Chapter 2

That day was an active one in Questura, or police office, of Leghorn.

Detectives called, examined the safe, and sagely declared it to be
burglar-proof, had not the thieves possessed the key. The Foreign Office
knew that, for they supply all the safes to the Consulates abroad, in
order that the precious ciphers shall be kept from the prying eyes of
foreign spies. The Questore, or chief of police, was of opinion that it
was the ciphers of which the thieves had been in search, and was much
relieved to hear that they were in safekeeping far away in Downing
Street.

His conjecture was the same as my own, namely, that the reason of
Hornby's call upon me was to ascertain the situation of the Consulate
and the whereabouts of the safe, which, by the way, stood in a corner of
the Consul's private room. Captain Mackintosh, too, had taken his
bearings, and probably while I sat at dinner on board the _Lola_ my keys
had been stolen and passed on to the scarred Scotsman, who had promptly
gone ashore and ransacked the place while I had remained with his master
smoking and unsuspicious.

But what was the motive? Why had they ransacked all those confidential
papers?

My own idea was that they were not in search of the ciphers at all, but
either wanted some blank form or other, or else they desired to make use
of the Consular seal. The latter, however, still remained on the floor
near the safe, as though it had rolled out and been left unheeded. As
far as Francesco and I could ascertain, nothing whatever had been taken.
Therefore, we re-arranged the papers, re-locked the safe and resolved
not to telegraph to Hutcheson and unduly disturb him, as in a few days
he would return from England, and there would be time enough then to
explain the remarkable story.

One fact, however, we established. The detective on duty at the railway
station distinctly recollected a thin middle-aged man, accompanied by a
lady in deep black, passing the barrier and entering the train which
left at three o'clock for Colle Salvetti to join the Rome express. They
were foreigners, therefore he did not take the same notice of them as
though they had been Italians. Inquiries at the booking-office showed,
however, that no passengers had booked direct to Rome by the train in
question. To Grossetto, Cecina, Campiglia, and the other places in the
Maremma, passengers had taken tickets, but not one had been booked to
any of the great towns. Therefore it was apparent that the mysterious
pair who had come ashore just prior to the sailing of the yacht had
merely taken tickets for a false destination, and had re-booked at Colle
Salvetti, the junction with that long main line which connects Genoa
with Rome.

The police were puzzled. The two fishermen who sighted the _Lola_ and
first gave the alarm of her danger, declared that when they drew
alongside and proffered assistance the captain threatened to shoot the
first man who came aboard.

"They were English!" remarked the sturdy, brown-faced toilers of the
sea, grinning knowingly. "And the English, when they drink their cognac,
know not what they do."

"Did you get any reward for returning to harbor and reporting?" I
asked.

"Reward!" echoed one of the men, the elder of the pair. "Not a soldo!
The English only cursed us for interfering. That is why we believed that
they were trying to make away with the vessel."

The description of the _Lola_, its owner, his guest, and the captain
were circulated by the police to all the Mediterranean ports, with a
request that the yacht should be detained. Yet if the vessel were really
one of mystery, as it seemed to be, its owner would no doubt go across
to some quiet anchorage on the Algerian coast out of the track of the
vessels, and calmly proceed to repaint, rename and disguise his craft so
that it would not be recognized in Marseilles, Naples, Smyrna, or any of
the ports where private yachts habitually call. Thus, from the very
first, it seemed to me that Hornby and his friends had very cleverly
tricked me for some mysterious purpose, and afterwards ingeniously
evaded their watchers and got clean away.

Had the Italian Admiral been able to send a torpedo-boat or two after
the fugitives they would no doubt soon have been overhauled, yet
circumstances had prevented this and the _Lola_ had consequently
escaped.

For purposes of their own the police kept the affair out of the papers,
and when Frank Hutcheson stepped out of the sleeping-car from Paris on
to the platform at Pisa a few nights afterwards, I related to him the
extraordinary story.

"The scoundrels wanted these, that's evident," he responded, holding up
the small, strong, leather hand-bag he was carrying, and which contained
his jealously-guarded ciphers. "By Jove!" he laughed, "how disappointed
they must have been!"

"It may be so," I said, as we entered the midnight train for Leghorn.
"But my own theory is that they were searching for some paper or other
that you possess."

"What can my papers concern them?" exclaimed the jovial, round-faced
Consul, a man whose courtesy is known to every skipper trading up and
down the Mediterranean, and who is perhaps one of the most cultured and
popular men in the British Consular Service. "I don't keep bank notes in
that safe, you know. We fellows in the Service don't roll in gold as our
public at home appears to think."

