But it was her companion who interested him. She was short and slender; her slightness accentuated by the long dress of black cloth and the small plain hat of the same colour which she wore. A thick black veil hung down over her face and obscured it from his view, but about her general appearance there was something strangely familiar. In a moment Gimblet knew what it was, and where he had seen her before. He had caught sight, in her hand, of a little bag of striped black satin with purple pansies embroidered at intervals upon it. Just such a bag had lain upon the table of his flat in Whitehall a few weeks ago, on the day when its owner had stolen the envelope entrusted to him by Lord Ashiel.
"It is she," breathed the detective, "the widow!"
And for one wild moment he was on the point of accosting her and demanding his missing letter. Wiser counsels prevailed, however, and he moved away to the other side of the small group of mourners gathered on the stony beach.
When he ventured to look at her again, it was over the shoulder of a stalwart Highlander, whose large frame effectually concealed all of the little detective except his hat and eyes. A further surprise was in store for him. The lady had lifted her veil and displayed the features of the girl he had watched in the library on the preceding night.
Gimblet had seen enough. He turned away, and found Juliet at his elbow.
She would have passed him by, absorbed in her sorrow for the father she had found and lost in the space of one short hour, but he laid her hand upon her arm.
"Tell me," he begged, "who are those two ladies waiting for the boat?"
Juliet's eyes followed the direction of his own.
"Those," she said, "are Mrs. Clutsam and Miss Julia Romaninov."
"Ah," Gimblet murmured. "They were among your fellow-guests at the castle, weren't they?"