the entire staff of the office, came in at that moment, a card in her
hand. Harley glanced across in my direction and then at the card, with
a wry expression.

"Colonel Juan Menendez," he read aloud, "Cavendish Club," and glanced
reflectively at Innes. "Do we know the Colonel?"

"I think not," answered Innes; "the name is unfamiliar to me."

"I wonder," murmured Harley. He glanced across at me. "It's an awful
nuisance, Knox, but just as I thought the decks were clear. Is it
something really interesting, or does he want a woman watched? However,
his name sounds piquant, so perhaps I had better see him. Ask him to
come in, Miss Smith."

Innes and Miss Smith retiring, there presently entered a man of most
striking and unusual presence. In the first place, Colonel Menendez
must have stood fully six feet in his boots, and he carried himself
like a grandee of the golden days of Spain. His complexion was
extraordinarily dusky, whilst his hair, which was close cropped, was
iron gray. His heavy eyebrows and curling moustache with its little
points were equally black, so that his large teeth gleamed very
fiercely when he smiled. His eyes were large, dark, and brilliant, and
although he wore an admirably cut tweed suit, for some reason I
pictured him as habitually wearing riding kit. Indeed I almost seemed
to hear the jingle of his spurs.

He carried an ebony cane for which I mentally substituted a crop, and
his black derby hat I thought hardly as suitable as a sombrero. His age
might have been anything between fifty and fifty-five.