in the midst of my important interview with Maxine. "If the light comes
on, it will he all right: if not, I will put back the curtains; and it
is not yet quite dark. Show the lady in."

Into the pink twilight of the curtained room came Maxine de Renzie,
whose tall and noble figure I recognised in its plain, close-fitting
black dress, though her wide brimmed hat was draped with a thickly
embroidered veil that completely hid her face, while long, graceful lace
folds fell over and obscured the bright auburn of her hair.

"One moment," I said. "Let me push the curtains back. The electricity
has failed."

"No, no," she answered. "Better leave them as they are. The lights may
come on and we be seen from outside. Why,"--as she drew nearer to me,
and the servant closed the door, "I thought I recognised that voice! It
is Ivor Dundas."

"No other," said I. "Didn't the--weren't you warned who would be the man
to come?"

"No," she replied. "Only the assumed name of the messenger and place of
meeting were wired. It was safer so, even though the telegram was in a
cypher which I trust nobody knows--except myself and one other. But I'm
glad--glad it's you. It was clever of--him, to have sent you. No one
would dream that--no one would think it strange if they knew--as I hope
they won't--that you came to Paris to see me. Oh, the relief that you've
got through safely! Nothing has happened? You have--the paper?"

"Nothing has happened, and I have the paper," I reassured her. "No