He paused for a moment before the closed door of the room and smilingly surveyed the great steel latch which spanned the door and fitted into an iron socket securely screwed to the framework. He lifted it gingerly--there was a little knob for the purpose--and let it fall gently into the socket which had been made to receive it on the door itself. “Rum cove,” he said again, and lifting the latch to the hook which held it up, left the room, closing the door softly behind him. He walked down the corridor, with a meditative frown, and began to descend the stairs to the hall. He was less than half-way down when the one maid of Kara's household came up to meet him. “There's a gentleman who wants to see Mr. Kara,” she said, “here is his card.” Fisher took the card from the salver and read, “Mr. George Gathercole, Junior Travellers' Club.” “I'll see this gentleman,” he said, with a sudden brisk interest. He found the visitor standing in the hall. He was a man who would have attracted attention, if only from the somewhat eccentric nature of his dress and his unkempt appearance. He was dressed in a well-worn overcoat of a somewhat pronounced check, he had a top-hat, glossy and obviously new, at the back of his head, and the lower part of his face was covered by a ragged beard. This he was plucking with nervous jerks, talking to himself the while, and casting a disparaging eye upon the portrait of Remington Kara which hung above the marble fireplace. A pair of pince-nez sat crookedly on his nose and two fat volumes under his arm completed the picture. Fisher, who was an observer of some discernment, noticed under the overcoat a creased blue suit, large black boots and a pair of pearl studs. The newcomer glared round at the valet. “Take these!” he ordered peremptorily, pointing to the books under his arm. Fisher hastened to obey and noted with some wonder that the visitor did not attempt to assist him either by loosening his hold of the volumes or raising his hand. Accidentally the valet's hand pressed against the other's sleeve and he received a shock, for the forearm was clearly an artificial one. It was against a wooden surface beneath the sleeve that his knuckles struck, and this view of the stranger's infirmity was confirmed when the other reached round with his right hand, took hold of the gloved left hand and thrust it into the pocket of his overcoat. “Where is Kara?” growled the stranger. “He will be back very shortly, sir,” said the urbane Fisher. “Out, is he?” boomed the visitor. “Then I shan't wait. What the devil does he mean by being out? He's had three years to be out!” “Mr. Kara expects you, sir. He told me he would be in at six o'clock at the latest.” “Six o'clock, ye gods'.” stormed the man impatiently. “What dog am I that I should wait till six?” He gave a savage little tug at his beard. “Six o'clock, eh? You will tell Mr. Kara that I called. Give me those books.” “But I assure you, sir,--” stammered Fisher.