Dane turned to the man who had brought this bombshell into their midst.

“Do you swear that you are Douglas Romilly?” he asked.

“I not only swear it but I can prove it, if you’ll come along with me to Murray’s,” he answered.  “My partner’s there, waiting supper, and another man who has known me all his life.”

The detective glanced interrogatively towards Philip.

“That is my cousin, Douglas Romilly,” the latter pronounced.

Dane took up his hat.

“Mr. Merton Ware,” he said, “or Mr. Philip Romilly, whichever you may in future elect to call yourself, you may not believe it, but the end of this affairs is an immense relief to me.  I offer you my heartiest congratulations.  You need fear no more annoyance.  Good night!”

He passed out.  They heard the sound of his footsteps and his companion’s, as they crossed the corridor and rang for the lift.  Speech was a little difficult.  It was still Beatrice who imposed conviction upon them.

“I was seated in the box,” she explained, “when Philip went round to see you, Elizabeth.  I had looking down into the stalls to find Martha, and all of a sudden I saw Douglas there.  He, too, was staring at me.  Of course, I thought it was some extraordinary likeness, but, whilst I was clutching at the curtain, he stood up and waved his hand.  You should have seen me tear from the box!  You know, ever since they showed me that signature at the bank I have had a queer idea at the back of my head.  Luckily for him,” she went, patting his arm, “he sent home for me a fortnight ago, and sent a draft for my expenses out.  You won’t mind, will you, if I take him off now?” she concluded, turning to Elizabeth.  “They are waiting supper for us, but I wasn’t going to let Philip—­”

“Did you know that Dane was going to be here?” Elizabeth asked.

“Not an idea,” Beatrice declared.  “I simply dragged Douglas along here, as soon as we’d talked things out, because I knew that it would be the one thing wanting to complete Philip’s happiness.  We’ll leave you now.  Douglas will bring me back, and we are going to be married in a few days.”

Philip held out his hand a little diffidently.

“You wouldn’t—­”

“My dear fellow,” Douglas interrupted, grasping it, “wouldn’t I!  I’m thundering sorry for all you’ve been through.  I suppose I ought to have let you know that I was still in the land of the living, but I was waiting until things blew over in England.  That’s all right now, though,” he went on.  “I’ve turned over a new leaf and I am making money—­making it after a style they don’t understand in England.  I am going to pay my creditors twenty shillings in the pound before a couple of years have gone, and do pretty well for Beatrice and myself as well.  You wouldn’t care, I suppose,” he added, as they stood there with locked hands, “to offer us just a glass of wine before we start out?  Beatrice has been riddling me with questions and dragging me through the streets till I scarcely know whether I am on my head or my heels.”