"No. But you may have something in there which might be of value to
them. You're often the keeper of valuable documents belonging to
Englishmen abroad, you know."

"Certainly. But there's nothing in there just now except, perhaps, the
registers of births, marriages and deaths of British subjects, and the
papers concerning a Board of Trade inquiry. No, my dear Gordon, depend
upon it that the yacht running ashore was all a blind. They did it so as
to be able to get the run of the Consulate, secure the ciphers, and sail
merrily away with them. It seems to me, however, that they gave you a
jolly good dinner and got nothing in return."

"They might very easily have carried me off too," I declared.

"Perhaps it would have been better if they had. You'd at least have had
the satisfaction of knowing what their little game really was!"

"But the man and the woman who left the yacht an hour before she sailed,
and who slipped away into the country somewhere! I wonder who they were?
Hornby distinctly told me that he and Chater were alone, and yet there
was evidently a lady and a gentleman on board. I guessed there was a
woman there, from the way the boudoir and ladies' saloon were arranged,
and certainly no man's hand decorated a dinner table as that was
decorated."

"Yes. That's decidedly funny," remarked the Consul thoughtfully. "They
went to Colle Salvetti, you say? They changed there, of course.
Expresses call there, one going north and the other south, within a
quarter of an hour after the train arrives from Leghorn. They showed a
lot of ingenuity, otherwise they'd have gone direct to Pisa."

"Ingenuity! I should think so! The whole affair was most cleverly
planned. Hornby would have deceived even you, my dear old chap. He had
the air of the perfect gentleman, and a glance over the yacht convinced
me that he was a wealthy man traveling for pleasure."

"You said something about an armory."

"Yes, there were Maxims stowed away in one of the cabins. They aroused
my suspicions."

"They would not have aroused mine," replied my friend. "Yachts carry
arms for protection in many cases, especially if they are going to
cruise along uncivilized coasts where they must land for water or
provisions."

I told him of the torn photograph, which caused him some deep
reflection.

"I wonder why the picture had been torn up. Had there been a row on
board--a quarrel or something?"

"It had been destroyed surreptitiously, I think."

"Pity you didn't pocket the fragments. We could perhaps have discovered
from the photographer the identity of the original."

"Ah!" I sighed regretfully. "I never thought of that. I recollect the
name of the firm, however."

"I shall have to report to London the whole occurrence, as British
subjects are under suspicion," Hutcheson said. "We'll see whether
Scotland Yard knows anything about Hornby or Chater. Most probably they
do. Not long ago a description of men on board a yacht was circulated
from London as being a pair of well-known burglars who were cruising
about in a vessel crammed with booty which they dared not get rid of.
They are, however, not the same as our friends on the _Lola_, for both
men wanted were arrested in New Orleans about eight months ago, without
their yacht, for they confessed that they had deliberately sunk it on
one of the islands in the South Pacific."

"Then these fellows might be another pair of London burglars!" I
exclaimed eagerly, as the startling theory occurred to me.

"They might be. But, of course, we can't form any opinion until we hear
what Scotland Yard has to say. I'll write a full report in the morning
if you will give me minute descriptions of the men, as well as of the
captain, Mackintosh."

Next morning I handed over my charge of the Consulate to Frank, and then
assisted him to go through the papers in the safe which had been
examined by the thieves.

"The ruffians seem to have thoroughly overhauled everything," remarked
the Consul in dismay when he saw the disordered state of his papers.
"They seem to have read every one deliberately."

"Which shows that had they been in search for the cipher-books they
would only have looked for them alone," I remarked decisively. "What on
earth could interest them in all these dry, unimportant shipping reports
and things?"

"Goodness only knows," replied my friend. Then, calling Cavendish, a
tall, fair young man, who had now recovered from his touch of fever and
had returned to the Consulate, he commenced to check the number of those
adhesive stamps, rather larger than ordinary postage-stamps, used in
the Consular service for the registration of fees received by the
Foreign Office. The values were from sixpence to one pound, and they
were kept in a portfolio.

After a long calculation the Consul suddenly raised his face to me and
said--

"Then six ten shilling ones have been taken!"

"Why? There must be some motive!"

"They are of no use to anyone except to Consuls," he explained. "Perhaps
they were wanted to affix to some false certificate. See," he added,
opening the portfolio, "there were six stamps here, and all are gone."

"But they would have to be obliterated by the Consular stamp," remarked
Cavendish.

