He was nowhere in sight, but I could hear his voice, several voices,
talking together at the far end. No doubt he had joined his friends in
their compartment, and the moment seemed opportune to visit his. It
was next to mine, and the door stood invitingly open. A few minutes,
seconds even, would be enough to tell me something of his identity,
perhaps all I wanted to.
At least he made no pretence at mystery; his light baggage lay about,
a dressing bag, a roll of rugs, a couple of sticks and an umbrella
strapped together, all very neat and precise and respectable, and all
alike furnished with a parchment tag or label bearing in plain
language all that I wanted to know.
His name was printed "Lieut.-Col. Basil Annesley," and his club, the
Mars and Neptune, that famous military house in Piccadilly.
Underneath, on all, his destination was written, "Hotel Bellevue,
Bellagio, Como." There could never be the least difficulty in finding
this person if I wanted him, as I thought likely. He was a blustering,
swashbuckling army officer, who could always be brought to account if
he misconducted himself, or mixed himself up in shady transactions.
Pages:
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57