“Yes, sir,” agreed Trenter. “That’s Mr. Julius Superbus.”
Gordon gaped at him.
“Julius Superbus—what the devil do you mean?”
“Language!” murmured a voice in the background. How like Diana.
“What on earth do you mean? That is a Roman name.”
Trenter smirked.
“Yes, sir. Mr. Superbus is a Roman, the last Roman left in England. He comes from Cæsar Magnus—it’s a little village near Cambridge. I used to be in service there, that’s how I come to know him.”
Gordon frowned heavily. By what strange chance had he come to see this oddly named creature twice in one day—at Hampton, rowing a boat with some labour; in Cheynel Gardens, apparently absorbed in the study of a near-by lamp-post?
“What is he—by profession?”
“A detective, sir,” said Trenter.