Hence her presence at the Duc’s ball and on the desert mountain.
The Duc de Septimominorelli (for such was the mysterious traveller) recoiled several hundred yards on finding himself confronted not only by the aged father of his now middle-aged Velvetina, but by the form of his old opponent the Marquis de Smellismelli.
“Aha!” said the latter, producing his plaster cast. “How do you find yourself, Sep, my boy?”
“Hot,” said Septimus, with characteristic coolness.
“Introduce me to the old gentleman,” said the detective.
“Peeler,” was the laconic reply.
It was Solomon’s turn to turn inquiringly to the lady.
She only bowed.
“I wish very much I had known this before. I have wasted fifty years over you,” said Solomon, in injured tones. “I must lose no more time if I am to detect anything. Good morning. Aha!
“Stay!” shouts Sep, in a voice of thunder. “It is I who have wasted fifty years running away from you. You owe me an apology, sirrah!”