"What sort of a lady, Joe?" "Furren, I should say, sir, by the way she speaks. I arskt her if she had an appointment, and she said no, but she said she wanted to see you on very urgent and particular business. I told her most people says that wot comes to see you, but she says hers was _reely_ important. Arskt me to tell you, sir, that it was about the Riversbrook case." "The Riversbrook case? I'll see her, Joe. Has not Stork returned yet?" "No, sir." "Tell him to go to his dinner when he comes back. Show the lady in, Joe." Crewe regarded his caller keenly as Joe ushered her in, placed a chair for her, and went out, closing the door noiselessly behind him. She was a tall, well-dressed, graceful woman, fairly young, with dark hair and eyes. She looked quickly at the detective as she entered, and Crewe was struck by the shrewd penetration of her glance. "You are Monsieur Crewe, the great detective--is it not so?" she asked, as she sat down. The glance she now gave the detective at closer range from her large dark eyes was innocent and ingenuous, with a touch of admiration. The contrast between it and her former look was not lost on Crewe, and he realised that his visitor was no ordinary woman. "My name is Crewe," he said, ignoring the compliment. "What do you wish to see me for?" The visitor did not immediately reply. She nervously unfastened a bag she carried, and taking out a singularly unfeminine-looking handkerchief--a large cambric square almost masculine in its proportions, and guiltless of lace or perfume--held it to her face for a moment. But Crewe noticed that her eyes were dry when she removed it to remark: "What I say to you, monsieur, is in strictest confidence--as sacred as the confession." "Anything you say to me will be in strict confidence," said Crewe a little grimly. "And the boy? Can he not hear through the keyhole?" Crewe's visitor glanced expressively at the door by which she had entered. "You are quite safe here, madame--mademoiselle, I should say," he added, with a quick glance at her left hand, from which she slowly removed the glove as she spoke. "Mademoiselle Chiron, monsieur," said Gabrielle, flashing another smile at him. "I am Madame Holymead's relative--her cousin. I come to see you about the dreadful murder of the judge, Madame's friend." "You come from Mrs. Holymead?" said Crewe quickly. "Then, Mademoiselle Chiron, before--" "No, no, monsieur, no!" Her agitation was unmistakably genuine. "I do not come _from_ Madame Holymead. I am her relative, it is true, but I come--how shall I say it?--from myself. I mean she does not know of my visit to you, monsieur." "I quite understand," replied Crewe.