When the man's hand was on one of the doors, T. X. asked quietly, “I think I have seen you before somewhere, my friend.” The man smiled. “It is very possible, sir. I was a waiter at the Constitutional for some time.” T. X. nodded. “That is where it must have been,” he said. The man opened the door and announced the visitor. T. X. found himself in a large room, very handsomely furnished, but just lacking that sense of cosiness and comfort which is the feature of the Englishman's home. Kara rose from behind a big writing table, and came with a smile and a quick step to greet the visitor. “This is a most unexpected pleasure,” he said, and shook hands warmly. T. X. had not seen him for a year and found very little change in this strange young man. He could not be more confident than he had been, nor bear himself with a more graceful carriage. Whatever social success he had achieved, it had not spoiled him, for his manner was as genial and easy as ever. “I think that will do, Miss Holland,” he said, turning to the girl who, with notebook in hand, stood by the desk. “Evidently,” thought T. X., “our Hellenic friend has a pretty taste in secretaries.” In that one glance he took her all in--from the bronze-brown of her hair to her neat foot. T. X. was not readily attracted by members of the opposite sex. He was self-confessed a predestined bachelor, finding life and its incidence too absorbing to give his whole mind to the serious problem of marriage, or to contract responsibilities and interests which might divert his attention from what he believed was the greater game. Yet he must be a man of stone to resist the freshness, the beauty and the youth of this straight, slender girl; the pink-and-whiteness of her, the aliveness and buoyancy and the thrilling sense of vitality she carried in her very presence. “What is the weirdest name you have ever heard?” asked Kara laughingly. “I ask you, because Miss Holland and I have been discussing a begging letter addressed to us by a Maggie Goomer.” The girl smiled slightly and in that smile was paradise, thought T. X. “The weirdest name?” he repeated, “why I think the worst I have heard for a long time is Belinda Mary.” “That has a familiar ring,” said Kara. T. X. was looking at the girl. She was staring at him with a certain languid insolence which made him curl up inside. Then with a glance at her employer she swept from the room. “I ought to have introduced you,” said Kara. “That was my secretary, Miss Holland. Rather a pretty girl, isn't she?” “Very,” said T. X., recovering his breath. “I like pretty things around me,” said Kara, and somehow the complacency of the remark annoyed the detective more than anything that Kara had ever said to him.