He handed his visitor a ricketty Windsor chair, which, to all appearance, had been put together in the last century. Mr. Wrench sat down, and Peace, with his book of leaf gold in one hand and the pad in the other, went on with his work. The detective cleared his throat, and then said, carelessly―― “I understand that you have visited a number of towns――of course you naturally would do so――in the exercise of your vocation. Am I right?” “Yes; I’ve been about a goodish bit.” “Oh, yes, so I hear. Well, now, I must be candid with you. I am in search of an Italian professor and his wife. The former was a teacher of music; but it is more than twenty years since anything has been heard of either.” “Twenty years!” exclaimed Peace. “It is, then, not at all likely that I should know anything about them. I was but a child at that time.” “True, but they may be alive now, you know.” “Ah, that’s another matter. What might be the gentleman’s name?” “Montini.” Peace shook his head. “Never heard of such a person,” he ejaculated. “Don’t know any one of that name.” “Ah, I was afraid it would be before your time,” observed Mr. Wrench. “Therein consists our greatest difficulty――the lapse of time.” “That’s a remarkably beautiful frame you are gilding――just my sort.” “Not bad,” returned our hero, “but I have had a deal better under my hands; but I’m sorry I can’t help you to find the persons you are seeking. What town did they reside in?” “Ah, several. I will read you over the names.” Mr. Wrench drew out his pocket-book, and ran over the list of places which he had copied from the postmarks on the letters at Broxbridge Hall. “You know,” he said, when he had finished the list, “I don’t want any information from you without paying handsomely for it. It is most imperative that I should find these people, if they be still alive.” “Oh, is it?” cried Peace. “Well, look here, I can’t tell you anything about them, and if I could――――” “You wouldn’t, is that what you mean?” said his visitor, sharply. “Don’t be quite so fast. I know nothing about you, and don’t even know your name.” Mr. Wrench drew a case from his pocket, and gave our hero his card. On it was―― Mr. DETECTIVE WRENCH, Scotland-yard. “Ah!” ejaculated our hero. “That’s it――eh?” “What?” “A criminal affair. Some poor crow is wanted.” “Nothing of the sort. I pledge my word as a gentleman, and――――” “A detective,” added Peace. “Go on, governor.” “I tell you it is nothing of the sort. The facts are simply these. The lady eloped with her music master. Her relatives cast her off――now they are anxious to find her. Let me disabuse your mind of a false impression.” “I never knew or even heard of such a person as Montini, and am therefore unable to assist you; but have you no clue to them――no letters?”