“Let me introduce Captain Whiteclett—Mr. Hobhouse,” said the doctor.
He and the stranger had already begun dinner, and Commander Whiteclett rose and bowed politely. Mr. Hobhouse bowed still more politely and having the advantage of being at the doctor’s back for the moment, was able to embellish his low obeisance with several curious facial expressions. The Commander at the same moment was attacked with a sharp bout of coughing, but presently recovering, the meal proceeded very pleasantly.
It appeared that Commander Whiteclett was visiting the island in the course of a tour of inspection, and having some acquaintance with the doctor had dropped in for lunch. He seemed pleased to meet Mr. Hobhouse and was as affable as naval officers always are, though every now and then it might have been noticed by a very close observer that after meeting that gentleman’s eye, he showed a tendency to stare suddenly out of the window for several moments. Mr. Hobhouse on his part was in his most gushing humour, and in fact chatted almost continuously through the meal.
As they passed out of the dining room ahead of the doctor, the two guests exchanged a whisper, and about quarter of an hour later Mr. Hobhouse declared that he must set forth and resume his antiquarian researches, and effusively bade the Commander goodbye. Thereupon the Commander said he also must be off and wondered in which direction his fellow guest was walking. It chanced that they were both going the same way and so they departed together.
“Well, you ridiculous looking dipsomaniac, how do you like water for dinner?” enquired the Commander when they were safely out of earshot.
“It lies cold on the tummy,” said I, “and if you’ve brought a flask, Jack—”
“I have,” said my cousin, “but wait a bit till there are no witnesses. And by the way, old chap, I must tell you that you’re a d⸺d good actor.”
“My photograph has appeared in the Tatler” I confessed.
“And what news?” he asked.
“Up till this morning I should have said ‘none.’ My dear Jack, it has been the most hopelessly baffling business you can possibly imagine. I think I am quite a success as an alcoholic patient, and also accepted by this time as the typical harmless antiquary. So I am able to wander all over the place and talk to everybody, but there has been nothing to take hold of! I have seen no sign of anything happening—” I caught his eye and asked quickly, “Has anything happened?”
He nodded.
“Signalling night before last and a submarine seen yesterday that we suspect of having been here.”
“Under my nose!” I groaned. “A fat lot of good I am!”
“My dear chap, you can’t possibly watch the whole coast all night and every night. This time the signals were seen from the sea as a matter of fact. But you can note the night, and also the hour, which was 2:45 a.m., G.M.T., as near as I can make out from the report. By the way, you had better set your watch by mine now while we remember. Possibly you may be able to discover who was out at that hour night before last.”
“I may, but it’s a thousand to one against it. Give me a thousand such chances, and I’ll get him! That’s just about how it seems to work out so far.”
“Haven’t you got any new ideas?”
“Without new evidence, what new ideas can one get? And I only got my first piece of evidence this morning. In fact, I haven’t had time to think it over yet.”
“Let’s hear it,” said my cousin keenly.
“I have been on the track of that old boy with spectacles, as being the only definite thing to look for so far. I did what Bolton did—went to see every old man in the place, and this morning I polished off the last of them and came to the same conclusion as he did. There is no such old gentleman on the island. But there was one, for a short time one morning; and he was a fake like Thomas Sylvester Hobhouse; and this morning I’ve heard of someone else who saw him!”
“By Gad!” exclaimed my cousin. “That sounds like the beginning of business.”
“Only the beginning, I’m afraid. This morning I interview my last old man—to find of course he wasn’t the fellow I was after. I interviewed him on the usual subject—ancient traditions of the island, and from that we passed on to the latest tradition, the legend of the mysterious visitor last August. He told me all about it, with many embellishments. However he was shrewd enough not to believe all he heard, and to show me what absurd stories are put about, he informed me that his own small granddaughter, aged six, had declared that she had seen the mysterious visitor, only she described him as having a white beard and funny spectacles. I asked him exactly where this phenomenon had been observed, and by Jingo, Jack, it was at the very place I met him; only when she saw him he had left the road and was hurrying down to the sea. She described him as running, which finally demolished her reputation for truthfulness, for as her grandfather observed, men of his age don’t run. But that was my friend right enough!”
“Heading for the sea?”
“For the beach, I take it. You see you can pop over the edge almost anywhere along that shore, and get out of sight among the rocks in a moment. I presume he squatted down there, pocketed his spectacles and beard, took off his disreputable overcoat, and either hid it or possibly pinned up the skirts and put it on under his other coat, and walked off looking like—well, that’s the rub, what did he look like then? And that’s just where I seem no forrader.”
“Still, this is something.”
“Yes, and I suppose we ought to deduce something more from the episode. I’ve
