By a curious coincidence, as he was turning out of Half Moon Street the next morning, he met the one man in the world he did not wish to see. Fortunately, Lew had taken his suitcase on to the station, and there was nothing in Mr. Ravini’s appearance to suggest that he was setting forth on an affair of gallantry.
Mr. Reeder looked at the man’s diamonds glittering in the daylight. They seemed to exercise a peculiar fascination on the detective.
“The luck still holds, Giorgio,” he said, and Georgio smiled complacently. “And whither do you go on this beautiful September morning? To bank your nefarious gains, or to get a quick visa to your passport?”
“Strolling round,” said Ravini airily. “Just taking a little constitutional.” And then, with a spice of mischief: “What’s happened to that busy you were putting on to tail me up? I haven’t seen him.”
Mr. Reeder looked past him to the distance.
“He has never been far from you, Giorgio,” he said gently. “He followed you from the Flotsam last night to that peculiar little party you attended in Maida Vale, and he followed you home at 2:15 a.m.”
Giorgio’s jaw dropped.
“You don’t mean he’s—” He looked round. The only person visible was a benevolent-looking man who might have been a doctor, from his frock coat and top hat.
“That’s not him?” frowned Ravini.
“ ‘He,’ ” corrected Mr. Reeder. “Your English is not yet perfect.”
Ravini did not leave London immediately. It was two o’clock before he had shaken off the watcher, and five minutes later he was on the Southern Express. The same old cabman who had brought Margaret Belman to Larmes Keep carried him up the long, winding hill road through the broad gates to the front of the house, and deposited him under the portico. An elderly porter, in a smart, well-fitting uniform, came out to greet the stranger.
“Mr.—”
“Ravini,” said that gentleman. “I haven’t booked a room.”
The porter shook his head.
“I’m afraid we have no accommodation,” he said. “Mr. Daver makes it a rule not to take guests unless they’ve booked their rooms in advance. I will see the secretary.”
Ravini followed him into the spacious hall and sat down on one of the beautiful chairs. This, he decided, was something outside the usual run of boarding houses. It was luxurious even for a hotel. No other guests were visible. Presently he heard a step on the flagged floor and rose to meet the eyes of Margaret Belman. Though they were unfriendly, she betrayed no sign of recognition. He might have been the veriest stranger.
“The proprietor makes it a rule not to accept guests without previous correspondence,” she said. “In those circumstances, I am afraid we cannot offer you accommodation.”
“I’ve already written to the proprietor,” said Ravini, never at a loss for a glib lie. “Go along, young lady, be a sport and see what you can do for me.”
Margaret hesitated. Her own inclination was to order his suitcase to be put in the waiting cab; but she was part of the organization of the place, and she could not let her private prejudices interfere with her duties.
“Will you wait?” she said, and went in search of Mr. Daver.
That great criminologist was immersed in a large book and looked up over his horn-rimmed spectacles.
“Ravini? A foreign gentleman? Of course he is. A stranger within our gate, as you would say. It is very irregular, but in the circumstances—yes, I think so.”
“He isn’t the type of man you ought to have here, Mr. Daver,” she said firmly. “A friend of mine who knows these people says he is a member of the criminal classes.”
Mr. Daver’s ludicrous eyebrows rose.
“The criminal classes! What an extraordinary opportunity to study, as it were, at first hand! You agree? I knew you would! Let him stay. If he bores me, I will send him away.”
Margaret went back, a little disappointed, feeling rather foolish, if the truth be told. She found Ravini waiting, caressing his moustache, a little less assured than he had been when she had left him.
“Mr. Daver says you may stay. I will send the housekeeper to you,” she said, and went in search of Mrs. Burton and gave that doleful woman the necessary instructions.
She was angry with herself that she had not been more explicit in dealing with Mr. Daver. She might have told him that if Ravini stayed she would leave. She might even have explained the reason why she did not wish the Italian to remain in the house. She was in the fortunate position, however, that she had not to see the guests unless they expressed a wish to interview her, and Ravini was too wise to pursue his advantage.
That night, when she went to her room, she sat down and wrote a long letter to Mr. Reeder, but thought better of it and tore it up. She could not run to J. G. Reeder every time she was annoyed. He had a sufficiency of trouble, she decided, and here she was right. Even as she wrote, Mr. Reeder was examining with great interest the spring gun which had been devised for his destruction.
VI
To do Ravini justice, he made no attempt to approach the girl, though she had seen him at a distance. The second day after his arrival, he had passed her on the lawn with no more than a nod and a smile, and indeed he seemed to have found another diversion, if not another objective, for he was scarcely away from Olga Crewe’s side. Margaret saw them in the evening, leaning over the cliff wall, and George Ravini seemed remarkably pleased with himself. He was exhibiting his famous luck stones to Olga. Margaret saw her examine the rings and evidently made some remark upon them which sent Ravini into fits of laughter.
It was on the third day of his stay that
