The chest of drawers⁠—an incongruous article of furniture for what seemed to be a dining-room⁠—as being the nearest and best lighted object received most of my attention. It was a fine old chest of nearly black mahogany, very battered and in the last stage of decay, but originally a piece of some pretensions. Regretful of its fallen estate, I looked it over with some interest and had just observed on its lower corner a little label bearing the printed inscription “Lot 201” when I heard footsteps descending the stairs. A moment later the door opened and a shadowy figure appeared standing close by the threshold.

“Good evening, doctor,” said the stranger, in a deep, quiet voice and with a distinct, though not strong, German accent. “I must apologize for keeping you waiting.”

I acknowledged the apology somewhat stiffly and asked: “You are Mr. Weiss, I presume?”