"And the Commissary?" demanded Father Anthony.
"And the Old Gentleman?" echoed the Courier.
"Turpin, by the lord Harry!" shouted the Bureaucrat. "But you've eloped with Mrs. Dane!"
"The guile of an enemy detained me in a damp and poorly ventilated cave," complained the Professor.
"There was a tramp here with a dog!" moaned the poet.
"The terrace was crowded with police!" cried Peter Brown, "and it was still daylight!..."
Mr. Scott enjoyed their bewilderment with the cruel calm of the true psychological investigator.
"You will never see any of those people again," he observed quietly. "Except poor Amélie, who is in bed this three hours, I invented them all. Not a bad set of creations, were they?"
A snore from the shadow drew attention to the stertorous oblivion of Mr. Buck, the retired master printer.
"Buck was my only failure," said the psychical researcher. "He was fast asleep when I started in. I say nothing of Doctor Pennock; she was too much for me; but then she knows the game. Nevertheless, she had the sportsmanship to leave me at it."