"Yes, it was he that got her away. What about those letters you sent her, Oiland? What did you say in them?"
"H'm," said Oiland, with a serious air. "My dear friends, it is ill jesting with affairs of the heart. Emilie Rantzau's secret is locked for ever in my breast." And he gazed reflectively into his glass as he stirred his grog.
"How did you manage to get them sent from Christiania?"
"Posted them myself when I was in with Sukkestad, my respected father-in-law to be, buying furniture."
"But the photo, and Mrs. Moller's, and all that?"
"Well, the photo was one Maria Sukkestad gave me last year of her beloved spouse—taken years ago, when they were engaged."
"Oh, Peter, you're a marvel! But suppose she'd recognised him?"
"I hardly think she could," said Oiland dryly.
"But how did you know about Mrs. Moller's?"
"She told Mrs. Jansen she'd stayed there, and I heard about it after. But all that was easy enough. The worst thing was, it came so expensive—£50 is a lot of money," and he sighed.