"I had much difficulty in getting away to-night. These things do not always arrange themselves fortunately. I am not, like No. 4 here, my own master." Bundle tried to guess at his nationality. Until he spoke, she had thought he might be French, but the accent was not a French one. He might possibly, she thought, be an Austrian, or a Hungarian, or even a Russian. The American moved to the other side of the table, and Bundle heard a chair being pulled out. "One o'clock's being a great success," he said. "I congratulate you on taking the risk." Five o'clock shrugged his shoulders. "Unless one takes risks--" He left the sentence unfinished. Again seven taps sounded, and Mosgorovsky moved across to the secret door. She failed to catch anything definite for some moments since the whole company were out of sight, but presently she heard the bearded Russian's voice upraised. "Shall we begin proceedings?" He himself came round the table and took the seat next to the arm-chair at the top. Sitting thus, he was directly facing Bundle's cupboard. The elegant five o'clock took the place next to him. The third chair that side was out of Bundle's sight, but the American, No. 4, moved into her line of vision for a moment or two before he sat down. On the near side of the table also, only two chairs were visible, and as she watched a hand turned the second--really the middle chair--down. And then with a swift movement, one of the newcomers brushed past the cupboard and took the chair opposite Mosgorovsky. Whoever sat there had, of course, their back directly turned to Bundle--and it was at that back that Bundle was staring with a good deal of interest, for it was the back of a singularly beautiful woman very much _décolleté_. It was she who spoke first. Her voice was musical, foreign--with a deep seductive note in it. She was glancing towards the empty chair at the head of the table. "So we are not to see No. 7 to-night?" she said. "Tell me, my friends, shall we ever see him?" "That's darned good," said the American. "Darned good! As for seven o'clock--_I'm_ beginning to believe there is no such person." "I should not advise you to think that, my friend," said the Russian pleasantly. There was a silence--rather an uncomfortable silence, Bundle felt. She was still staring as though fascinated at the beautiful back in front of her. There was a tiny black mole just below the right shoulder blade that enhanced the whiteness of the skin. Bundle felt that at last the term "beautiful adventuress," so often read, had a real meaning for her. She was quite certain that this woman had a beautiful face--a dark Slavonic face with passionate eyes. She was recalled from her imaginings by the voice of the Russian, who seemed to act as master of ceremonies. "Shall we get on with our business? First to our absent comrade! No. 2!"