The room in which Gerald found himself was of considerable size, and was lighted by three tall, narrow windows, curtained with heavy hangings of faded crimson velvet. The walls were painted a delicate green, and the floor was of polished wood. There was a large old-fashioned fire-place, and a heavy, overhanging marble chimney-piece, across the front of which was carved a wild procession of Baechic figures. A Turkey carpet covered the middle of the floor, but the sides of the room were left bare. Chairs, tables, and bureau were of dark oak, heavy, uncouth, uncompromising--and if not really antique, were very good Wardour Street imitations of the genuine article. On one side of the hearth, however, stood a capacious, modern easy-chair, for the special delectation of Mr. Peter Byrne, while in neighbourly proximity to it was the long-stemmed pipe with the china bowl. On the opposite side of the hearth stood another article, that seemed more out of keeping with the rest of the room, even, than the easy-chair. It was a couch or lounge of the most modern fashion, and upholstered with a gay flowery chintz. There could be no doubt as to the person for whose behoof this gay piece of furniture was intended. Stretched on the floor in front of it, and doing duty as a rug, was a magnificent tiger-skin. On this stood an embroidered footstool. At the back of the couch was a screen painted with Chinese figures and landscapes. Near it hung a guitar. Gerald advanced slowly into the room, and for a moment or two he altogether failed to recognize the man who rose out of the easy-chair to greet him. It was Byrne and yet it was not Byrne. "It must be his father, or an older brother," said Gerald to himself. Even when the man held out his hand and whispered: "Is there anybody outside the door?" he was still in doubt. "There is no one outside the door," said Gerald. "I came up the stairs alone." "That's all right, then, and I'm very glad to see you, Mr. Warburton," said Byrne's familiar voice, after which there could no longer be any doubt. "Not a bad make up, eh?" he added, with a chuckle, as he noted Gerald's puzzled look. "I certainly did not know you at first," replied the latter. "In fact, I took you for your own father." "You could not pay me a higher compliment, sir," said Byrne, with a gleeful rubbing of the hands. "It is part of the scheme I have in view, that Van Duren should take me to be an old man, very feeble, very infirm, and nearly, if not quite, on my last legs." "You look at the very least twenty years older than when I last saw you," remarked Gerald.