"This is the gentleman who saved me from the robbers, father," exclaimed Dolores; "this is Mr. William Anstruther."
The old man turned towards me with extended hands, his face beaming.
"Mr. Anstruther," he said, speaking in very fair English, which I found most of the gentry spoke there, "let me take your hands and thank you from my heart for your heroic conduct to my daughter. The news of the outrage and your gallant escape reached us together by telegraph the first thing this morning. Indeed, I think they had the news at the club last night."
When he had at last let my hand go, I got in a word of my own.
"Naturally," I began, "you will like to spend some time with your daughter, but when you are at liberty I have an important message to deliver to you."
"Indeed!" he said, looking rather surprised. "From whom?"
"From an old lady who formerly lived at Bath, in England," I replied, "but who now, I fear, is dead—murdered!"
"Good heavens!" he cried; "who can it be?"
"It was a lady known by the name of Carlotta Altenberg," I answered.
"Good God!" he cried, throwing up his hands excitedly; "poor old d'Altenberg murdered!"