“It is true,” he said, “that I was dining last night at a restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes, and it is true that my companion was a young lady whose name is Pellissier. We are investigating the missing person case of Sheila and Mark McCloskey, who disappeared seventeen years ago, before you were born. We shall have a reg'lar squall afore we gets across. We’ve brought a carriage to take you back to London, and I’ve settled with Trodger, who has just given me a coherent account of the affair. “After all, why should he be surprised?” she remarked. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Come, make yourself scarce. He filled her glass with champagne. It was common name, so I was thrown off the scent.
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