Langholm felt
inclined to take a cab at once to Severino's lodgings, there to relieve
his mind by a very plain expression of his opinion. But it was late; and
perhaps allowances should be made for a sick man with a passion as
hopeless as his bodily state; in any case he would sleep upon it first.
But there was no sleep for Charles Langholm that night, nor did the
thought of Severino enter his head again; it was suddenly swept aside
and as suddenly replaced by that of the man who was to fill the
novelist's mind for many a day.
Idly glancing up and down the autographed pages of the hotel register,
as his fingers half-mechanically turned leaf after leaf backward,
Langholm's eye had suddenly caught a name of late as familiar to him as
his own.
It was the name of John Buchanan Steel.
And the date was the date of the Minchin murder.
CHAPTER XXIII
DAWN
The hall-porter was only too ready for further chat. It was the dull
season, and this visitor was one of a variety always popular in the
quieter hotels; he was never above a pleasant word with the servants.
Yet the porter stared at Langholm as he approached.
Pages:
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278