The great hall was one of London’s most celebrated. A magnificent staircase swept up from it to landings whose walls were hung with tapestries the world knew. In a gilded chair, like a throne, Mademoiselle Vallé sat and waited. But she did not wait long. The serious-looking man without livery returned almost immediately. He led Mademoiselle into a room like a sort of study or apartment given up to business matters. Mademoiselle Vallé had never seen Lord Coombe’s ceremonial evening effect more flawless. Tall, thin and finely straight, he waited in the centre of the room. He was evidently on the point of going out, and the light-textured satin-lined overcoat he had already thrown on revealed, through a suggestion of being winged, that he wore in his lapel a delicately fresh, cream-coloured carnation. A respectable, middle-class looking man with a steady, blunt-featured face, had been talking to him and stepped quietly aside as Mademoiselle entered. There seemed to be no question of his leaving the room. Coombe met his visitor half way: “Something has alarmed you very much?” he said. “Robin went out with Fräulein Hirsch this afternoon,” she said quickly. “They went to Kensington Gardens. They have not come back—and it is nine o’clock. They are always at home by six.” “Will you sit down,” he said. The man with the steady face was listening intently, and she realized he was doing so and that, somehow, it was well that he should. “I do not think there is time for any one to sit down,” she said, speaking more quickly than before. “It is not only that she has not come back. Fräulein Hirsch has presented her to one of her old employers—a Lady Etynge. Robin was delighted with her. She has a daughter who is in France—,” “Marguerite staying with her aunt in Paris,” suddenly put in the voice of the blunt-featured man from his side of the room. “Hélène at a Covent in Tours,” corrected Mademoiselle, turning a paling countenance towards him and then upon Coombe. “Lady Etynge spoke of wanting to engage some nice girl as a companion to her daughter, who is coming home. Robin thought she might have the good fortune to please her. She was to go to Lady Etynge’s house to tea sine afternoon and be shown the rooms prepared for Hélène. She thought the mother charming.” “Did she mention the address?” Coombe asked at once. “The house was in Berford Place—a large house at a corner. She chanced to see Lady Etynge go into it one day or we should not have known. She did not notice the number. Fräulein Hirsch thought it was 97A. I have looked through the Blue Book, Lord Coombe—through the Peerage—through the Directory! There is no Lady Etynge and there is no 97A in Berford Place! That is why I came here.” The man who had stood aside, stepped forward again. It was as if he answered some sign, though Lord Coombe at the moment crossed the hearth and rang the bell.