“Sit down!” he commanded. The girl obeyed dully, one little apprehensive glance at him the only sign of any mental life in her. She sat upright, her hands on her lap, staring stupidly into the fire. Two heavy tears collected themselves in her protuberant eyes rolled down her cheeks. They seemed but to emphasize her degradation. Her tyrant stood over her, his dark eyes hard. “Lean back and go to sleep!” She sank back among the cushions. Obviously, she had no will at all of her own. Her eyes closed. Her expressionless face twitched for a moment and then was as still as a mask. Her bosom heaved in the commencement of deep and heavy breathing which continued in the normality of slumber. The old man watched her, keenly and contemptuously alert for any sign of simulation. Kranz pulled a little table across to the fireplace. A telephone instrument, incongruously utilitarian in this luxurious room, and writing materials were on it. “You should note down what is said, _Excellenz_,” he said earnestly, in a low voice. The old man ignored him, his eyes on the girl. Suddenly he shuddered in a rush of cold air. The paper on the table fluttered as in a draught. He turned to Kranz in savage irritation. “Shut that window!” Kranz shook his head. “They are all shut, _Excellenz_!” His whisper was one of genuine awe. “Hush! It’s beginning! _He’s come!_” The old man favoured him with a glance of inexpressible contempt. The scorn was still in his eyes when he jerked round to the girl again in an involuntary start of surprise at a sudden greeting. “Good evening, _Excellenz_!” The words issued from that expressionless mask of the deeply breathing girl, but they were uttered in a tone of easy jocularity, followed by a little good-humoured laugh, which was uncanny in its contrast with her degraded personality. Despite the feminine vocal chords which had articulated the phrase, the _timbre_ and intonation were vividly those of a man of the world. The old man stared speechlessly. His faculties seemed inhibited under the shock. The red faded out of his round face, left it ashen gray under the close-cropped white hair. Kranz, watching him narrowly, feared for his heart. He made a brusque little gesture as though seizing control of himself. “_Herr Gott!_ It’s--it’s _his_ voice!” he gasped. His eyes turned to Kranz and there was fear in them, a primitive fear of the supernatural. Trembling, he reeled rather than walked to the chair by the table with the telephone, dropped heavily into it. Kranz broke the oppressive silence, posed himself as master of the situation. “Good evening, _Karl_!” he said as though welcoming an everyday acquaintance into the room. “Hallo, Kranz!” came the easy, jocular voice through the lips of the entranced girl. “_Wie gehts?_ I am glad you persuaded His Excellency to come. Now we can start!” The old man pulled himself together, moistened his lips for speech. “Is--is that really you, Karl?” he asked, unevenly.