The drawing-room resembled a museum as ill-arranged as the hall. Cases of stuffed birds met the eye in every corner. A badly preserved fish of enormous size, lacking an eye, monopolized one wall; I inclined to think it was a tarpon. The space was choked with rickety small tables, and those pieces of furniture dear to the past generation as chiffoniers and what-nots, every one laden with curiosities in the way of shells, savage ornaments, beads and rude knives in sheaths of coloured leather. But what naturally drew our attention most were the skins that strewed the floor and made all movement well-nigh impossible, unless by way of skips and jumps. Every known species of Africa, I should think, was represented, except perhaps the elephant. Two of those in sight were leopards, and my chief gave me a quick look of triumph as he pointed them out. Neither of them, none of the skins in fact, were mounted on cloth in the common fashion. The owner of this weird collection could have picked one up and fastened it across her shoulders without the least difficulty. Mrs. Baker took some time to appear. Although we had postponed our call till four o’clock, it is probable that her siesta had been interrupted. Certainly she had the air of having only been roused from sleep long enough to make a rather imperfect toilet. Her hair could best be described as touzled, but it was of that light straw colour that lends itself to a pleasing disorder. The face beneath was bright and birdlike, animated by an expression of lively interest amounting to perkiness. The dress, I can only suppose, was intended to rank as a tea-gown, although it was strongly suggestive of a dressing-gown. But whatever impressions of slovenliness and neglect were produced by Mrs. Baker’s appearance and surroundings, they were almost instantly dissipated by her manner, which was the perfection of genuine cordiality and ease. “I’m ashamed to have kept you waiting, Sir Frank!” she exclaimed, grasping me warmly by the hand. “But dear me,” she proceeded before I could speak, “if I haven’t mistaken the son for the father! How are _you_, Sir Frank! I declare the likeness would deceive anybody.” My chief extricated his hand from her friendly clutch with a smile. “You flatter me, madam. Dr. Cassilis, I regret to say, is no relation to me, though he is good enough to assist me.” Mrs. Baker was not in the least embarrassed. Her smile at the mistake was heartier than either of ours. “Just like me,” she avowed good-naturedly. “If there’s a chance for me to put my foot in it, I’m sure to do it. And I know you so well, by name, of course. To think of all our diseases being due just to tiny weeny insects! I’m sure everybody ought to be grateful to you.”