In as few words as possible I related the circumstances, suppressing only any mention of the discovery of Anne’s portrait in the alien’s possession, and our subsequent interview in my rooms. I remembered the man’s terror of Cassavetti—or Selinski—as he had called him, and his evident conviction that he was in some way connected with the danger that threatened “the gracious lady,” who, alas, seemed determined to be anything but gracious to me on this unlucky evening.

Cassavetti listened impassively. I watched his dark face intently, but could learn nothing from it, not even whether he had expected the man, or recognized him from my description.

“Without doubt one of my old pensioners,” he said unconcernedly. “Strange that I should have missed [Pg 11]him, for I was in my rooms before seven, and only left them to come on here. Accept my regrets, my friend, for the trouble he occasioned you, and my thanks for your kindness to him.”

[Pg 11]

The words and the tone were courteous enough, and yet they roused in me a sudden fierce feeling of antagonism against this man, whom I had hitherto regarded as an interesting and pleasant acquaintance. For one thing, I saw that Anne had been listening to the brief colloquy, and had grasped the full significance of his remark as to the time when he returned to his rooms. The small head, with its gleaming crown of chestnut hair, was elevated with a proud little movement, palpable enough to my jealous and troubled eyes. I could not see her face, but I knew well that her eyes flashed stormy lightnings at that moment. Wonderful hazel eyes they were, changing with every mood, now dark and sombre as a starless night, now light and limpid as a Highland burn, laughing in the sunshine.

She imagined that the excuse I had made was invalid; for if, as Cassavetti inferred, his—and my—mysterious visitor had been off the premises before seven o’clock, I ought still to have been able to keep my appointment with her. Well, I would have to undeceive her later!

“Don’t look so solemn, Maurice,” Mary said, as I seated myself beside her. “Tell me all about everything, right now.”

I repeated what I had already told Cassavetti.

“Well, I call that real interesting!” she declared. “If you’d left that poor old creature on the stairs, you’d never have forgiven yourself, Maurice. It sounds like a piece out of a story, doesn’t it, Jim?”

[Pg 12]

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