"Oh, I don't know. Somebody brought him to mess, and we struck up an
acquaintance across the table. He seemed a good chap, and when he asked
me to shoot I accepted. On arrival up at Rannoch, however, one thing
struck me as jolly strange, and that was that among the people I was
asked to meet was one of the very worst blacklegs about town. He called
himself Martin Woodroffe up there--although I'd known him at the old
Corinthian Club as Dick Archer. He was believed then to be one of a
clever gang of international thieves."
"When I first met him he gave me the name of Hornby," I said. "It was in
Leghorn, where he was on board a yacht called the _Lola_, of which he
represented himself as owner."
"He left Rannoch very suddenly," remarked Bartlett. "We understood that
he was engaged to marry Muriel. If so, I'm sorry for her, poor girl."
"What!" cried Durnford, starting up. "That man to marry Muriel
Leithcourt?"
"Yes," I said. "Why?"
But his countenance had turned pale, and he gave no answer to my
question.
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