"Eh! my faith, but it is cold in this England of yours," he said, passing his hand over his smooth red hair. "I am a child of the South, me, and find these skies of rain not pleasant, after my beautiful Provence." "What do you want to see me about?" asked Marson, sharply, taking an instinctive dislike to the sleek, treacherous manner of Judas. "I cannot spare you much time, so please be quick." Judas shrugged his shoulders, smiled blandly, and came to the point by slow degrees. "I am the friend of the late Sebastian Melstane, monsieur." "I have heard that!" "Alas! he is dead!" "I have heard that, also!" "Eh! you know much, monsieur. Do you also know that he was murdered?" "Good heavens! No!" Monsieur Guinaud lifted his eyes to heaven with a sad smile. "But yes, certainly, monsieur. He died from a pill of morphia placed in his box of pills of tonic, which he had from the shop of Monsieur Vosk." "Who put the pill in the box?" "Eh! monsieur, do you not know?" "Of course I don't." Judas narrowed his eyes down to their dangerous expression, and shrugged his shoulders once more, but said nothing. "And what has Melstane's death to do with me?" asked Marson, coldly. "Monsieur, he loved your child." "I am aware of that. A piece of infernal impertinence." "Then you are glad of his death?" "I am neither glad nor sorry, Monsieur Guinaud. I don't know why you have done me the honour to seek this interview. If you will state your reason, I will be pleased." The Frenchman leaned back in his chair, placed the tips of his long fingers together, and smiled sweetly. "Monsieur Mar-rson, my friend that loved your beautiful child is dead. I am full of regrets for him, but for myself I have the pleasure." "And why?" "Can you not guess the secret of my heart? I love your angel." "You!" Marson had sprung to his feet and was now looking angrily at the Frenchman, who, without moving his position, still smiled blandly. "Even I, Jules Guinaud." The other looked at him in a contemptuous fashion; then, without a word, walked across to the fireplace and put out his hand to touch the ivory knob of the electric bell. "One moment, monsieur," said Judas, raising his voice slightly; "what do you intend to do?" "Have you turned out of my house." He pressed the knob, and remained standing by the fireplace in disdainful silence; but Judas, laughing softly, leaned back in his chair. "Eh, truly? I think not. You won't do that when you hear what I've got to say." The servant appeared at the door. "When you see, monsieur, what I can show you." "Marks, show this gentleman out." Judas took no notice of the order, but walked across the room with the feline grace of a tiger and whispered something in Marson's ear. The old man started, turned deadly white, and with an effort spoke again to the servant. "You can go at present, Marks. I will ring if I want you."