"Ah! of course," exclaimed Hutcheson, taking out the brass seal from the
safe and examining it minutely. "By Jove!" he cried a second later,
"it's been used! They've stamped some document with it. Look! They've
used the wrong ink-pad! Can't you see that there's violet upon it, while
we always use the black pad!"

I took it in my hand, and there, sure enough, I saw traces of violet ink
upon it--the ink of the pad for the date-stamp upon the Consul's table.

"Then some document has been stamped and sealed!" I gasped.

"Yes. And my signature forged to it, no doubt. They've fabricated some
certificate or other which, bearing the stamp, seal and signature of the
Consulate, will be accepted as a legal document. I wonder what it is?"

"Ah!" I said. "I wonder!" And the three of us looked at each other in
sheer bewilderment.

"The reason the papers are all upset is because they were evidently in
search of some blank form or other, which they hoped to find," remarked
my friend. "As you say, the whole affair was most carefully and
ingeniously planned."

We crossed the great sunlit piazza together and entered the Questura,
that sun-blanched old palace with its long cool loggia where the sentry
paces day and night. The Chief of Police, whom we saw, had no further
information. The mysterious yacht had not put in at any Italian port.
From him, however, we learned the name of the detective who had seen the
two strangers leave Leghorn by the early morning train, and an hour
afterwards the police-officer, a black-eyed man short of stature, but of
an intelligent type, sat in the Consulate replying to our questions.

"As far as I could make out, signore," he said, "the man was an
Englishman, wearing a soft black felt hat and a suit of dark blue serge.
He had hair just turning gray, a small dark mustache and rather high
cheek-bones. In his hand he carried a small bag of tan leather of that
square English shape. He seemed in no hurry, for he was calmly smoking a
cigarette as he went across to the ticket office."

"And his companion?" asked the Consul.

"She was in black. Rather tall and slim. Her hair was fair, I noticed,
but she wore a black veil which concealed her features."

"Was she young or old?"

"Young--from her figure," replied the police agent. "As she passed me
her eyes met mine, and I thought I saw a strange fixed kind of glare in
them--the look of a woman filled with some unspeakable horror."

Next day the town of Leghorn awoke to find itself gay with bunting, the
Italian and English flags flying side by side everywhere, and the
Consular standard flapping over the Consulate in the piazza. In the
night the British Mediterranean fleet, cruising down from Malta, had
come into the roadstead, and at the signal from the flagship had
maneuvered and dropped anchor, forming a long line of gigantic
battleships, swift cruisers, torpedo-boat destroyers, torpedo-boats,
despatch-boats, and other craft extending for several miles along the
coast.

In the bright morning sunlight the sight was both picturesque and
imposing, for from every vessel flags were flying, and ever and anon the
great battleship of the Admiral made signals which were repeated by all
the other vessels, each in turn. Lying still on those calm blue waters
was a force which one day might cause nations to totter, the
overwhelming force which upheld Britain's right in that oft-disputed
sea.

A couple of thousand British sailors were ashore on leave, their white
caps conspicuous in the streets everywhere as they walked orderly in
threes and fours to inspect the town. In the square outside the
Consulate a squad from the flagship were setting up a temporary
band-stand, where the ship's band was to play when evening fell, while
Hutcheson, perspiring in his uniform, drove with the Admiral to make the
calls of courtesy upon the authorities which international etiquette
demanded.

Myself, I had taken a boat out to the _Bulwark_, the great battleship
flying the Admiral's flag, and was sitting on deck with my old friend
Captain Jack Durnford, of the Royal Marines. Each year when the fleet
put into Leghorn we were inseparable, for in long years past, at
Portsmouth, we had been close friends, and now he was able to pay me
annual visits at my Italian home.

He was on duty that morning, therefore could not get ashore till after
luncheon.

"I'll dine with you, of course, to-night, old chap," he said. "And you
must tell me all the news. We're in here for six days, and I was half a
mind to run home. Two of our chaps got leave from the Admiral and left
at three this morning for London--four days in the train and two in
town! Gone to see their sweethearts, I suppose."

The British naval officer in the Mediterranean delights to dash across
Europe for a day at home if he can get leave and funds will allow. It is
generally reckoned that such a trip costs about two pounds an hour while
in London. And yet when a man is away from his _fiancée_ or wife for
three whole years, his anxiety to get back, even for a brief day, is
easily understood. The youngsters, however, go for mere
caprice--whenever they can obtain leave. This is not often, for the
Admiral has very fixed views upon the matter.

"Your time's soon up, isn't it?" I remarked, as I lolled back in the
easy deck-chair, and gazed away at the white port and its background of
purple Apennines.

