On the previous day, at a little before six o'clock in the evening, he had called upon old Mrs Gilbert, who with her daughter kept the boarding-house where I chanced to be staying, and had, it appeared, taken a top room, where his two leather portmanteaux were placed. I knew nothing of the man's advent until Miss Gilbert had tapped at the door of the sitting-room and informed me that she had a new guest, a foreign gentleman who could speak only a few words of broken English. "This is his name," she said, handing me a scrap of paper whereon he had written "Michele Massari." "An Italian," I remarked. "There is a noble family of the Massari, in Ferrara. He may belong to it." "It's fortunate, Mr Leaf, that you speak Italian," Miss Gilbert said, laughing. "You'll help us if we are in any difficulty, won't you?" "Most certainly," I assured her, for I knew that a foreigner is often a great trouble in a purely English _pension_. Many people speak French or German, but few know Italian. Then the landlady's daughter, a pleasant-faced, florid young woman of about thirty, thanked me and withdrew. The reason I found myself at Mrs Gilbert's _pension_ was in order to be near my old schoolfellow, Sammy Sampson, who had made the place his _pied-a-terre_ in town for several years past. I had to spend six months in London upon business affairs, therefore we had agreed to share his sitting-room, a cosy little bachelor's den leading from his bedroom at the back of the house. An hour later at dinner the stranger made his appearance and, with my consent, was placed next to me. There were eleven guests in all--two married couples of the usual _genre_ to be found in London boarding-houses of that order, and the rest men with various occupations "in the City." We were usually a merry party, with Miss Gilbert at the head of the long table, and the chatter was generally amusing. The advent of the stranger, however, awakened every one's curiosity, and as he took his seat, glancing sharply around, there fell a dead silence. He was a tall, thin, wiry man with sharp aquiline features, hair with silver threads in it, and fierce black moustaches carefully waxed. His eyes were black and penetrating, his complexion sallow, his cheeks sunken, and the glance he gave at his fellow-guests was quick and apprehensive, as though he feared recognition. He wore evening dress, which was out of place at Mrs Gilbert's, and also showed that he was not used to boarding-houses of that class. And as he bowed towards me and seated himself, I saw that upon his lean, claw-like hand was a fine diamond ring. All eyes were directed upon him, and at once I detected that, being a foreigner, he was viewed with considerable disfavour and distrust. The guests at Mrs Gilbert's were not cosmopolitan. The only foreigners accepted at their own estimation in London boarding-houses are the Indian law students. Every girl believes her "tar-brush" table-companion to be a prince.