Chapter 1

"ON THE LONG TRAIL."

The efforts of some people to convert what is purely a business errand into one of pleasure are rarely crowned with success, though there are times when the process can be inversed with some degree of profit. "An extreme busyness is an invariable sign of a deficient vitality." There never was a greater truth than that. Complete enjoyment of the picturesque argues the possession of a large capacity for dreaming and dawdling. One must, so to speak, supply one's own atmosphere, steep one's self in romance, acquaint one's self with the mystery of the past for the toning down of an all-too-obvious present. The successful pursuit of pleasure is every whit as arduous as the compilation of pounds, shillings, and pence. Nay, more so, because for every man who achieves the one, there are a thousand who achieve the other. True enjoyment is, of all prey, the most elusive--the most horribly tantalizing. You think you have it, and "heigh, presto!" the wily thing is "right about face," and grinning at you half a mile away! Call art a jealous mistress if you will. Pleasure is twin sister to her. She demands and will have, the absolute abandonment of you--all or nothing.

And so it was that neither Aldean nor Olive succeeded in extracting any pleasure out of their well-nigh meteoric flight to Florence. They could not give themselves up to the thing. Their object was ever before them, and they were conscious only of it and the hundred-and-one petty annoyances of a continental railway transit. They ate, they slept, they talked, they read--not for the sake of eating, talking, or reading, but merely to pass the time. They were acutely aware of an all-pervading mustiness, of the rumble of wheels, and of the fussy interference of various individuals terming themselves officers--customs and otherwise.

Each station seemed more draughty than the last, and with each mile it seemed to grow more cold. At last--in the early morning of the second day--they found themselves at the Florence Centrale, in a temperature and fog which would have done credit to the estuary of the Thames.

From Milan Aldean, ever practical, had telegraphed for rooms to the Hotel Magenta; and thither they proceeded in course of time, in what is known as an omnibus. A good breakfast, and both of them felt more at peace with themselves, though Olive had to give in and lie down for an hour or so. Aldean, whom nothing seemed to tire, shaved and bathed. He dressed himself in fresh clothes and felt as fresh as paint. (The simile was his own). Then, lighting a strong cigar--former experience had proved to him the luxury of tobacco in these parts--he took a brisk walk for the consideration of campaign details.

In a city of the size of Florence you have the disadvantage of being able to run up against your next-door neighbour half-a-dozen times a day. From the Via Tornabouni--haunted by forestieri--to the end of the Lung 'Arno or Cascine Gardens is no very great stretch, and here, in the Hyde Park of Florence, Aldean had a notion that his stroll might prove most profitable. Failing that--the gentleman of whom he was in search having no very pronounced artistic cravings--he argued that Giacoso's rather than the Duomo, the Gambrinus Bier Halle rather than the Uffizi should prove remunerative as a hunting ground. But nowhere had he any luck. Perchance it was that Messieurs Semberry and friend were resting for the moment. At all events, they showed no signs of life, and Aldean, having drawn blank, returned to the hotel.

Olive was up and waiting for him--sufficiently refreshed, she said, to get to business straight away. That their conversation might be unfettered--it was certain to revolve round the one topic--they lunched in a private room.

Aldean deplored his bad luck. "It's worse than looking for a needle in a haystack," he declared.

"Have you examined the visitors' list?" asked Olive.

"No--no use. Semberry only arrived yesterday. They require somewhat longer notice for these things in this part of the world. As to Carson--well, of course, he will not be known as Carson here, and for his other name we can hardly look, seeing we don't know it."

"What do you think is best to be done, then?"

"Well, Mrs. Carson," said Aldean, reflectively, "I think perhaps you had better stay in this afternoon. It might frighten these young birds did they happen to see you. They won't take so much notice of me; at all events, they would not be likely to connect me with the business. I'll walk round the town and keep my eyes open! Somewhere about five I'll drive in the Cascine. If they show anywhere it will probably be in the gardens."

"And if you do see them?"

"Oh, I'll keep them in sight, be sure. My next step then will depend upon what they say or do. Semberry I can manage by threatening to report his conduct at the War Office; but it will not be so easy to deal with Carson."

"I think it will," said Olive, scornfully. "The man is a poor, cowardly creature. You can terrorize him into obedience."

