The door was thrown open. A tall, well-proportioned young man entered. He
was soberly attired in blue serge. His face and hands bore the impress of
travel and exposure. His expression was pleasing and attractive. In repose
his features were regular, and marked with lines of thought. A short,
well-trimmed beard, of the type affected by some naval men, gave him a
somewhat unusual appearance. Otherwise he carried himself like a British
cavalry officer in mufti.

He advanced into the room and bowed easily. Brett, who had risen,
instantly felt that his visitor was one of those people who erect
invisible barriers between themselves and strangers.

"My errand will occupy some time, perhaps half an hour, to permit of full
explanation," said Mr. Hume. "May I ask--"

"I am completely at your service. Take that chair. You will find it
comfortable. Do you smoke? Yes. Well, try those cigarettes. They are
better than they look."

Mr. Hume seemed to be gratified by this cordial reception. He seated
himself as requested, in the best light obtainable in a north-side
Victoria Street flat, and picked up the box of cigarettes.

"Turkish," he announced.

"Yes."

"Grown on a slope near Salonica."

"Indeed? You interest me."