CHAPTER V.
MYSTERY.
The following morning I was sitting in my room at the hotel idly scanning the Standard and wondering in what way I should employ myself until the time arrived for me to board the yacht, when I heard a carriage roll up the drive.
On looking out I discovered a gorgeous landau drawn by a pair of fine thoroughbreds and resplendent with much gilded and crested harness, standing before the steps. A footman opened the door and I was at the window just in time to see a tall soldierly man alight from it. To my astonishment, two minutes later a waiter entered my room and announced "His Grace the Duke of Glenbarth." It was the owner of the carriage and the father of my young friend, if by such a title I might designate the Marquis of Beckenham.
"Mr. Hatteras, I presume," said he, advancing towards me and using that dignified tone that only an English gentleman can assume with anything approaching success.
"Yes! That is my name. I am honoured by your visit. Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you."
He paused for a moment and then continued:
"Mr. Hatteras, I have to offer you an apology. I