Chapter Ten.
The Sleuth-hound again.
Many, many years flew past.
Solomon Smellie’s youngest son had been twice Lord Mayor of London, and all London had forgotten the Duc de Septimominorelli and the peerless Donna Velvetina Peeleretta.
All? No, there was one exception.
An aged man in a back room of the Mansion House sometimes produced a plaster cast from the recesses of his pocket, and muttered to himself—
“A time will come—aha!”