Virginia’s interest heightened a little. Her husband had been in the Diplomatic Service, and they had been together in Herzoslovakia just before the sensational murder of the king and queen. This man might probably be a Herzoslovakian, some old servant who had fallen on evil days.

“You did quite right, Chilvers,” she said with a quick, approving nod. “Where did you say you had put him? In the study?”

She crossed the hall with her light buoyant step, and opened the door of the small room that flanked the dining-room.

The visitor was sitting in a chair by the fireplace. He rose on her entrance and stood looking at her. Virginia had an excellent memory for faces, and she was at once quite sure that she had never seen the man before. He was tall and dark, supple in figure, and quite unmistakably a foreigner; but she did not think he was of Slavonic origin. She put him down as Italian or possibly Spanish.