Semanticate

src/epub/text/chapter-1.xhtml

@@ -30,7 +30,7 @@
 			<p>Still the man lingered.</p>
 			<p>He looked helplessly up and down the sunlit street. He peered into the cool dark recess of the café, where an apathetic waiter sat at a table reading the <i epub:type="se:name.publication.newspaper" xml:lang="es">Heraldo</i>.</p>
 			<p>Then he leant forward, stretching out a slow hand to pick a crumb of cake from the next table.</p>
-			<p>“Do you know <abbr>Dr.</abbr> Essley?” he asked in perfect English.</p>
+			<p>“Do you know <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Essley?” he asked in perfect English.</p>
 			<p>The cavalier at the table looked thoughtful.</p>
 			<p>“I do not know him. Why?” he asked in the same language.</p>
 			<p>“You should know him,” said the beggar; “he is interesting.”</p>
@@ -45,7 +45,7 @@
 			<p>“I am dependent upon memory to a great extent,” he said, “the library at my humble lodgings being somewhat limited, but I have a dim idea that he is a doctor in a suburb of London, rather a clever surgeon.”</p>
 			<p>“What is he doing here?”</p>
 			<p>The redoubtable Gonsalez smiled again.</p>
-			<p>“There is in Cordova a <abbr>Dr.</abbr> Cajalos. From the exalted atmosphere of the Paseo de Gran Capitan, wherein I understand you have your luxurious suite, no echo of the underworld of Cordova comes to you. Here”⁠—he pointed to the roofs and the untidy jumble of buildings at the farther end of the bridge⁠—“in the Campo of the Verdad, where men live happily on two pesetas a week, we know <abbr>Dr.</abbr> Cajalos. He is a household word⁠—a marvellous man, George, performing miracles undreamt of in your philosophy: making the blind to see, casting spells upon the guilty, and creating infallible love philtres for the innocent! He’ll charm a wart or arrest the ravages of sleeping sickness.”</p>
+			<p>“There is in Cordova a <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Cajalos. From the exalted atmosphere of the Paseo de Gran Capitan, wherein I understand you have your luxurious suite, no echo of the underworld of Cordova comes to you. Here”⁠—he pointed to the roofs and the untidy jumble of buildings at the farther end of the bridge⁠—“in the Campo of the Verdad, where men live happily on two pesetas a week, we know <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Cajalos. He is a household word⁠—a marvellous man, George, performing miracles undreamt of in your philosophy: making the blind to see, casting spells upon the guilty, and creating infallible love philtres for the innocent! He’ll charm a wart or arrest the ravages of sleeping sickness.”</p>
 			<p>Manfred nodded.</p>
 			<p>“Even in the Paseo de la Gran Capitan he is not without honour,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I have seen him and consulted him.”</p>
 			<p>The beggar was a little astonished.</p>
@@ -57,7 +57,7 @@
 			<p>“It was not you?” asked Gonsalez, astonished.</p>
 			<p>“It was I,” said the other. “I went out of Cordova to come into Cordova.”</p>
 			<p>Gonsalez was silent for a moment.</p>
-			<p>“I accept the humiliation,” he said. “Now, since you know the doctor, can you see any reason for the visit of a commonplace English doctor to Cordova? He has come all the way without a halt from England by the <i epub:type="se:name.vessel.ship">Algeciras Express</i>. He leaves Cordova tomorrow morning at daybreak by the same urgent system, and he comes to consult <abbr>Dr.</abbr> Cajalos.”</p>
+			<p>“I accept the humiliation,” he said. “Now, since you know the doctor, can you see any reason for the visit of a commonplace English doctor to Cordova? He has come all the way without a halt from England by the <i epub:type="se:name.vessel.ship">Algeciras Express</i>. He leaves Cordova tomorrow morning at daybreak by the same urgent system, and he comes to consult <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Cajalos.”</p>
 			<p>“Poiccart is here: he has an interest in this Essley⁠—so great an interest that he comes blandly to our Cordova, Baedeker in hand, seeking information of the itinerant guide and submitting meekly to his inaccuracies.”</p>
 			<p>Manfred stroked his little beard, with the same grave thoughtful expression in his wise eyes as when he had watched Gonsalez shuffling from the Café de la Gran Capitan.</p>
 			<p>“Life would be dull without Poiccart,” he said.</p>
@@ -84,13 +84,13 @@
 			<p>“You must come along and see Essley,” said the tourist suddenly. He spoke in perfect Spanish.</p>
 			<p>“Tell me about him,” said Manfred. “Between you and Gonsalez, my dear Poiccart, you have piqued my curiosity.”</p>
