“Frightened . . . nothing!” retorted Miss Maxwell with considerable emphasis. “Say, if that old dot-and-carry-one shows up, I’ll vamp him so hard he’ll just beat it back to Deutschland!” Francis laughed. “Good for you. If you want anything, just ring for Batts, will you? I’ll be back as soon as I can. Bye-bye.” The front door slammed. As if struck by a sudden idea, Patricia went to the window and peered beneath the blind. The watcher still lounged on the opposite pavement. She observed him for a full two minutes. Then she saw him turn suddenly and walk swiftly down the street. “That’s for Francis!” she said to herself. She took up the cards and began to play Canfield. But she could not keep her mind on the game; her thoughts were busy with the strange and sinister figure who, that very morning, had loomed so large in her dainty drawing-room. She threw down the cards and went to the telephone. She would ring up the house and tell Barton she was dining out. But now she could get no answer from the exchange. The line remained completely dead. She depressed the hook repeatedly without any result. At last she hung up the receiver, and going to the fire-place, pressed the bell-push in the wall beside it. Then she went back to the telephone. No sound of life came to her over the wires. The line must be out of order, she thought. But then she remembered that Francis Okewood had used the instrument only a few minutes before. And no one came in response to her ring. A little feeling of fear crept over her like a trickle of ice-water running down her back. Why were both telephone and bell out of order? Suddenly she heard the sitting-room door behind her open. Ah! the valet at last. “I rang,” she said, speaking over her shoulder, at the same time depressing the hook of the telephone instrument, “to ask you what is the matter with the telephone. I can’t get a reply from the . . .” The silence in the room made her turn. At the table Dr. Madjaroff, her visitor of the morning, stood looking at her. CHAPTER VI THE SECRET OF THE IKON She must have dropped the telephone receiver, for a clatter sounded dully in her ears. The strange and baleful glare of the man at the table held her gaze. The blood seemed to drain away from her heart as she met the cruel menace of those blackly bitter eyes. The bushy dark beard had vanished and the fleshy scarlet lips pressed together in a hard line were clearly visible above the squarely massive chin. But she knew her visitor again immediately. It was as though she recognized the extraordinary air of authority that his presence exhaled without requiring the additional aid to identification that the heavy misshapen boot presented.