“It is not a very common name, I admit; but then there may be hundreds of persons who bear it.”
“You know one, it would seem. Can you tell me where she’s to be found?”
“You take me by surprise,” observed Peace; “and I cannot quite call to mind just at present where I met with such a person. I know it must be a long time ago. I will think the matter over, and see if I can assist you.”
Mr. Wrench saw plainly enough that Peace was not to be caught tripping—he was too wary a customer for that; he therefore deemed it advisable not to press the question further at that time. He therefore said, in an off-hand manner—
“Well, you will see what you can do for me, like a good fellow, as I am told you are, and so farewell for the present.”
“Aveline!” ejaculated our hero, when he found himself once more alone. “What can be the meaning of this inquiry? He cannot be in search of the Aveline Maitland I knew—and loved,” he added in a tone of dejection; “but no, that is not possible.”
Peace was fairly puzzled. He had no predilection for detectives. They were a class of men whose acquaintance he had no desire to cultivate.
When his day’s work was finished he returned to the “Carved Lion.”
“The vicar has been here inquiring for you,” said Brickett. “I told him where you worked, but he said he would call here again later on.”
“The vicar—and what might he want? Going to give me an order for some Oxford frames, I suppose—eh?”