"I see!" said Sheffield, removing his hat and scratching his head viciously.
"Finally," said Mr. Belford, with dignity, "you gave me this note for your principal assistant, Dawson"--and handed an envelope to the inspector.
The latter, with the resignation of despair, accepted it, tore it open, and took out a card. Directing the ray of his pocket-torch upon it, though in the brilliant moonlight no artificial aid really was necessary, he read the following aloud:
"Séverac Bablon begs to present his compliments to His Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department and to thank him for according the privilege of a private interview. Whilst deprecating the subterfuge rendered necessary by the right honourable gentleman's attitude, he feels that it is justified by results, and begs respectfully to repeat his assurance that no one in whom the right honourable gentleman is interested shall be compromised, now or at any future time."
"You see," said the detective wearily, "that wasn't the real Inspector Sheffield who spoke to you. I thought you might have known him by this time, sir! That was Séverac Bablon!"
In our pursuit of the fantastic being, about whom so many mysteries gathered, we have somewhat neglected the affairs of Sir Richard Haredale. Thanks to Mr. Belford's elusive visitor, these now ran smoothly.
In order to learn how smoothly we have only to present ourselves at a certain important social function.
"These military weddings are so romantic," gushed Mrs. Rohscheimer.
"And so beastly stuffy," added her husband, mopping his damp brow with a silk handkerchief bearing, in gold thread, the monogram "J. R."
"Doesn't Dick look real sweet?" whispered Lady Vignoles, following with admiring eyes the soldierly figure of the bridegroom, Sir Richard Haredale.
Lord Vignoles shouldered his way through the scrum about the door.
"I say, Sheila," he called to his wife, "where's Zoe?"
"She was here a minute ago," replied Julius Rohscheimer, rolling his prominent eyes about in quest of the missing one.
"I mean to say," explained Vignoles, "her father is asking----"
"What! Has uncle turned up after all?" exclaimed Lady Vignoles, and looked quickly towards the door.
Through the crowd a big red-faced man was forging, and behind him a glimpse might be had of the shrivelled shape of John Jacob Oppner.