his presence there so early in the day. However, no one passed, and he
was admitted by a yellow-skinned maid.

"Miss Marie just now got up," she said, as she left him to go into the
little parlor off the hall.

"Tell her, Mary, that I want to see her, but not to hurry, for I have
plenty of time," Mostyn said, "I have just got back."

"Yes, sir; I heard her say she was 'spectin' you to-day."

He had an impulse to make inquiries of the girl regarding her
mistress's disposition, but a certain evasive, almost satirical
expression in her eyes prevented it. He was sure the maid was trying
to avoid any sort of conference with him.

He sat down at one of the two windows of the room and looked at the
cheap, gaudy furniture--the green-plush-covered chairs of imitation
mahogany; the flaming rugs; the little upright piano; the square
center-table, on which were scattered a deck of playing-cards; some
thin whisky glasses; a brass tray of cigarettes. Four straight-backed
chairs at the table told a story, as did the burnt matches and cigar-
stubs on the hearth. Marie was not without associates, both male and
female.

He heard voices in the rear of the cottage. He recognized Marie's
raised angrily. Then it died away, to be succeeded by the low mumbling
of the maid's. Suddenly Mostyn noticed a thing which fixed his gaze as
perhaps no other inanimate object could have done. Partly hidden
beneath the blue satin scarf on the piano was a good-sized revolver.