Now was a chance for Eric to do some tall thinking, and he did so.
He saw many things in a new light, and had about arranged all he wanted to say when the marriage service was over.
“I pronounce you man and wife,” said the minister, and, bending over, the artist kissed his bride.
Then the three females retired again, the preacher hurried away, and Eric found himself alone with the man whom he had had under surveillance for so long a time.
The artist eyed him.
“Who are you, sir?”
“I am a detective, Mr. Prescott—I have been in your presence before.”
“By Jove! you are the man who bearded me in my studio.”
“Yes, and the man who rode up in the hack with you to Eighty-fifth Street.”
“That old gent with the cane?”