"A crack-brained little fellow, whom I've engaged as valet," replied Loftus. "He fancies he was born in Queen Elizabeth's time."
"It's no fancy," cried Morse. "I am perfectly acquainted with Auriol Darcy's history. He drank of the same elixir as myself."
"If you know him, can you give us a clue to find him?" asked Thorneycroft.
"I am sorry I cannot," replied Morse. "I only saw him for a few minutes the other night, after I had been thrown into the Serpentine by the tall man in the black cloak."
"What's that you say?" cried Thorneycroft quickly. "I have heard Ebba speak of a tall man in a black cloak having some mysterious connection with Auriol. I hope that person has nothing to do with her disappearance."
"I shouldn't wonder if he had," replied Morse. "I believe that black gentleman to be——"
"What!—who?" demanded Thorneycroft.
"Neither more nor less than the devil," replied Morse mysteriously.
"Pshaw! poh!" cried Loftus. "I told you the poor fellow was half cracked."
At this moment, a roguish-looking fellow, with red whiskers and hair, and clad in a velveteen jacket with ivory buttons, who had been watching the iron-merchant at some distance, came up, and touching his hat, said, "Mr. Thorneycroft, I believe?"