She sat at the foot of the bed, her arm over the rail, and looked at Peter. She would not have recognized him; he was clean-shaven, spruce. There was a certain buoyancy in his attitude which was new to her. Good-looking, too, and in spite of his approaching thirty years and all that he had suffered, remarkably youthful. It added a piquant interest to her scrutiny that she knew so much about his past--so much more than he guessed. A husky voice hailed them from the foot of the stairs. “Would you like a cup of tea, miss?” Peter Dawlish looked at the girl with a smile. “She really makes rather good tea,” he said in a low voice. “I should love one,” she nodded, and he called softly down the stairs and came back. “I’m scared of waking Elizabeth,” he said, and added: “You look fagged!” “Which means that I look hideous,” she retorted with a frank smile. “I won’t bandy compliments with you, or I would congratulate you upon the marked improvement which the barber has brought about. Did you know Druze very well?” “Not very well,” he said. “Tell me something about him--all that you know.” He frowned at this, evidently trying to remember matters that had passed, facts that had gone out of his recollection. “He came to Lord Everreed’s place soon after I took up my post,” he said. “My aunt the Princess Bellini recommended him----” “The princess recommended him?” she said quickly. “Why? Was he in her service?” “Yes,” he nodded. “He was with Aunt Anita in Java for years. Her husband held some sort of minor post on one of the plantations: he was, I believe, a fairly poor man. After his death she came to England, and Druze came with her; in Java she had afforded the luxury of a butler; living is rather cheap there, but when she came to England she got rid of him. I have a distinct recollection of the letter she wrote to Lord Everreed, which I answered. I call her ‘aunt,’” he explained, “although she was only the half sister of my father, and in reality no relation to me at all. How long Druze remained with Lord Everreed, of course I do not know. From the date of my conviction that page of history is closed. But a few years after I had gone to prison I heard in a roundabout fashion--I think it was in a letter which an old servant of ours wrote--that he had gone into the service of Lady Raytham.” She thought over this for some time. “When were you arrested?” “Seven and a half years ago.” She looked up in surprise. “Then you served the full sentence?” He nodded. “Yes. I am not on ticket-of-leave. The truth is, I was rather a troublesome prisoner. I suppose most prisoners are who have the delusion of innocence. Why do you ask?” “I have reason to believe that the princess thought you only served five,” said the girl. “But that really doesn’t matter. I suppose she’s of an age that---- I’m being cattish! Now, tell me something more.” “You look a very sleepy cat,” he said, and at that moment there came through the door a strange little figure.