As the young Italian had refused to give any satisfactory explanation, I
resolved within myself to wait until the unfortunate woman's body was
recovered before revealing to him the ghastly truth. Without doubt he
had some reason in withholding from me the true facts, either because he
feared that I might become unduly alarmed, or else he himself had been
deeply implicated in the plot. Of the two suggestions, I was inclined to
believe in the latter.
He walked with me as far as the end of Bishop's Road, endeavoring with
all the Italian's exquisite diplomacy to obtain from me what I knew
concerning the Leithcourts. But I told him nothing, nor did I reveal
that I had only that morning returned from Scotland. Then at last we
parted, and he retraced his steps to the little restaurant in Westbourne
Grove, while I entered a hansom and drove to the well-known
photographer's in New Bond Street, whose name had been upon the torn
photograph of the young girl in the white pique blouse and her hair
fastened with a bow of black ribbon, the picture that I had found on
board the _Lola_ on that memorable night in the Mediterranean, and a
duplicate of which I had seen in Muriel's cosy little room up at
Rannoch.
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