Yet one figure was moving rapidly up the
road in front of him. Muhlen! Even at this distance he was
recognizable; he looked, as usual, overdressed. What was he doing
there, at this hour? Mr. Heard remembered seeing him go up, once
before, at the same time of the day.
He called to mind what he had heard from Keith in the boat. He was
quite prepared to believe that this man lived on blackmail and women;
that was precisely what he looked like. A villainous personality,
masquerading under an assumed name. The sight of the fellow annoyed
him. What business had he to transact up there? Retlow! Once more he
began to puzzle where he had heard that name. It conjured up, dimly,
some unpleasant connotation. Where? Long ago; so much was clear. For a
brief moment he felt on the verge of remembering. Then his mind became
blank as before; the revelation had slipped away, past recall.
He was glad to enter the shady garden of the villa Mon Repos. Old
Caterina sat, sphinx-like, on the stones at the house entrance.
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