“You vill be surprised at vat I ask, but dat vill disappear ven I tell you I am attached to a Private Inquiry Office, vich is on de French plan, and dat I am in de detective line à la Française, and I can restore to your arm de husband of your heart.”
“You can?” exclaimed Mrs. Dibble. “Prove that to me, and I will pay your fees.”
“Is dat his writing?” he asked, showing her part of the showman’s letter.
“It ith!” Mrs. Dibble exclaimed. “I should know it in ten thousand.”
“Vell—fifteen pounds is my fees for his direction, vere you sall find him,” said Gibbs.
Mrs. Dibble demurred to this for some time, and argued the point in a dozen ways; but Mr. Gibbs was not to be moved. Finally Mrs. Dibble gave him three five-pound notes, and in return received his address at “The Temple of Magic, Blue Posts Inn yard, Severntown.”
It was rather a courageous thing on the part of Mr. Gibbs to visit Mrs. Dibble; but he no doubt felt perfectly secure in his disguise.
He visited her at a time when he calculated that her lodgers would be away at their several places of business; for Paul Somerton might have been more penetrating than Mrs. Dibble.
Paul still lodged with Mrs. Dibble, and was rapidly making his way to a respectable position through the kind introductions of his patron, Mr. Williamson.
His unsophisticated manners, his honesty, his thoroughly English characteristics, his manliness, and his intelligent face had quite won Mr. Williamson’s heart, and he frequently invited Paul to sup with him at his chambers in the Temple.