Stepping ahead with quick and unhesitating strides, Melun led the way up a long avenue, and turned into the gate of a pleasant garden, in which there stood a substantial red-brick house. On his ringing the bell the door was opened by a German man-servant, and a moment later they were shown into a prettily-furnished drawing-room of the suburban type. From a seat by the fire there arose an elderly lady dressed in decorous black silk. This was the hostess, Mrs. Bagley. Her face was broad and flat, and she had a pair of little black eyes that danced and glinted. Her grey hair was neatly parted beneath a black lace cap. Altogether she looked a particularly respectable middle-aged British matron. Her aspect, indeed, was so completely precise and prim, that when he turned from shaking hands with her, Sir Paul was almost taken aback at the utter contrast which the other woman in the room presented to Mrs. Bagley. The other woman must in her time have been out of the common beautiful. She was beautiful even now, though her eyes were very tired and her face when in repose was hard and set. Her hair would have at once aroused suspicion that it was dyed, for it was lustrous and brilliant as burnished copper. But the suspicion would have been without justification, in the same way as would have been the notion that the very pronounced colour on the woman's cheeks was artificial too. “Madame Estelle,” said Melun, by way of introduction, and his heavy-lidded eyes glanced quickly from the red-haired woman to Sir Paul. He noted with considerable satisfaction that the baronet was evidently much struck by the beauty of Estelle. The third occupant of the room was a tall young man of the most unpleasant appearance. He had very light blue eyes, closely set together, and a large, red, hawk-like nose. His hands were large and red, with immense knuckles and brutal, short, stubbed nails. Westerham took one of the huge red hands with a little shudder. It was cold and clammy and strong as a vice. “If ever,” thought the baronet to himself, “I have touched the hand of a murderer, I have touched one now.” The tall young man sat down by the window and carefully watched the baronet with his narrow, light blue eyes. The quick gaze of the elderly matron glinted and flashed all over Westerham's face. The captain looked at him sidelong. The red-haired woman alone gazed at him openly and frankly with eyes that were almost honestly blue. There was a little pause while conversation hung fire. There was nothing for this curious collection of human beings to talk about except the baronet himself, and on this subject their tongues had to be silent as long as he remained. Suddenly the door opened, and a portly man with a sallow, greasy face came quickly in. He stood still, with his hand on the panel of the door, and gave a short, quick gasp which caused the captain to look at him sharply.