“Yes, old boy?”
“I did a murder last night.”
“What?”
“It's the sort of thing that might happen to anybody. Directly Stella Vanderley broke off our engagement I——”
“Broke off your engagement? How long were you engaged?”
“About two minutes. It may have been less. I hadn't a stop-watch. I proposed to her at ten last night in the saloon. She accepted me. I was just going to kiss her when we heard someone coming. I went out. Coming along the corridor was that infernal what's-her-name—Mrs. Vanderley's maid—Pilbeam. Have you ever been accepted by the girl you love, Reggie?”
“Never. I've been refused dozens——”
“Then you won't understand how I felt. I was off my head with joy. I hardly knew what I was doing. I just felt I had to kiss the nearest thing handy. I couldn't wait. It might have been the ship's cat. It wasn't. It was Pilbeam.”
“You kissed her?”
“I kissed her. And just at that moment the door of the saloon opened and out came Stella.”
“Great Scott!”
“Exactly what I said. It flashed across me that to Stella, dear girl, not knowing the circumstances, the thing might seem a little odd. It did. She broke off the engagement, and I got out the dinghy and rowed off. I was mad. I didn't care what became of me. I simply wanted to forget. I went ashore. I—It's just on the cards that I may have drowned my sorrows a bit. Anyhow, I don't remember a thing, except that I can recollect having the deuce of a scrap with somebody in a dark street and somebody falling, and myself falling, and myself legging it for all I was worth. I woke up this morning in the Casino gardens. I've lost my hat.”
I dived for the paper.
“Read,” I said. “It's all there.”
He read.
“Good heavens!” he said.
“You didn't do a thing to His Serene Nibs, did you?”
“Reggie, this is awful.”
“Cheer up. They say he'll recover.”
“That doesn't matter.”
“It does to him.”
He read the paper again.
“It says they've a clue.”
“They always say that.”
“But—My hat!”
“Eh?”
“My hat. I must have dropped it during the scrap. This man, Denman Sturgis, must have found it. It had my name in it!”
“George,” I said, “you mustn't waste time. Oh!”
He jumped a foot in the air.
“Don't do it!” he said, irritably. “Don't bark like that. What's the matter?”
“The man!”
“What man?”
“A tall, thin man with an eye like a gimlet. He arrived just before you did. He's down in the saloon now, having breakfast. He said he wanted to see you on business, and wouldn't give his name. I didn't like the look of him from the first. It's this fellow Sturgis. It must be.”
“No!”
“I feel it. I'm sure of it.”
“Had he a hat?”
“Of course he had a hat.”
“Fool! I mean mine. Was he carrying a hat?”
“By Jove, he was carrying a parcel. George, old scout, you must get a move on. You must light out if you want to spend the rest of your life out of prison. Slugging a Serene Highness is lese-majeste. It's worse than hitting a policeman. You haven't got a moment to waste.”
“But I haven't any money. Reggie, old man, lend me a tenner or something. I must get over the frontier into Italy at once. I'll wire my uncle to meet me in——”
“Look out,” I cried; “there's someone coming!”
He dived out of sight just as Voules came up the companion-way, carrying a letter on a tray.
“What's the matter!” I said. “What do you want?”
“I beg your pardon, sir. I thought I heard Mr. Lattaker's voice. A letter has arrived for him.”
“He isn't here.”
“No, sir. Shall I remove the letter?”
“No; give it to me. I'll give it to him when he comes.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Oh, Voules! Are they all still at breakfast? The gentleman who came to see Mr. Lattaker? Still hard at it?”
“He is at present occupied with a kippered herring, sir.”
“Ah! That's all, Voules.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He retired. I called to George, and he came out.
“Who was it?”
“Only Voules. He brought a letter for you. They're all at breakfast still. The sleuth's eating kippers.”
“That'll hold him for a bit. Full of bones.” He began to read his letter. He gave a kind of grunt of surprise at the first paragraph.
“Well, I'm hanged!” he said, as he finished.
“Reggie, this is a queer thing.”
“What's that?”
He handed me the letter, and directly I started in on it I saw why he had grunted. This is how it ran:
“My dear George—I shall be seeing you to-morrow, I hope; but I
think it is better, before we meet, to prepare you for a curious
situation that has arisen in connection with the legacy which
your father inherited from your Aunt Emily, and which you are
expecting me, as trustee, to hand over to you, now that you have
reached your twenty-fifth birthday. You have doubtless heard
your father speak of your twin-brother Alfred, who was lost or
kidnapped—which, was never ascertained—when you were both
babies. When no news was received of him for so many years, it
was supposed that he was dead. Yesterday, however, I received a
letter purporting that he had been living all this time in Buenos
Ayres as the adopted son of a wealthy South American, and has
only recently discovered his identity. He states that he is on
his way to meet me, and will arrive any day now. Of course, like
other claimants, he may prove to be an impostor, but meanwhile
his intervention will, I fear, cause a certain delay before I can
hand over your money to you. It will be necessary to go into a
thorough examination of credentials, etc., and this will take
some time. But I will go fully into the matter with you when we
meet.—Your affectionate uncle,
“AUGUSTUS ARBUTT.”
I read it through twice, and the second time I had one of those ideas I do sometimes get, though admittedly a chump of the premier class. I have seldom had such a thoroughly corking brain-wave.
“Why, old top,” I said, “this lets you out.”
“Lets me out of half the darned money, if that's what you mean. If this chap's not an imposter—and there's no earthly reason to suppose he is, though I've never heard my father say a word about him—we shall have to split the money. Aunt Emily's will left the money to my father, or, failing him, his 'offspring.' I thought that meant me, but apparently there are a crowd of us. I call it rotten work, springing unexpected offspring on a fellow at the eleventh hour like this.”
“Why, you chump,” I said, “it's going to save you. This lets you out of your spectacular dash across the frontier. All you've got to do is to stay here and be your brother Alfred. It came to me in a flash.”
He looked at me in a kind of dazed way.
“You ought to be in some sort of a home, Reggie.”
“Ass!” I cried. “Don't you understand? Have you ever heard of twin-brothers who weren't exactly alike? Who's to say you aren't Alfred if you swear you are? Your uncle will be there to back you up that you have a brother Alfred.”
“And Alfred will be there to call me a liar.”
“He won't. It's not as if you had to keep it up for the rest of your life. It's only for an hour or two, till we can get this detective off the yacht. We sail for England to-morrow morning.”