It was not for Lady Laura that I asked, however, but for Miss Belsize, and the almost slatternly maid really couldn't say whether Miss Belsize was in or whether she wasn't. She might be in the garden, or she might be on the river. Would I step inside and wait a minute? I would and did, but it was more minutes than one that I was kept languishing in an interior as dingy as the outside of the house. I had time to take the whole thing in. There were massive remnants of deservedly unfashionable furniture. The sofa I can still see in my mind's eye, and the steel fire-irons, and the crystal chandelier. An aged and gigantic Broadwood occupied nearly half the room; and in a cheap frame thereon, inviting all sorts of comparisons and contrasts, stood a full-length portrait of Camilla Belsize resplendent in contemporary court kit. I was still studying that frankly barbaric paraphernalia--the feather, the necklace, the coiled train--and wondering what noble kinsman had come to the rescue for the great occasion, and why Camilla should have looked so bored with her finery, when the door opened and she herself entered--not even very smartly dressed--and looking anything but bored, although I say it. But she did seem astonished, anxious, indignant, reproachful, and to my mind still more nervous and distressed, though this hardly showed through the loopholes of her pride. And as for her white serge coat and skirt, they looked as though they had seen considerable service on the river, and I immediately perceived that one of the large enamel buttons was missing from the coat. Up to that moment, I may now confess, I had been suffering from no slight nervous anxiety of my own. But all qualms were lost in sheer excitement when I spoke. "You may well wonder at this intrusion," I began. "But I thought this must be yours, Miss Belsize." And from my waistcoat pocket I produced the missing button of enamel. "Where did you find it?" inquired Miss Belsize, with an admirably slight increase of astonishment in voice and look. "And how did you know it was mine?" came quickly in the next breath. "I didn't know," I answered. "I guessed. It was the shot of my life!" "But you don't say where you found it?" "In an empty house not far from here." She had held her breath; now I felt it like the lightest zephyr. And quite unconsciously I had retained the enamel button. "Well, Mr. Manders? I'm very much obliged to you. But may I have it back again?" I returned her property. We had been staring at each other all the time. I stared still harder as she repeated her perfunctory thanks. "So it was you!" I said, and was sorry to see her looking purposely puzzled at that, but thankful when the reckless light outshone all the rest in those chameleon eyes of hers. "Who did you think it was?" she asked me with a frosty little smile. "I didn't know if it was anybody at all. I didn't know what to think," said I, quite candidly. "I simply found his pistol in my hand."