"To be sure--to be sure," agreed the Doctor, hurriedly. "A Guernsey merchant," he whispered. . . . "You will convey my excuses to the Major; an unexpected visitor--I quite understand." He made a motion to retire. At the same moment the Collector, after scanning the stranger from the Custom House porch, himself unseen, unlocked his door again without noise, re-entered his office and delicately drew down the blind of the little window overlooking the Major's garden. "There is the parlour," Miss Marty made answer in an undertone. "This gentleman may not detain the Major long." She turned to the stranger. "Your business, sir, is doubtless private?" "I should prefer." "Quite so." She raised her voice and called, "Scipio! Scipio! Ah, there you are! Take this gentleman's card out to the terrace and inform the Major that he desires an interview." "Why, hallo!" exclaimed the Major, glancing up at the sound of a blind being drawn above, in the Custom House window. "What the deuce is delaying Pennefather?" While he speculated, Scipio emerged from the house, bearing in one hand a decanter of brown sherry, and in the other a visitor's card. "Eh--what? M. Cesar Dupin?" The Major, holding the card almost at arm's length, conned it with a puzzled frown. "From Guernsey, Major." "Good Lord! And I've just invited Pennefather!" The Major rose half-way from his chair with a face of dismay. Scipio glanced up at the Custom House window. He, too, had caught the sound of the drawn blind. "Mas' Pennefather, Major, if you'll excuse me, he see a hole t'ro' a ladder, but not t'ro' a brick wall. Shall I show the genelman in?" "I fear," began Miss Marty, as the Doctor took a seat in the parlour, "I greatly fear that Scipio has carried the brown sherry out to the terrace." Dr. Hansombody smiled as a lover but sighed as a connoisseur. "There is the Fra Angelico, however." She stepped to a panelled cupboard on the right of the chimney-piece. "Made from my own recipe," she added archly. The Doctor lifted a hand in faint protest; but already she had set a glass before him. He knew the Fra Angelico of old. It was a specific against catarrh, and he had more than once prescribed it for Scipio. "Wine is wine," continued Miss Marty, reaching down the bottle. "And, after all, when one knows what it is made of, as in this case-- that seems to me the great point." "You mustn't think--" began the Doctor. "I must plead guilty"--Miss Marty poured out a glassful--"if its name suggests a foreign origin. You men, I know, profess a preference for foreign wines; and so, humorously, I hit on the name of Fra Angelico, from the herb angelica, which is its main ingredient. In reality, as I can attest, it is English to the core." The Doctor lifted his glass and set it down again. "You will join me?" he asked, pointing to the decanter and temporising. "Pardon me. I indulge but occasionally: when I have a cold." "And the Major?"