I stepped in there. “There” was a sitting-room. From the wall looked down on me, as I entered, a life-size portrait of my visitor of the plum-coloured cloak. The face was turned directly towards me; the eyes seemed to be subjecting me to a serious examination. I did not care to meet them; in their presence I was conscious of a vague discomfort. The atmosphere was redolent of a feminine personality. On every hand were the owner’s little treasures. I pictured her flitting here and there among them, touching this, altering the position of that, dumbly inquiring of me all the time, with, in her air, a touch of resentment, what I did in her apartment. Miss Adair perceived that I was not so ready with my tongue as I might have been. There was a sharp note of anxiety in her voice. “There’s nothing wrong with Bessie, is there?” I stammered, like an ass, “I--I’m afraid there is.” “She’s not--dead?” “Dead! Good gracious, no! Nothing of the kind.” “Then what has happened to her? Tell me! Quick! Don’t you see that I’m on tenterhooks?” “First of all let me be certain of my ground. I take it that that is Miss Moore.” I handed her the, by this time, historical photograph. “Of course it is. What do you mean by asking? Where is she? Who are you? What have you done to her? Don’t stand there as if you were afraid to open your mouth!” “The truth is, Miss Adair, that I am rather at a loss for words with which to express myself. But, if you will bear with me, I will endeavour to make myself as plain as I can; it is rather a difficult task which I have to perform.” It was a difficult task, nor was it made easier by the two shrewd eyes which were regarding me as if I were some curious and unnecessary kind of creature. CHAPTER IX. THE REVELATIONS OF “MR. GEORGE WITHERS” Miss Adair was a tall, commandingly built young woman, with about her more than a suggestion of muscularity. I had recognized her at once. On the stage she was accustomed to play the part of the dashing adventuress; the sort of person who could not, under any possible circumstances, be put down. I realized that she might be disposed to carry something of her stage manner into actual life. She confronted me as if I were some despised, but lifelong enemy, whose attacks she was prepared to resist at every point. “When are you going to tell me what has happened to Bessie? In the first place, where is she?” “She’s at Imperial Mansions.” “What’s she doing there?” “She’s in charge of the housekeeper--Mrs. Peddar.” “In charge! What do you mean?” “Miss Moore is not--not herself.” “You men have been playing some trick on her. You shall pay for it dearly if you have!” I caught her by the arm; she evincing a strong inclination to rush off to Imperial Mansions there and then. “Miss Moore came through my bedroom window, at an early hour this morning, in--a curious condition.” “Your bedroom window! This morning! She must have been in a curious condition!”