conceal the emotion which he felt in touching and contemplating that paper which his wife had held in her fingers and to which she had added a look of her eyes, an atom of her scent, a suggestion of her secret thoughts. He inhaled its perfume and, unsealing it, read the letter slowly in an undertone, in fragments that reached Chapman’s ears:
“Feeling a little tired. … Shall keep my room today. … I feel so bored. … When can I come to you? I am longing for your wire. …”
“You telegraphed this morning, Chapman? Then Mrs. Kesselbach will be here tomorrow, Wednesday.”
He seemed quite gay, as though the weight of his business had been suddenly relieved and he freed from all anxiety. He rubbed his hands and heaved a deep breath, like a strong man certain of success, like a lucky man who possessed happiness and who was big enough to defend himself.
“There’s someone ringing, Chapman, someone ringing at the hall door. Go and see who it is.”
But Edwards entered and said:
“Two gentlemen asking for you, sir. They are the
