“A detective,” added Peace. “Go on, governor.”
“I tell you it is nothing of the sort. The facts are simply these. The lady eloped with her music master. Her relatives cast her off—now they are anxious to find her. Let me disabuse your mind of a false impression.”
“I never knew or even heard of such a person as Montini, and am therefore unable to assist you; but have you no clue to them—no letters?”
“Oh, yes, we have letters. That is how we know the different towns they visited. The last one is from the lady. She announces the birth of a daughter, who is named after herself.”
“What name might that be?” inquired Peace, carelessly, removing the superfluous gold from the frame.
“Aveline,” returned the detective.
“Aveline!” exclaimed Peace, in a tone of surprise, which he found it impossible to suppress.
“Yes. Have you ever met with one bearing that name?” eagerly inquired Mr. Wrench, who was at no loss to comprehend that one chance shot had told.
“Yes, I think so. The name seems familiar to me.”
“My dear sir,” exclaimed the detective, rising from his Windsor chair, and approaching nearer to his companion, “if you can let me know about this person you shall be rewarded handsomely. It is a most uncommon name, and it may furnish us with a clue to the missing person.”