"In that case, I'll bring him here and let you deal with him. When we get the truth out of him I shall--let me see," mused Aldean, "did I promise Tui to kick him or drown him? One of the two, I'm sure."

"I almost despair of ever getting the money back," said Olive.

"Depends upon what he has done with it. I expect we shall have to get him arrested, after all, and prove that he has annexed that fifty thousand pounds under false pretences. The British Consul will help me in all that. In the mean time I'll bring him here if I can."

Olive agreed that this seemed about the most feasible line of action. She remained at home--glad indeed of the opportunity for rest--while her coadjutor cast around for the trail. But in all his peregrinations Jim caught no glimpse of those he was in search of. In no very good temper he hailed a carriage and drove to the Cascine Gardens. His last hope lay in that direction.

"If I don't see them here," he grumbled, "there's no chance of coming across them to-night. I dare say I shall have to persuade the Consul to take up the matter, after all."

As the wretched vettura bumped over the pavement of the Lung 'Arno, Aldean scanned the faces of the chattering and gesticulating crowd. The sun was dying in splendour over Bello Sguardo Hill. The river--yet to be swollen by its winter rains--caught up the golden light, and spread it over its vast gravel bed. To the green avenue of the Cascine a variety of carriages, from the springless conveyance of the streets to the imposing equipage emblazoned with armorial bearings commensurate in size only with the age of the families they represented, were hurrying there to parade between the mounted gendarmes at either end. These latter were quite admirable in their capacity of ornate signposts. Aldean found plenty to amuse him, but still there was no sign of either fugitive. His patience was beginning to show signs of wear, though there was no one to observe them but the cocchiere, and he was impervious to everything of that nature. Just then he became conscious of a man and a woman talking and laughing together in a smart green victoria. They were travelling in the same direction as himself, and, as they passed him, he noticed the coachman was in livery. With something like a sigh of relief Aldean leaned forward to instruct his man to follow--a somewhat difficult task to him, for his Italian was none of the best in his calmest of moments.

"Cocchiere! Carozza! la carozza verdi, subito, presto." The Italian jehu nodded and cracked his whip. At the same moment the green victoria was stopped in the crowd. In another moment he would have been alongside. "No, no!" shouted Aldean, laying his hand on the man's arm. The bewildered cocchiere pulled up. Then Carson's carriage began to move out of the throng. "Si! Si!" cried Aldean, in answer to the interrogative aspect of his coachman. "Adagio! piano! slow, you fool!"

Jim's driver became suddenly inspired. He caught sight of a lady in the green carriage. He was evidently driving a jealous husband bent upon the spoliation of an intrigue. This appealed to him in every way. With the greatest skill he kept in the rear of Carson's vehicle, and turned only to hold up his five fingers twice. "Dieci lire!" he said, as his inspirations--now aspirations--took definite shape.

"Si! si! venti lire si vi piace! adagio! comprenez? Parlezvous Francais? non! ah quelle dommage. Allez! piano! Go slow, you ass!" Thus did Aldean frantically endeavour to make himself clear. But those two words, "venti lire," had done their work, and Jim congratulated himself on his linguistic attainments. "Easier job than I thought," he said to himself. "I'll stick to Carson till I catch him. The brute! he doesn't know I am at his tail. Gigglin' and laughin' with that girl--hang him! hang her! hang 'em both!"

By this time it was getting dark, and people were beginning to leave the Cascine for dinner. Quite ignorant that he was being followed, Carson, in the highest spirits, drove along the Lung 'Arno, and in a short time his carriage turned into the Piazza Santa Trinita, where it stopped before the door of the Hotel du Sud, opposite to the column. Clara and her friend alighted and disappeared into the hotel. Aldean jumped down, and, bidding the coachman to wait, ran up the steps in mortal terror lest he should miss them. The concierge--a vision of gold lace and moustache--advanced with a smile, and in French begged to know what Monsieur might require.

"I want to see the lady and gentleman who have just come in," replied Aldean, in the same language.

"Signor and Signora Boldini," said the man. "Assuredly, Monsieur; they are on the first floor. Shall I present the card of Monsieur?"

