"Any letters, Milford?" I asked easily. I was watching him as I spoke, looking out keenly for the slightest start of surprise or hint that he had noticed something unusual in my appearance. But nothing could have been more natural than the manner in which he came forward and relieved me of my coat and hat. "There were some letters by the last post, sir," he said. "I have placed them in the study." "Thanks," I said, and turned towards the stairs. "Shall I bring you up the brandy and soda now, sir?" he asked. I had not the least desire for any more brandy, having already treated myself with unusual generosity in this respect at the Milan. Still, as a final drink seemed to be a nightly custom of Northcote's, I thought I had better follow his usual routine. "Yes," I said, "you can bring it up." I mounted the wide staircase, which was carpeted in the same luxurious manner as the hall, and, crossing the landing at the top, opened the door of the room which Northcote had marked as my study. The electric switch was just inside, and I turned it on, flooding the whole apartment with a soft, rich light thrown from an unseen arrangement of lamps somewhere behind the cornice. It was a big and magnificently furnished room. Whatever faults Northcote may have had, the neglect of his own comfort was apparently not one of them. From the carved oak book-shelves and the huge easy-chairs down to the two or three little reading-lamps placed about on various tables, there seemed to be everything that luxury could demand or ingenuity contrive. I stood with my back to the open red-tiled hearth, gazing over it all with distinct approval. There was a knock at the door, and Milford came in, carrying a tray, which contained a decanter, a syphon, and a glass. He placed these on a small table by the fireplace, and then withdrew as noiselessly as he had entered. On the farther side of the room stood a handsome oak desk, at which Northcote was evidently accustomed to conduct his business and correspondence. I walked over to it, and seated myself in the chair. So far, everything had gone surprisingly well. A kind of wild hilarity at the novelty of my amazing position was running through my veins. I felt inclined to burst out laughing, or to get up and waltz round the room. The thought of Milford's emotions, however, if he should come in unexpectedly, prevented me from putting my feelings into action. I pulled out Northcote's pocket-book, and, opening it at the page where he had jotted down his immediate engagements, began to glance through them. As I did so, my left hand, in a curious, unconscious way, was playing with the framework of a small silver mirror which stood on one side of the desk. It was the tiniest sound behind me that attracted my attention--a sound so soft that, if my hearing had not been particularly acute, I should certainly have failed to notice it. Without moving, I glanced sideways in the mirror.