Thalia Drummond had preceded him by a quarter of an hour, and in the taxi which carried her to the same end of the town she brought about a lightning transformation of her appearance. The old black raincoat which covered her to the throat, the heavy-veiled black hat, were taken off. Beneath it she wore a cloak of delicate silk tissue, covering an evening dress which would have satisfied her apparently exigent master. She took off her hat and tidied her hair as well as she could, and when she stepped down at the flashing entrance of Merros Club and handed a small attaché case to the bowing attendant, she was a picture of radiant loveliness. So Jack Beardmore thought. He was supping with some friends much against his will, for he hated the night side of life, when he saw her come in, and scowled jealously at her debonair escort. “Who is he?” Jack’s companion glanced across lazily. “I don’t know the lady,” he said, “but the man is Raphael Willings. He is a big pot in the Government.” Thalia Drummond had seen the young man before he had seen her, and she groaned inwardly. Half of what her host said she missed; her mind was completely absorbed in other directions, and it was not until a familiar phrase reached her ear that she turned her interest toward the Minister. “Antique swords,” she said with a start. “I’m told you have a wonderful collection, Mr. Willings.” “Are you interested?” he smiled. “A little. In fact, quite a lot,” she said awkwardly, and it was not like Thalia to be at a loss for a reply. “Could I ask you to come along to tea one day and see them?” said Raphael. “One doesn’t often find a woman who is interested in such things. Shall we say to-morrow?” “Not to-morrow,” said Thalia hastily. “Perhaps the next day.” He made the appointment then and there, writing it ostensibly on his cuff. She saw Jack leave the club without a look in her direction, and she felt absurdly miserable. She did so want to talk to him and was praying that he would come over to their table. Mr. Willings insisted upon driving her home in his car, and she left him with a sigh of relief. He did not harmonise with her mood that night. There was a little forecourt to the flats in which she lived, and she had dismissed her admirer (he made no secret of this relationship) in the street outside. She had to walk a dozen paces to reach one of the two entrances, and even before she had sent her escort away, she was aware that a man was waiting for her in the darkened court. She stood on the pavement until Willings’s car had moved on, and then she came slowly toward the waiting man. He spoke for a minute in a voice that was a little above a whisper, and she responded in the same tone. The conversation was of very short duration. Presently the man turned without sign or word of farewell, and walked quickly away and the girl entered her flat.