It certainly is a disagreeable affair to happen on one's property." I
said, still watching him narrowly. And then Muriel at his side managed
with her feminine ingenuity to divert the conversation into a different
channel.

Next day I accompanied the party over to Glenlea, about five miles
distant, and at noon at a spot previously arranged, we found the ladies
awaiting us with luncheon spread under the trees. As soon as we
approached Muriel came forward quickly, handing me a telegram, saying
that it had been sent over by one of my uncle's grooms at the moment
they were leaving the castle.

I tore it open eagerly, and read its contents. Then, turning to my
companions, said in as quiet a voice as I could command--

"I must go up to London to-night," whereat the men, one and all,
expressed hope that I should soon return. Leithcourt's party were a
friendly set, and at heart I was sorry to leave Scotland. Yet the
telegram made it imperative, for it was from Frank Hutcheson in Leghorn,
and read--

_"Made inquiries. Olinto Santini married your servant Armida at Italian
Consulate-General in London about a year ago. They live 64B, Albany
Road, Camberwell: he is employed waiter Ferrari's Restaurant,
Westbourne Grove.--British Consulate, Leghorn"_

The lunch was a merry one, as shooting luncheons usually are, and while
we ate the keepers packed our morning bag--a considerable one--into the
Perth-cart in waiting. Then, when we could wander away alone together, I
explained to Muriel that the reason of my sudden journey to London was
in order to continue my investigations regarding the mysterious affair.

This puzzled her, for I had not, of course, revealed to her that I had
identified Olinto. Yet I managed to make such excuses and promises to
return that I think allayed all her suspicions, and that night, after
calling upon the detective Mackenzie, I took the sleeping-car express to
Euston.

The restaurant which Hutcheson had indicated was, I found, situated
about half-way up Westbourne Grove, nearly opposite Whiteley's, a small
place where confectionery and sweets were displayed in the window,
together with long-necked flasks of Italian chianti, chump-chops, small
joints and tomatoes. It was soon after nine o'clock when I entered the
long shop with its rows of marble-topped tables and greasy lounges of
red plush. An unhealthy-looking lad was sweeping out the place with wet
saw-dust, and a big, dark-bearded, flabby-faced man