 			<p>“This is an important matter,” said the other earnestly. “Essley is a doctor in a suburb of London. I have had him under observation for some months. He has a small practice⁠—quite a little one⁠—and he attends a few cases. Apparently he does no serious work in his suburb, and his history is a strange one. He was a student at University College, London, and soon after getting his degree left with a youth named Henley for Australia. Henley had been a hopeless failure and had been badly ploughed in his exams, but the two were fast friends, which may account for their going away together to try their luck in a new country. Neither of them had a relation in the world, except Henley, who had a rich uncle settled somewhere in Canada, and whom he had never seen. Arrived in Melbourne, the two started off up country with some idea of making for the new gold diggings, which were in full swing at that time. I don’t know where the diggings were; at any rate, it was three months before Essley arrived⁠—alone, his companion having died on the road!”</p>
-			<p>“He does not seem to have started practising,” Poiccart went on, “for three or four years. We can trace his wanderings from mining camp to mining camp, where he dug a little, gambled a lot, and was generally known as <abbr>Dr.</abbr> <abbr epub:type="z3998:personal-name">S.</abbr>⁠—probably an abbreviation of Essley. Not until he reached Western Australia did he attempt to establish himself as a doctor. He had some sort of a practice, not a very high-class one, it is true, but certainly lucrative. He disappeared from Coolgardie in 1900; he did not reappear in England until 1908.”</p>
+			<p>“He does not seem to have started practising,” Poiccart went on, “for three or four years. We can trace his wanderings from mining camp to mining camp, where he dug a little, gambled a lot, and was generally known as <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> <abbr epub:type="z3998:personal-name">S.</abbr>⁠—probably an abbreviation of Essley. Not until he reached Western Australia did he attempt to establish himself as a doctor. He had some sort of a practice, not a very high-class one, it is true, but certainly lucrative. He disappeared from Coolgardie in 1900; he did not reappear in England until 1908.”</p>
 			<p>They had reached the Passeo by now. The streets were better filled than they had been when Manfred had followed the beggar.</p>
 			<p>“I’ve some rooms here,” he said. “Come in and we will have some tea.”</p>
 			<p>He occupied a flat over a jeweller’s in the Calle Moreria. It was a well-furnished apartment, “and especially blessed in the matter of light,” explained Manfred as he inserted the key. He put a silver kettle on the electric stove.</p>
 			<p>“The table is laid for two?” questioned Poiccart.</p>
 			<p>“I have visitors,” said Manfred with a little smile. “Sometimes the begging profession becomes an intolerable burden to our Leon and he enters Cordova by rail, a most respectable member of society, full of a desire for the luxury of life⁠—and stories. Go on with yours, Poiccart; I am interested.”</p>
-			<p>The “tourist” seated himself in a deep armchair. “Where was I?” he asked. “Oh, yes. <abbr>Dr.</abbr> Essley disappeared from Coolgardie, and after an obliteration of eight years reappeared in London.”</p>
+			<p>The “tourist” seated himself in a deep armchair. “Where was I?” he asked. “Oh, yes. <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Essley disappeared from Coolgardie, and after an obliteration of eight years reappeared in London.”</p>
 			<p>“In any exceptional circumstances?”</p>
 			<p>“No, very ordinarily. He seems to have been taken up by the newest kind of Napoleon.”</p>
 			<p>“A Colonel Black?” asked Manfred, raising his eyebrows.</p>
@@ -106,15 +106,15 @@
 			<p>He peered round the room from one to the other.</p>
 			<p>“My name,” he said, “is Essley.”</p>
 			<p>He pronounced the word, lingering upon the double “ss” till it sounded like a long hiss.</p>
-			<p>“Essley,” he repeated as though he derived some satisfaction from the repetition⁠—“<abbr>Dr.</abbr> Essley.”</p>
+			<p>“Essley,” he repeated as though he derived some satisfaction from the repetition⁠—“<abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Essley.”</p>
 			<p>Manfred motioned him to a chair, but he shook his head.</p>
 			<p>“I’ll stand,” he said harshly. “When I have business, I stand.” He looked suspiciously at Poiccart. “I have private business,” he said pointedly.</p>
 			<p>“My friend has my complete confidence,” said Manfred.</p>
 			<p>He nodded grudgingly. “I understand,” he said, “that you are a scientist and a man of considerable knowledge of Spain.”</p>
 			<p>Manfred shrugged his shoulders. In his present role he enjoyed some reputation as a quasi-scientific litterateur, and under the name of “de la Monte” had published a book on <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Modern Crime</i>.</p>
 			<p>“Knowing this,” said the man, “I came to Cordova, having other business also⁠—but that will keep.”</p>
 			<p>He looked round for a chair and Manfred offered one, into which he sat, keeping his back to the window.</p>
-			<p>“<abbr>Mr.</abbr> de la Monte,” said the doctor, leaning forward with his hands on his knees and speaking very deliberately, “you have some knowledge of crime.”</p>
