"Do you know when she will be home?" persisted Rolfe, forestalling an evident desire on the servant's part to shut the door in his face. The man looked at Rolfe doubtfully. Well-trained English servant though he was, and used to summing up strangers at a glance, he could not quite make out who Rolfe might be. But before he could come to a decision on the point a feminine voice behind him said: "What is it, Trappon?" The servant turned quickly in the direction of the voice. "It's a er--er--party who wants to see Madam, mademoiselle," he replied. "_Parti?_ What mean you by _parti_? Explain yourself, Trappon." "A person--a gentleman, mademoiselle," replied Trappon, determined to be on the safe side. "Open the door, Trappon, that I may see this gentleman." Trappon somewhat reluctantly complied, and a young lady stepped forward. She was tall and dark, with charming eyes which were also shrewd; she had a fine figure which a tight-fitting dress displayed rather too boldly for good taste, and she was sufficiently young to be able to appear quite girlish in the half light. "You wish to see Madame Holymead?" she said to Rolfe. Her manner was engagingly pleasant and French. Rolfe felt it incumbent upon him to be gallant in the presence of the fair representative of a nation whom he vaguely understood placed gallantry in the forefront of the virtues. He took off his hat with a courtly bow. "I do, mademoiselle," he replied, "and my business is important." "Then, monsieur, step inside if you will be so good, and I will see you." She led Rolfe to a small, prettily-furnished room at the end of the hall, and carefully shut the door. Then she invited Rolfe to be seated, and asked him to state his business. But this was precisely what Rolfe was not anxious to do except to Mrs. Holymead herself. "My business is private, and must be placed before Mrs. Holymead," he said firmly. "I wish to see her." "I regret, monsieur, but Madame Holymead is out of town. She went last week. If you had only come before she went"--Mademoiselle Chiron looked genuinely sorry. Rolfe was a little taken aback at this intelligence, and showed it. "Out of town!" he repeated. "Where has she gone to?" She looked at him almost timidly. "But, monsieur, I do not know if I ought to tell you without knowing who you are. Are you a friend of Madame's?" "My name is Detective Rolfe--I come from Scotland Yard," replied Rolfe, in the authoritative tone of a man who knew that the disclosure was sure to command respect, if not a welcome. "Scotland? You come from Scotland? Madame will regret much that she has missed you." "Scotland Yard, I said," corrected Rolfe, "not Scotland." "Is it not the same?" Mademoiselle Chiron looked at him helplessly. "Scotland Yard--is it not in Scotland? What is the difference?"