And then, at last, Sir Angus answered, rather drily, "The porter cannot admit us to the office, for this Mr. Fernando Apra has had a second lock fitted. It seems he never allowed any one access to the room--unless he happened to be there himself." "Well, he had plans there--plans of this Concession, and he was very secretive, as are so many foreigners. Still, he impressed both me and my father more favourably than do most foreigners we come across. As a matter of fact, we twice lunched with him at the Berkeley. He is a man with a tremendous flow of good spirits--speaking English very well, though of course with a foreign accent. Has he got into any trouble?" he looked curiously at the gentleman standing before him. He was not aware of Sir Angus Kinross's identity, but he knew that he was from Scotland Yard. "We shall know more about that when we have forced open the door of his office. I presume you would like to be present?" And the young man nodded. A grave, uneasy expression came over his face; he wondered if he had said too much of his pleasant client, and that client's private affairs." CHAPTER XVIII They went up the lift in two parties: Sir Angus Kinross, the house agent, and the two men from Scotland Yard; then Lord St. Amant and Katty Winslow alone. As they were going up, he said kindly, "Are you sure you are wise in doing this? I fear--I fear the worst, Mrs. Winslow!" With dry lips she muttered, "Yes, so do I. But I would rather come all the same. I'll wait outside the door." Poor Katty! She was telling herself that it was surely impossible--_impossible_ that Godfrey Pavely should be dead. Though his vitality had always been low, he had been intensely individual. His self-importance, his egoism, his lack of interest in anything but himself, Katty, and the little world where he played so important a part--all that had made him a forceful personality, especially to this woman who had possessed whatever he had had of heart and passionate feeling. She had felt of late as if he were indeed part of the warp and woof of her life, and deep in her scheming mind had grown a kind of superstitious belief that sooner or later their lives would become one. The thought that he might be lying dead in this great new building filled her with a sort of sick horror. There seemed something at once so futile and so hideously cruel about so stupid an accident as that described in the Portuguese financier's letter. They stepped out on to a top landing, from which branched off several narrow corridors. The agent led the way down one of these. "Room No. 18? This must be it--this _is_ it! Look, there are the two keyholes!" The younger and the brawnier of the two plainclothes detectives came forward. "If you'll just stand aside, gentlemen, for a minute or two, we'll soon get this door open. It's quite an easy matter."