Steele's ride in the park, a little man with ferret-like eyes at a dusty
desk near a dusty window. He did not seem to be very busy, was engaged
at the moment in drawing meaningless cabalistic signs on a piece of
paper, when a step in the hallway and a low tapping at the door caused
him to throw down his pen and straighten expectantly. A client,
perhaps!--a woman?--no, a man! With momentary surprise, he gazed on the
delicately chiseled features of his caller; a gentleman faultlessly
dressed and wearing a spring flower in his coat.

"Mr. Gillett?" The visitor's glance veiled an expression of
restlessness; his face, although mask-like, was tinted with a faint
flush.

The police agent at once rose. "The same, sir, at your service; I--but I
beg your pardon; unless I am mistaken--haven't we--"

"Yes; a number of years ago on the _Lord Nelson_," said the caller in a
hard matter-of-fact tone. "We were fellow passengers on her, until--"

"We became fellow occupants of one of her small boats! An aging
experience! But won't you," with that deference for rank and position
those of his type are pleased to assume, "honor me by being seated, Lord
Ronsdale?"

As he spoke, he dusted vigorously with his handkerchief a chair which
his caller, after a moment's hesitation, sank into; Mr. Gillett regarded
the one he himself had been occupying; then, in an apologetic manner
ventured to take it. "Your lordship is well? Your lordship looks it.
Your lordship was, last I heard, in Australia, I believe. A genuine
pleasure to see your lordship once more."