The dark, good-looking fellow in his smart summer uniform leaned over
the bulwark, and said, with a slight sigh, I thought--

"Yes. This is my last trip to Leghorn, I think. I go back in November,
and I really shan't be sorry. Three years is a long time to be away from
home. You go next week, you say? Lucky devil to be your own master! I
only wish I were. Year after year on this deck grows confoundedly
wearisome, I can tell you, my dear fellow."

Durnford was a man who had written much on naval affairs, and was
accepted as an expert on several branches of the service. The Admiralty
do not encourage officers to write, but in Durnford's case it was
recognized that of naval topics he possessed a knowledge that was of
use, and, therefore, he was allowed to write books and to contribute
critical articles to the service magazines. He had studied the relative
strengths of foreign navies, and by keeping his eyes always open he had,
on many occasions, been able to give valuable information to our naval
_attachés_ at the Embassies. More than once, however, his trenchant
criticism of the action of the naval lords had brought upon his head
rebukes from head-quarters; nevertheless, so universally was his talent
as a naval expert recognized, that to write had never been forbidden him
as it had been to certain others.

"How's Hutcheson?" he asked a moment later, turning and facing me.

"Fit as a fiddle. Just back from his month's leave at home. His wife is
still up in Scotland, however. She can't stand Leghorn in summer."

"No wonder. It's a perfect furnace when the weather begins to stoke up."

"I go as soon as you've sailed. I only stayed because I promised to act
for Frank," I said. "And, by Jove! a funny thing occurred while I was in
charge--a real first-class mystery."

"A mystery--tell me," he exclaimed, suddenly interested.

"Well, a yacht--a pirate yacht, I believe it was--called here."

"A pirate! What do you mean?"

"Well, she was English. Listen, and I'll tell you the whole affair.
It'll be something fresh to tell at mess, for I know how you chaps get
played out of conversation."

"By Jove, yes! Things slump when we get no mail. But go on--I'm
listening," he added, as an orderly came up, saluted, and handed him a
paper.

"Well," I said, "let's cross to the other side. I don't want the sentry
to overhear."

"As you like--but why such mystery?" he asked as we walked together to
the other side of the spick-and-span quarter-deck of the gigantic
battleship.

"You'll understand when I tell you the story." And then, standing
together beneath the awning, I related to my friend the whole of the
curious circumstances, just as I have recorded them in the foregoing
pages.

"Confoundedly funny!" he remarked with his dark eyes fixed upon mine. "A
mystery, by Jove, it is! What name did the yacht bear?"

"The _Lola_."

"What!" he gasped, suddenly turning pale. "The _Lola_? Are you quite
sure it was the _Lola_--_L-O-L-A_?"

"Absolutely certain," I replied. "But why do you ask? Do you happen to
know anything about the craft?"

"Me!" he stammered, and I could see that he had involuntarily betrayed
the truth, yet for some reason he wished to conceal his knowledge from
me. "Me! How should I know anything about such a craft? They were
thieves on board evidently--perhaps pirates, as you say."

"But the name _Lola_ is familiar to you, Jack! I'm sure it is, by your
manner."

He paused a moment, and I could see what a strenuous effort he was
making to avoid betraying knowledge.

"It's--well--" he said hesitatingly, with a rather sickly smile. "It's a
girl's name--a girl I once knew. The name brings back to me certain
memories."

"Pleasant ones--I hope."

"No. Bitter ones--very bitter ones," he said in a hard tone, striding
across the deck and back again, and I saw in his eyes a strange look,
half of anger, half of deep regret.

Was he telling the truth, I wondered? Some tragic romance or other
concerning a woman had, I knew, overshadowed his life in the years
before we had become acquainted. But the real facts he had never
revealed to me. He had never before referred to the bitterness of the
past, although I knew full well that his heart was in secret filled by
some overwhelming sorrow.

Outwardly he was as merry as the other fellows who officered that huge
floating fortress; on board he was a typical smart marine, and on shore
he danced and played tennis and flirted just as vigorously as did the
others. But a heavy heart beat beneath his uniform.

When he returned to where I stood I saw that his face had changed: it
had become drawn and haggard. He bore the appearance of a man who had
been struck a blow that had staggered him, crushing out all life and
hope.

"What's the matter, Jack?" I asked. "Come! Tell me--what ails you?"

"Nothing, my dear old chap," he answered hoarsely. "Really nothing--only
a touch of the blues just for a moment," he added, trying hard to smile.
"It'll pass."

