The man hesitated. “It is just possible that I may be mistaken,” he said. “If you will wait for one minute I will inquire.” He showed me into a big, over-furnished and over-decorated drawing-room. As I was looking at rather a nice copy of a well-known Rubens, the door opened and Lady Meskell came towards me. Lady Meskell was anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five. She was still distinctly beautiful. Her eyes and hair were very dark. Her complexion was perhaps a little too pale, but I liked it. Rouge would not have suited her. Her general appearance seemed to suggest a curious association of poetry and commonness. The commonness was not in her dress, which was very quiet, very expensive, and in the fashion of the day after to-morrow. I think it lay in her mouth (she had a brute of a mouth) and in her rather podgy white hands. Her smile of welcome showed perfect teeth--perhaps it was intended to show them. The fat fingers of one hand twisted up my card. “This is very good of you, Miss Castel,” she said at once. “Do sit down and tell me all about it. And first of all, have you got my pearls?” “No, Lady Meskell,” I said, “I have not got them.” Her expression did not change at this. She still listened with an air of polite attention. “But,” I continued, “I have thought over the case and I have formed a theory. If the theory is correct I can tell you where your pearls are.” “How interesting! The police, you know, have been no good at all. I shall be so glad to have some fresh light on the subject, even if it does not actually lead to anything.” I felt convinced that she did not expect me to be able to tell her anything at all, and that, as a kind-hearted woman, she meant to let me babble for a few minutes and then get rid of me. “On the other hand,” I said, “if my theory should happen to be wrong, you will be exceedingly angry with me.” Lady Meskell laughed. “Oh, I hope not,” she said. “I am very seldom angry, but when I am I become rather awful.” “The Spanish are privileged to have passions,” I said, “and you, I think, are partly Spanish. You begin to frighten me.” Again she laughed. “You needn’t be afraid really. How did you know I was partly Spanish? Oh, yes, it was in the papers, of course. Whatever your theory is, I want to hear it. And I will take all the responsibility of making you tell me it.”