"Oh!" he sighed. "After all, it's good to be back again in England. A spell at home will do Lucie good. She's growing far too foreign in her ways and ideas. For a long time she's wanted to spend a year or so in England, and now I'm going to indulge her." "Then you won't be returning abroad for some time?" "Not for a year, I think. This winter I shall do a little hunting up in the Midlands, I know a nice hunting-box to let at Market Harborough. Years ago I used to love a run with the hounds, and even now the sight of the pink always sends a thrill through me." "Does Lucie ride?" "Ride, of course. She's ridden to hounds lots of times. She had her first pony when she was eight." "Then she'll enjoy it. There's very good society about Market Harborough, I've heard." "Oh! yes. I know the hunting lot there quite well, and a merry crowd they are. The Continent's all very well for many things, but for real good sport of any kind you must come to England. In the Forest of Fontainebleau they hunt with an ambulance waggon in the rear!" he laughed. And in the same strain he chattered until just after dawn we ran into Charing Cross, where we parted, he and Lucie going to the Buckingham Palace Hotel, while I took a cab out to Granville Gardens, Shepherd's Bush. When I walked into Sammy's room at seven o'clock he sat up in bed and stared at me. "Why? What on earth has brought you back so soon, old chap? I thought you were going to be away all the autumn and winter!" he exclaimed. "Oh, got a bit sick of travelling, you know," I laughed, "so I simply came back, that's all. They can give me a room here, I hear, so I'll stay." "You'll stay here till you go away again, eh?" my friend laughed, for he knew what an erratic wanderer I was. I sat on the edge of the bed and chatted to him while he shaved and dressed. While we breakfasted together in his sitting-room he suddenly said:-- "There was a fellow here the other day making inquiries regarding our dead Italian friend." "Oh, what was he? A detective?" "No. I don't think so. Miss Gilbert referred him to me. He was a thin-faced, clean-shaven chap, and gave his name as Gordon-Wright." "Gordon-Wright!" I gasped, starting to my feet. "Has that fellow been here? What did you tell him?" "Well, I told him nothing that he wanted to know. I didn't care about him, somehow, so I treated him to a few picturesque fictions," Sammy laughed. "You didn't tell him that the dead man was Nardini?" "Not likely. You recollect that you urged me to say nothing, as the Italian Embassy did not wish the fact revealed." "Ah! That's fortunate!" I cried, much relieved. "What did you tell him?" "I said that it was true an Italian gentleman did die here, but he was a very old man named Massari. Before he died his son joined him, and after his death took all his belongings away. Was that right?" "Excellent."