Poor fellow, I thought, she would never again be able to startle him.  She had actually fallen a victim just as he dreaded.

“Then you think she must have been called away from home by some urgent message?” I suggested.

“By the manner in which she left things, it seemed as though she went away hurriedly.  There were five sovereigns in a drawer that we had saved for the rent, and she took them with her.”

I paused again, hesitating whether to tell him the terrible truth.  I recollected that the body had disappeared, therefore what proof had I of my allegation that she had been murdered?

“Tell me, Olinto,” I said as we moved forward again in the direction of Paddington Station, “have you any knowledge of a man named Leithcourt?”

He started suddenly and looked at me.

“I have heard of him,” he answered very lamely.

“And of his daughter—­Muriel?”

“And also of her.  But I am not acquainted with them—­nor, to tell the truth, do I wish to be.”

“Why?”

“Because they are enemies of mine—­bitter enemies.”

His declaration was strange, for it threw some light upon the tragedy in Rannoch Wood.

“And of your wife also?”

“I do not know that,” he responded.  “My enemies are my wife’s also, I suppose.”

“You have not told me the secret of that dastardly attempt upon me when we last met,” I said in a low voice.  “Why not tell me the truth?  I surely ought to know who my enemies really are, so as to be warned against any future plot.”

“You shall know some day, signore.  I dare not tell you now.”

“You said that before,” I exclaimed with dissatisfaction.  “If you are faithful to me, you ought at least to tell me the reason they wished to kill me in secret.”

“Because they fear you,” was his answer.

“Why should they fear me?”

But he shrugged his shoulders, and made a gesture with his hands indicative of utter ignorance.

“I ask you one question.  Answer yes or no.  Is the man Leithcourt my enemy?”

The young Italian paused, and then answered: 

“He is not your friend.  I am quite well aware of that.”

“And his daughter?  She is engaged, I hear.”

“I think so.”

“Where did you first meet Leithcourt?”

“I have known him several years.  When we first met he was poor.”

“Suddenly became rich—­eh?”

“Bought a fine house in the country; lives mostly at the Carlton when he and his wife and daughter are in London—­although I believe they now have a house somewhere in the West End—­and he often makes long cruises on his steam-yacht.”

“And how did he make his money?”

Again Olinto elevated his shoulders, without replying.

If he would only betray to me the reason he had been induced to entice me to that house, I might then be able to form some conclusion regarding the tenants of Rannoch and their friends.