As I brought the Rolls to a standstill, I heard a stifled cry.  The next moment Berry’s voice hissed in my ear.

“Talk of the devil....  Look at the cove on the right. It’s Dunkelsbaum himself.”

A lightning glance showed me the truth of his words.  The original of the photograph over which we had pored that morning was standing before us in all the grossness of flesh.

Almost before I had recovered from the shock, the other—­a long sallow creature with a false grin and a cringing air—­was at my elbow.

“You mutht eckthcuthe me,” he lisped, uncovering, “but could you pothibly give uth a lift ath far ath Brooch?  Thith gentleman”—­he indicated Mr. Dunkelsbaum—­“hath a motht important engagement there at half-patht two, and, ath you thee, we have been unfortunate.  Tho, if you could thee your way to accommodating uth, we thould be greatly obliged.”

Before I could reply—­

“We can get there by half-past two,” said Berry, speaking slowly and distinctly, “if—­if we go through Ramilly.”

Now, Ramilly was a great enclosure, and could be entered from the by-road down which the trolley had come. But it was not on the way to Brooch.

With the greatest difficulty I repressed a start.  Then I leaned forward as if to examine the dash, but in reality to conceal my excitement....

Apparently guileless, my brother-in-law’s protasis was nothing less than a deliberate direction to me to postpone Mr. Dunkelsbaum’s arrival at Brooch until Merry Down was no longer in the market.

My heart began to beat violently....

Berry was speaking again.

“Wait half a minute, and we’ll change over.”  He turned to Adele.  “Will you sit in front with Boy?”

As the change was being made, Mr. Dunkelsbaum advanced.

I have seldom set eyes upon a less prepossessing man.  To liken him to a vicious over-fed pug is more than charitable.  Smug, purse-proud and evil, his bloated countenance was most suggestive.  There was no pity about the coarse mouth, which he had twisted into a smile, two deep sneer lines cut into the unwholesome pallor of his cheeks, from under drooping lids two beady eyes shifted their keen appraising glance from me to Berry and, for a short second, to Adele.  There was about him not a single redeeming feature, and for the brute’s pompous carriage alone I could have kicked him heartily.

The clothes were like unto the man.

From beneath a silk-faced overcoat, which he wore unbuttoned, the rich contour of a white waistcoat thrust its outrageous way, spurning the decent shelter of a black tail-coat and making the thick striped legs look shorter than ever.  A diamond pin winked in the satin tie, and a black bowler hat and patent-leather boots mercifully covered, the one his crown, and the others his short fat feet.

My gentleman raised his hat and removed a cigar from his mouth before speaking in a thick voice and with a strong foreign accent.