"What I've just told you about that yacht has upset you. You can't deny
it"

He started. His mouth was, I saw, hard set. He knew something concerning
that mysterious craft, but would not tell me.

The sound of a bugle came from the further end of the ship, and
immediately men were scampering along the deck beneath as some order or
other was being obeyed with that precision that characterizes the "handy
man."

"Why are you silent?" I asked slowly, my eyes fixed upon my friend the
officer. "I have told you what I know, and I want to discover the
motive of the visit of those men, and the reason they opened Hutcheson's
safe."

"How can I tell you?" he asked in a strained, unnatural voice.

"I believe you know something concerning them. Come, tell me the truth."

"I admit that I have certain grave suspicions," he said at last,
standing astride with his hands behind his back, his sword trailing on
the white deck. "You say that the yacht was called the _Lola_--painted
gray with a black funnel."

"No, dead white, with a yellow funnel."

"Ah! Of course," he remarked, as though to himself. "They would repaint
and alter her appearance. But the dining saloon. Was there a long carved
oak buffet with a big, heavy cornice with three gilt dolphins in the
center--and were there not dolphins in gilt on the backs of the
chairs--an armorial device?"

"Yes," I cried. "You are right. I remember them! You've surely been on
board her!"

"And there is a ladies' saloon and a small boudoir in pink beyond, while
the smoking-room is entirely of marble for the heat?"

"Exactly--the same yacht, no doubt! But what do you know of her?"

"The captain, who gave his name to you as Mackintosh, is an undersized
American of a rather low-down type?"

"I took him for a Scotsman."

"Because he put on a Scotch accent," he laughed. "He's a man who can
speak a dozen languages brokenly, and pass for an Italian, a German, a
Frenchman, as he wishes."

"And the--the man who gave his name as Philip Hornby?"

Durnford's mouth closed with a snap. He drew a long breath, his eyes
grew fierce, and he bit his lip.

"Ah! I see he is not exactly your friend," I said meaningly.

"You are right, Gordon--he is not my friend," was his slow, meaning
response.

"Then why not be outspoken and tell me all you know concerning him?
Frank Hutcheson is anxious to clear up the mystery because they've
tampered with the Consular seals and things. Besides, it would be put
down to his credit if he solved the affair."

"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm mystified myself. I can't yet discern
their motive."

"But at any rate you know the men," I argued. "You can at least tell us
who they really are."

He shook his head, still disinclined, for some hidden reason, to reveal
the truth to me.

"You saw no woman on board?" he asked suddenly, looking straight into my
eyes.

"No. Hornby told me that he and Chater were alone."

"And yet an hour after you left a man and a woman came ashore and
disappeared! Ah! If we only had a description of that woman it would
reveal much to us."

"She was young and dark-haired, so the detective says. She had a curious
fixed look in her eyes which attracted him, but she wore a thick motor
veil, so that he could not clearly discern her features."

"And her companion?"

"Middle-aged, prematurely gray, with a small dark mustache."

Jack Durnford sighed and stroked his chin.

"Ah! Just as I thought," he exclaimed. "And they were actually here, in
this port, a week ago! What a bitter irony of fate!"

"I don't understand you," I said. "You are so mysterious, and yet you
will tell me nothing!"

"The police, fools that they are, have allowed them to escape, and they
will never be caught now. Ah! you don't know them as I do! They are the
cleverest pair in all Europe. And they have the audacity to call their
craft the _Lola_--the _Lola_, of all names!"

"But as you know who and what the fellows are, you ought, I think, in
common justice to Hutcheson, to tell us something," I complained. "If
they are adventurers, they ought to be traced."

"What can I do--a prisoner here on board?" he argued bitterly. "How can
I act?"

"Leave it all to me. I'm free to travel after them, and find out the
truth if only you will tell me what you know concerning them," I said
eagerly.

"Gordon, let me be frank and open with you, my dear old fellow. I would
tell you everything--everything--if I dared. But I cannot--you
understand!" And his final words seemed to choke him.

I stood before him, open-mouthed in astonishment.

"You really mean--well, that you are in fear of them--eh?" I whispered.

He nodded slowly in the affirmative, adding: "To tell you the truth
would be to bring upon myself a swift, relentless vengeance that would
overwhelm and crush me. Ah! my dear fellow, you do not know--you cannot
dream--what brought those desperate men into this port. I can guess--I
can guess only too well--but I can only tell you that if you ever do
discover the terrible truth--which I fear is unlikely--you will solve
one of the strangest and most remarkable mysteries of modern times."

"What does the mystery concern?" I asked, in breathless eagerness.

"It concerns a woman."