by that, but it was impressed upon my
memory by the cool sort of way in which he said it, and a quiet look in
his eyes which evidently meant mischief. About a fortnight later they
went abroad, rather in a hurry; and for some time I heard nothing more
of them. Then I went to Aix-les-Bains, and came on the scene just after
a frightful row. It seems that a French admirer of hers had followed her
to Aix, and attacked Walcott, and even struck him in the hotel gardens.
The proprietor and the police had to interfere, and I came across
Walcott just as he was looking for some one to act as second. There had
been a challenge, and all that sort of thing; and, un-English as it
seems, I thought Walcott perfectly right, and acted as his friend
throughout the affair. It was in no way a remarkable duel: the French
fellow was shot in the arm and got away to Switzerland, and we managed
to keep it dark. Walcott was not hurt, and went back to his hotel."

"What did the woman do?" asked Williams, curiously.

"That's the odd part of it. Husband and wife seem to have made it up,
for in a day or two they went on to Culoz, had luncheon there, and went
out for a walk together. From that walk, Mrs. Alan Walcott did not
return. Now comes the mystery: what happened in the course of that walk
near Culoz? All that is known is that the landlady saw Walcott returning
by himself two or three hours later, and that when she questioned him he
replied that madame had taken her departure. What do you think of that
for a bit of suggested melodrama?"

"It lacks finish," said Milton.

"I can't see where the poetry comes in," observed the captain.

"It certainly looked black for Walcott," Sydney remarked. "I suppose
there was a regular hue and cry--a search for the body, and all that
kind of thing?"

"So far as I know, there was nothing of the sort. Nobody seems to have
had any suspicion at the time. The peasants at Culoz seemed to have
talked about it a little, and some weeks afterwards the English people
at Aix-les-Bains got hold of it, and a friend of mine tried to extract
information from the landlady. But he was unsuccessful: the landlady
could not positively affirm that there was anything wrong. And--perhaps
there was not," Mr. Dalton concluded, with a burst of Christian charity
which was creditable to him, considering how strong were his objections
to Walcott's friendship with Miss Campion.

The captain leaned his head back, sent a pillar of smoke