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Updated: June 14, 2025
"For fear of something unfortunate happening to me!" I laughed. "I'm really not afraid, Olinto," I added. "You know I carry this," and I drew out my revolver from my hip-pocket. "I know, signore," he said anxiously. "But you might not be afforded opportunity for using it. When they lay a trap they bait it well." "I know. They're a set of the most ingenious scoundrels in London, it is very evident.
"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.
"But my own idea is that the affair has a very close connection with the two mysteries of the wood." "The first mystery that of the man proves to be a double mystery," I said. "How? Explain it." "Well, the waiter Olinto Santini is alive and well in London." "What!" he gasped, starting up. "Then he is not the person you identified him to be?" "No.
But have you actually seen Olinto Santini?" "Yes, and have spoken with him." "I sent up to London asking that inquiries should be made at the restaurant in Bayswater, but up to the present I have received no report." "I have chatted with Olinto. His wife has mysteriously disappeared, but he is in ignorance that she is dead." "You did not tell him anything?" "Nothing." "Ah, you did well.
"The same, I suppose, who prepared that ingenious trap in Lambeth?" "I am not here to reveal to you who they are, signore, only to warn you to have a care of yourself," was the Italian's reply. "Look here, Olinto!" I exclaimed determinedly, "I've had enough of this confounded mystery. Tell me the truth regarding the assassination of your poor wife up in Scotland."
I wondered as I crossed Waterloo Bridge to the Strand, whether Olinto Santini would again approach me and make the promised explanation. I had given my word not to prejudge him until he revealed to me the truth. Yet I could not, in the circumstances, repose entire confidence in him.
I asked shopkeepers, postmen, and policemen; I examined the London Directory at the bar of the Oxford Music Hall, and made every inquiry possible. But all was to no purpose. No one knew of such a place. There were restaurants in plenty in Oxford Street, from the Frascati down to the humble coffeeshop, but nobody had ever heard of the "Milano." Even Olinto had played me false!
And I saw that he was in deep distress, and that mention of his ailing wife had aroused within him bitter thoughts. Olinto Santini walked back at my side in the direction of Trafalgar Square, answering the questions I put to him. He had been a good, hard-working servant, and I was glad to see him again.
His question nonplused me for the moment. "Well, you see, I had identified the young man Olinto, and knowing him to be married and devoted to his wife, I suspected that she had accompanied him here. It was entirely a vague surmise. I wondered whether, if the poor fellow had fallen a victim to his enemies, she had not also been struck down."
"How long has Olinto been with you?" I inquired. "About a year perhaps a little more. I trust him implicitly, and I leave him in charge when I go away for holidays. He does not get along very well with the cook who is Milanese. These Italians from different provinces always quarrel," he added, laughing. "If you live in Italy you know that, no doubt."
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