With tottering steps I approached the door, only to find, as I expected, that it was locked. I looked at the skylight above my head and reflected that by placing a chair on the chest of drawers it might be possible to reach it; in my present weak state, however, such a feat was out of the question. Even this brief inspection of my surroundings taxed my strength severely, and I accordingly once more laid myself down to rest. I had one source of comfort, however. Captive though I was, I should at least be able to solve a problem which the great world had given up as hopeless. In other words I should be able to fathom the mystery that surrounded the disappearance of General Woller, of the Colonial Secretary, and also of the Commander-in-Chief. I should know something of the members of that power which had for so long a time past been exercising its malignant influence upon England. The unfortunate part of it was that when I had obtained the knowledge it would be of no use to me. All this time the feeling of hunger, to which I have already alluded, was gradually growing stronger; imprisonment was bad enough in its way, but imprisonment combined with starvation was intolerable. Unable at last to bear it any longer, I rose from my bed, and beat upon the door with my fists in the hope of attracting attention. Loud, however, as was the noise I made, it elicited no response. The house might have been deserted for all the answer I received. I beat upon the panels again and again, continuing my efforts until I was exhausted. Still no attention rewarded me. At last, tired out by my efforts, I returned to my bed and sat down upon it. I had scarcely done so, before the sound of footsteps in the corridor on the other side of the door reached my ears. A key was placed in the lock and turned, the door opened, and a man entered the room. It would be difficult for me to express the surprise I felt at seeing him. You will be in a position to realize something of my feelings, when I say that the man before me was no less a person than the impoverished music-master I had seen appealing to the Countess de Venetza in the Park, and whom I had offered to help. That I was not deceived I was quite certain. I should have known him anywhere by reason of his extraordinary dark eyes and hair. "Good afternoon, monsieur," he said in French, with an assurance that showed me he was aware of my familiarity with that language. "What may I have the pleasure of doing for you?" His calm insolence surprised me. I had expected rough treatment, possibly abuse; to be a prisoner and yet to be treated with such elaborate politeness was not at all what I had pictured for my portion.