+			<p>“<abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> de la Monte,” said the doctor, leaning forward with his hands on his knees and speaking very deliberately, “you have some knowledge of crime.”</p>
 			<p>“I have written a book on the subject,” said Manfred, “which is not necessarily the same thing.”</p>
 			<p>“I had that fear,” said the other bluntly. “I was also afraid that you might not speak English. Now I want to ask you a plain question and I want a plain answer.”</p>
 			<p>“So far as I can give you this, I shall be most willing,” said Manfred.</p>
@@ -136,7 +136,7 @@
 			<p>“There were three?”⁠—the doctor looked up quickly⁠—“and they usually find a fourth⁠—an influential fourth.”</p>
 			<p>Manfred nodded again.</p>
 			<p>“So I understand.”</p>
-			<p><abbr>Dr.</abbr> Essley twisted uncomfortably in his chair. It was evident that the information or assurance he expected to receive from this expert in crime was not entirely satisfactory to him.</p>
+			<p><abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Essley twisted uncomfortably in his chair. It was evident that the information or assurance he expected to receive from this expert in crime was not entirely satisfactory to him.</p>
 			<p>“And they are in Spain?” he asked.</p>
 			<p>“So it is said.”</p>
 			<p>“They are not in France; they are not in Italy; they are not in Russia; nor in any of the German States,” said the doctor resentfully. “They must be in Spain.”</p>
@@ -156,7 +156,7 @@
 			<p>The doctor pursued a savage way to his hotel.</p>
 			<p>Reaching his room, he locked the door and threw himself into a chair to think. He cursed his own folly⁠—it was madness to have lost his temper even before so insignificant a person as a Spanish dilettante in science.</p>
 			<p>There was the first half of his mission finished⁠—and it was a failure. He took from the pocket of his overcoat, hanging behind the door, a Spanish Baedeker. He turned the leaves till he came to a map of Cordova. Attached to this was a smaller plan, evidently made by somebody who knew the topography of the place better than he understood the rules of cartography.</p>
-			<p>He had heard of <abbr>Dr.</abbr> Cajalos first from a Spanish anarchist he had met in some of his curious nocturnal prowlings in London. Under the influence of good wine this bold fellow had invested the wizard of Cordova with something approaching miraculous powers⁠—he had also said things which had aroused the doctor’s interest to an extraordinary degree. A correspondence had followed: the visit was the result.</p>
+			<p>He had heard of <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Cajalos first from a Spanish anarchist he had met in some of his curious nocturnal prowlings in London. Under the influence of good wine this bold fellow had invested the wizard of Cordova with something approaching miraculous powers⁠—he had also said things which had aroused the doctor’s interest to an extraordinary degree. A correspondence had followed: the visit was the result.</p>
 			<p>Essley looked at his watch. It was nearly seven o’clock. He would dine, then go to his room and change.</p>
 			<p>He made a hasty ablution in the growing darkness of the room⁠—curiously enough he did not switch on the light; then he went to dinner.</p>
 			<p>He had a table to himself and buried himself in an English magazine he had brought with him. Now and again as he read he would make notes in a little book which lay on the table by the side of his plate.</p>
@@ -168,7 +168,7 @@
 			<p>He stepped into the black void and the door closed behind him.</p>
 			<p>“Come this way,” said the voice. In the pitch darkness he could make out the indistinct figure of a little man.</p>
 			<p>The doctor stepped inside and surreptitiously wiped the sweat from his forehead. The old man lit a lamp, and Essley took stock of him. He was very little, scarcely more than four feet in height. He had a rough white beard and head as bald as an egg. His face and hands were alike grimy, and his whole appearance bore evidence of his aversion to water.</p>
-			<p>A pair of black twinkling eyes were set deeply in his head, and the puckering lines about them revealed him as a man who found humour in life. This was <abbr>Dr.</abbr> Cajalos, a famous man in Spain, though he had no social standing.</p>
+			<p>A pair of black twinkling eyes were set deeply in his head, and the puckering lines about them revealed him as a man who found humour in life. This was <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Cajalos, a famous man in Spain, though he had no social standing.</p>
 			<p>“Sit down,” said Cajalos; “we will talk quietly, for I have a señora of high quality to see me touching a matter of lost affection.”</p>
 			<p>Essley took the chair offered to him and the doctor seated himself on a high stool by the table. A curious figure he made, with his dangling little legs, his old, old face and his shining bald pate.</p>
 			<p>“I wrote to you on the subject of certain occult demonstrations,” began the doctor, but the old man stopped him with a quick jerk of the hand.</p>