Anthony knew well enough that it was of no use to pursue him. His way of retreat was doubtless fully assured. Anthony would merely get himself into trouble. He walked over to the bed, thrusting his hand beneath the pillow and drawing out the Memoirs. Lucky that they had been there and not in the suit-case. He crossed over to the suit-case and looked inside, meaning to take out the letters. Then he swore softly under his breath. _The letters were gone._ 6 The Gentle Art of Blackmail It was exactly five minutes to four when Virginia Revel, rendered punctual by a healthy curiosity, returned to the house in Pont Street. She opened the door with her latchkey, and stepped into the hall to be immediately confronted by the impassive Chilvers. “I beg pardon, ma’am, but a—a person has called to see you——” For the moment, Virginia did not pay attention to the subtle phraseology whereby Chilvers cloaked his meaning. “Mr. Lomax? Where is he? In the drawing-room?” “Oh, no, ma’am, not Mr. Lomax.” Chilvers’ tone was faintly reproachful. “A person—I was reluctant to let him in, but he said his business was most important—connected with the late Captain, I understood him to say. Thinking therefore that you might wish to see him, I put him—er—in the study.” Virginia stood thinking for a minute. She had been a widow now for some years, and the fact that she rarely spoke of her husband was taken by some to indicate that below her careless demeanour was a still aching wound. By others it was taken to mean the exact opposite, that Virginia had never really cared for Tim Revel, and that she found it insincere to profess a grief she did not feel. “I should have mentioned, ma’am,” continued Chilvers, “that the man appears to be some kind of foreigner.” Virginia’s interest heightened a little. Her husband had been in the Diplomatic Service, and they had been together in Herzoslovakia just before the sensational murder of the King and Queen. This man might probably be a Herzoslovakian, some old servant who had fallen on evil days. “You did quite right, Chilvers,” she said with a quick, approving nod. “Where did you say you had put him? In the study?” She crossed the hall with her light buoyant step, and opened the door of the small room that flanked the dining-room. The visitor was sitting in a chair by the fireplace. He rose on her entrance and stood looking at her. Virginia had an excellent memory for faces, and she was at once quite sure that she had never seen the man before. He was tall and dark, supple in figure, and quite unmistakably a foreigner; but she did not think he was of Slavonic origin. She put him down as Italian or possibly Spanish. “You wished to see me?” she asked. “I am Mrs. Revel.” The man did not answer for a minute or two. He was looking her slowly over, as though appraising her narrowly. There was a veiled insolence in his manner which she was quick to feel.