“Yes, Marster.”
“Can you spell the name you read? Spell it for me.”
“Yes, Marster. S-o-l, sol, i, solo, m-a-n mon, Solomon.”
“You’re sure that was the way it was spelled.”
“Yes, Marster.”
“Very well,” and Harrington turned to go.
“But that’s not the way to spell Solomon,” bawled Tugmutton.
No more it’s not, thought Harrington, as he slowly went down-stairs—but that’s the spelling. O Lemuel Atkins!
He entered the library with a face so grave that they all saw what he had to tell.
“You are right, Muriel,” he said, sinking heavily into his chair. “It is the Soliman.”