face, as if he had awakened out of a dream.

"That," said Brand, still regarding him, "was the voice of Natalie
Lind."




CHAPTER III.

IN A HOUSE IN CURZON STREET.


Armed with a defiant scepticism, and yet conscious of an unusual
interest and expectation, George Brand drove up to Curzon Street on the
following evening. As he jumped out of his hansom, he inadvertently
glanced at the house.

"Conspiracy has not quite built us a palace as yet," he said to himself.

The door was opened by a little German maid-servant, as neat and round
and rosy as a Dresden china shepherdess, who conducted him up-stairs and
announced him at the drawing-room. It was not a large room; but there
was more of color and gilding in it than accords with the severity of
modern English taste; and it was lit irregularly with a number of
candles, each with a little green or rose-red shade. Mr. Lind met him at
the door. As they shook hands, Brand caught a glimpse of another figure
in the room--apparently that of a tall woman dressed all in cream-white,
with a bunch of scarlet geraniums in her bosom, and another in her
raven-black hair.