XVIII
Whether it was that my fancies pursued me to the inn, or that Vane-Cartwright’s words had unconsciously impressed me, I took and have retained a great dislike to the gentleman who was just arriving at the inn. He came, as he said, for dry-fly fishing, but his accent and his looks showed him to be native to a land where dry fly-fishing is, I believe, not practised. He was near me and about me several times in the course of that day, and though he molested me in no way, my dislike deepened. It was now near midday and I contemplated taking no further step till evening, so I had plenty of time for thought, and I needed it. It may be imagined that I was in a state of some tension. I had rested little since I left Vane-Cartwright’s hotel at Florence, and on arriving at the inn I had news which increased my agitation. My wife had telegraphed to my home saying she had gone for a day or two to the Hôtel de Brunswick, saying also, that I must pay no attention to any wire, purporting to be from her, which did not contain the word “Fidele.” Evidently there was someone in Florence whom she suspected would send false messages. I conjectured that Vane-Cartwright had an understanding with the Mafia, and had obtained through them the services of some villain. Well, here was a wire: “Regret to acquaint respected sir, Mrs. Driver suddenly unwell.—Direttore Hôtel Brunswick.”
There is one advantage about being tired. It prevents the mind from wandering away on so many side tracks. But with all that advantage, whatever it may be worth, it took me a full half-hour to make up my mind how to regard this; but I came back to my first impulse, not on the first occasion to disregard what my wife herself had undoubtedly telegraphed.
On the other main points I may acquit myself of having wavered, and I will not mystify the reader more than I mystified myself. I had not the faintest doubt that Vane-Cartwright’s suggestion about the Trethewy family, whatever its object might be, was a well-acted lie. However, I determined to follow the suggestion to some extent. I got hold of the landlord; he was all that Vane-Cartwright had said, and on a very slight hint he began talking of the Long Wilton murder and of the charge against Trethewy. I was disgusted to find that suspicion had followed the people here. It was not clearly to Vane-Cartwright’s interest that it should follow them, and I suppose it was accident. I found that the landlord was well posted as to Trethewy’s story and all the proceedings in regard to him. As he went on hinting suspicion of him, I said it was a curious thing about those tracks. “Ah,” said he, “little feet can wear big shoes;” and he looked wise. “About that lass now of Trethewy’s, not but what I like the lass,” he was continuing after a solemn interval, but I need not try to repeat his talk. The upshot of the suggestion was simply this, that the girl had stepped out in her father’s boots and made the tracks, knowing full well that she could ensure the detection of the false tracks hereafter, but for which of two reasons rumour was not certain. Either it was really to fasten false suspicion on her father till the guilty man, a lover of hers presumably, made good his escape; or her father had committed the crime, and she knew it, and to save him had fabricated against him evidence which he and she knew would be broken down.
It was not a likely story to tell to me, and I was inclined now, not for the first time, to be thankful that however great a fool I might be, I looked a greater fool than I was. By putting me up to eliciting this story, Vane-Cartwright had merely supplied me with knowledge
