At length, when for the nineteenth time the lady accepted the arm of the gallant marquis, the Duc ground his teeth, and stepping up to his rival, pulled his nose. The marquis in return flung the Duc the entire length of the apartments, and with folded arms calmly awaited the result. "We fight, Monsieur le Marquis," ground out the smarting Duc. "Rather!" replied the marquis, with a proud smile. Sub-Chapter VIII. THE DUEL. It was a tragic end in that night's gay scene. Guests whose carriages were not ordered till 4 a.m. stood shivering in the hall at 11 p.m. Five hours to wait! Meanwhile, on two special steamers the Duc de Septimominorelli and the Marquis de Smellismelli sought the shore of France. On the lonely sands between Calais and Ushant the rivals stood face to face, at a hundred paces distance. They had no seconds, so each loaded the other's weapon. It could not have been the wind that made their knees tremble and their teeth chatter, for there was none. Neither could it have been the weight of the pistols which made their hands wave to and fro, for these were Boxer's eight-ounce Maxim Repeaters. No; these two men were the subjects of deep physical emotion. The moment had come, and the Duc was about to drop his handkerchief, when the Marquis abruptly folded his arms and said, "Excuse me, we have met before, have we not? Ha, ha, Sep, my boy!" At the sound of his voice, the so-called Duc flung his weapon two hundred yards in the air, and with the bound of a hunted tiger buried himself in the turmoil of the French capital. There was no duel on those yellow sands after all. Sub-Chapter IX. AFTERWARDS. The mysterious disappearance of the dazzling Duc de Septimominorelli created a profound impression throughout civilised Europe. The Donna Velvetina Peeleretta was inconsolable. After a while she, too, went abroad. Sub-Chapter X. THE SLEUTH-HOUND AGAIN. Many, many years flew past. Solomon Smellie's youngest son had been twice Lord Mayor of London, and all London had forgotten the Duc de Septimominorelli and the peerless Donna Velvetina Peeleretta. All? No, there was one exception. An aged man in a back room of the Mansion House sometimes produced a plaster cast from the recesses of his pocket, and muttered to himself-- "A time will come--aha!" Sub-Chapter XI. THE DESERT JOURNEY. A lonely traveller traversed the sandy desert wastes of Central Africa. He was ill-accoutred for so trying a journey, having only a cane to protect himself from the wild beasts, and patent-leather shoes on his feet. No one knew his name; and what made him more mysterious was that, although he spoke English, he paid for everything in Spanish doubloons half a century old! What could his errand be, amid the typhoons and siroccos of that desolate continent? For six weeks he had not moistened his parched lips with so much as a drop of water! And his only food had been dried elephant!