"There is no necessity. Take me upstairs and show me the room; Signor Boldini expects me," said Aldean, making the best excuse he could think of at the moment.

"In that case, I shall conduct Monsieur with pleasure," replied the gold-laced personage, in his magnificent way. "Will Monsieur give himself the trouble to ascend?"

Monsieur did, and was speedily ushered into a gilded and ornate salon. In Italian the man announced that a gentleman desired to see Signor Boldini. He closed the door, leaving Aldean face to face with Carson.

Clara paled somewhat as she recognized the visitor, but she kept her head. She evidently meant to see things through. Carson shrank back at the sight of Aldean as though expectant of a blow, and collapsed into a chair nerveless and terrified. Jim looked on grimly.

"Well, Mr. Carson," he said, in no very amiable tone, "you have given me a considerable amount of trouble. What have you to say for yourself?"

"What need he say?" cried Clara, seeing that her accomplice was incapable of speech. "How dare you come in here uninvited, Lord Aldean?"

"Dare is not a word, young woman, that I am accustomed to hear from domestic servants."

"I am no servant," replied Clara, with a flash of anger.

"Thought not," said Jim, coolly. "I never believed you were, but I hardly expected to find that your real profession was that of spy."

"A spy, a spy! What do you mean?"

"Oh, I think you know pretty well. The report you made to your uncle Jeremiah was the work of a spy."

"My uncle!" gasped Clara, steadying herself by the table. "Yes; your uncle. I know all about him, so does Mr. Mallow, so does Miss Bellairs."

"My wife?" murmured Carson, speaking for the first time.

"Oh, you have found your tongue at last, have you?" cried Jim, striding over to the trembling coward. "I wonder why I don't throw you out of the window."

"This violence--this insult----" panted the man.

"Oh, don't be afraid; I'm not going to make a mess of you just yet. How dare you call Miss Bellairs your wife?"

"I--I was married to her."

"You were--under a false name, to rob her of her money. Perhaps you are not aware that such a marriage is void. Miss Bellairs is not your wife; her money is not yours. I am going to give you the chance of handing it over. Take it, or go to gaol like the swindler you are."

"How dare you call him a swindler?" said Clara, savagely.

"Because I like to call things by their right names. It's a case of speaking by the book. I know all about your Anarchist schemes, and Madame Death-in-Life, Drabble, Rouge, and all the rest of the gang. However, I didn't come here to waste breath on either of you. You come along with me, Carson, or Boldini, or whatever else you choose to call yourself."

"Where do you want me to go?" whimpered the wretched creature, looking up at the towering figure of Aldean.

"To my hotel. Come along, up with you!"

Clara dashed to the bell. "I'll call the landlord and have you turned out!" she said viciously. "You can't bully us!"

"Don't want to. Sorry if I'm not conducting the business according to etiquette. You know more about this sort of thing than I do. Ring the bell by all means, and I'll have up the police. Ring; go on."

"No, no, Clara, don't!" shrieked Boldini, leaping out of his chair at the mention of the police. "He knows too much."

"Hold your tongue," said the woman, between her teeth. "He can prove nothing, you fool."

"The police can judge of that," replied Aldean, quietly. "Ring."

But Miss Trall did not ring. She knew better. She recognized that whatever he might know, Lord Aldean knew quite enough to make the intervention of the police unpleasant. The game was up, she saw plainly. So reluctantly she yielded.

"We can do all that is to be done here," said she, sullenly, fighting every inch.

"I'm afraid not," answered Jim, suavely. "My hotel is the best place. There's a cab waiting." Then, seeing that Clara was still irresolute, he took out his watch. "I'll give you just two minutes."

Clara moved slowly across the room to where Boldini sat in sheer terror. "What shall we do?" she asked, in a low voice.

"Go, go," moaned the man. "We must go; perhaps we can make terms."

Aldean overheard the remark. "It is my right to make terms," he said, "and I make these. Give back the money; confess the whole conspiracy, and you can go where you will."

For a moment or two the pair looked at one another. Clara bent forward and whispered something in Boldini's ear. He nodded, and a gleam of hope passed across his face as he rose, holding a handkerchief to his mouth.

"We are ready to go with you," said Clara, turning towards Aldean.

"Very good. Come on."