This nobleman, as has been stated, was comparatively a poor man. Emphasis must now be laid on that word ‘comparatively.’ The baron had a thousand a year of his own in stocks, and a small property in Yorkshire which brought in a trifle less than nothing a year, after all the outgoings were paid. His appointments in the City yielded him fifteen hundred a year. So that his net income was a trifle less than two thousand five hundred pounds per annum. He was thus removed from the fear of absolute starvation. The peerage was not an ancient one--Lord Dolmer was only the second baron--but the blood was aristocratic; it had run in the veins of generations of men who knew how to live and how to enjoy themselves. Lord Dolmer had discreetly remained a bachelor, and, in the common phrase, ‘he did himself uncommonly well.’ He had a suite of finely-furnished rooms in Half-Moon Street, and his domestic staff there consisted of a valet, who was also butler and confidential factotum; a boy, who fulfilled the functions of a ‘tiger,’ and employed his leisure hours in not cleaning knives and boots; a housekeeper, who wore black silk and guarded the secret of her age; and two women servants. It was the valet who answered to Richard’s masterful ring; the valet’s name was Simpkin. ‘Lord Dolmer at home?’ asked Richard. ‘Yes, sir,’ said Simpkin amicably; ‘his lord-ship is at breakfast.’ It was just upon eleven o’clock. ‘I’ll tell him you’re here, sir,’ said Simpkin. In another moment Richard was greeting the second Baron Dolmer in the dining-room, a stylish little apartment trimmed with oak. Lord Dolmer breakfasted in the Continental fashion, taking coffee at eight, and déjeuner about eleven. He had the habit of smoking during a meal, and the border of his plate, which held the remains of a kidney, showed a couple of cigarette-ends. He gave Richard a cigarette from his gold case, and Simpkin supplemented this hospitality with a glass of adorable and unique sherry. ‘We will deprive ourselves of your presence, Simpkin,’ said Lord Dolmer, who, a very simple and good-natured man at heart, had nevertheless these little affectations. ‘Certainly, sir,’ said the privileged Simpkin, who liked to hear his master use these extraordinary phrases. ‘And now, Redgrave, what is it? You pride yourself, I know, on your inscrutable features, but I perceive that there is something up.’ ‘Well,’ said Richard, ‘it’s about that Craig affair. I thought I’d just call and tell you privately that I can’t do anything. I should like, if you and Mr. Lock don’t object, to retire from it.’ ‘Singular!’ exclaimed Lord Dolmer mildly--, ‘highly singular! Tell me the details, my friend.’ Richard, rather to his own surprise, began to tell the story, omitting, however, all reference to Micky, the detective. ‘And do you believe Mr. Raphael Craig’s tale?’ asked Lord Dolmer. ‘It seems to me scarcely to fit in with some of the facts which you have related.’ Richard took breath.