"Morning, sar. It is a fine walk-day." "Delightful," I assented. "My mistress, sar--the Lady Allegra--she will be obligated of the honor to have your company dinner. You have no engagement anticipatory?" He stood with his head cocked a trifle to one side, smiling amiably. "To-night?" I asked. "That, sar, is my counselment. To-night, at clock nine." "Very good. I'll be here." Red-Fez shook his head deprecatingly. Finally, and after much circumlocution, I gathered that I was not expected at No. 231. My instructions were simply to be in waiting at the Worth Monument in Madison Square at half-after eight; for the rest Red-Fez would hold himself responsible. And upon this understanding we parted. "The Lady Allegra," I said, under my breath, as I walked home. "The Lady Allegra." Up to this point I had kept my own counsel, but now I felt it my duty to make a confidant of Indiman. He listened to my story with grave attention. "It promises well--decidedly so," admitted Indiman. "Confound it! If it were not for this unlucky accident of a sprained ankle--" and he glanced ruefully at his injured limb encased in its plaster-of-Paris form. "I like the name," I went on, somewhat irrelevantly. "The Lady Allegra." "There are possibilities in it," assented Indiman, grumpily. "Will you hand me my solitaire cards--and, for Heaven's sake! stop kicking the lacquer off the andirons." "Oh, I beg your pardon." "Of course you understand what I mean. It isn't the andirons, but the sight of your aggressively vigorous legs that moves me to childish wrath. To be tied down here like a trussed pigeon! Better leave me to my solitaire. I'll be more civilized after luncheon." Whereupon I smiled and went out. Half-past eight o'clock; the Worth Monument; Red-Fez in a four-wheeler; the carefully drawn window-curtains; the production of the black silk bag with which to envelop my head--it all happened in accordance with the playbill. At first I tried to keep some idea of distance and direction, but I soon got confused and had to give it up. I could only conjecture that the course was a long one, for I heard a clock striking nine just as the cab stopped, and our pace had been a rapid one. "Thisaway, sar," whispered my guide, and I yielded to the gentle pressure of his hand on my arm. The street door closed behind me, I felt myself guided up a pair of stairs, a sharp turn to the right, and we had arrived. But where? Then I realized that the black silk bag had been removed from my head and I was free to use my eyes. An ironical permission, truly, for I found myself in absolute darkness. Strain my vision as I might, not a ray of light met the sensitive surface of the retina. The blackness stood about me like a wall, immaterial, doubtless, but none the less impenetrable.