"I am glad to make your acquaintance," said Septimus, "and I thank you for
your services."

"Your name?"

"My name is Dix--Septimus Dix."

"Delighted to meet you. I have seen you before. Two years ago. You were
sitting alone in the lounge of the Hôtel Continental, Paris. You were
suffering from severe abrasions on your face."

"Dear me," said Septimus. "I remember. I had shaved myself with a safety
razor. I invented it."

"I was going to speak to you, but I was prevented." He turned to Zora.

"I've met you too, on Vesuvius in January. You were with two elderly
ladies. You were dreadfully sunburnt. I made their acquaintance next day in
Naples. You had gone, but they told me your name. Let me see. I know
everybody and never forget anything. My mind is pigeon-holed like my
office. Don't tell me."

He held up his forefinger and fixed her with his eye.

"It's Middlemist," he cried triumphantly, "and you've an Oriental kind of
Christian name--Zora! Am I right?"

"Perfectly," she laughed, the uncanniness of his memory mitigating the
unconventionality of his demeanor.