It was she who spoke first. Her voice was musical, foreign⁠—with a deep seductive note in it. She was glancing towards the empty chair at the head of the table.

“So we are not to see No. 7 tonight?” she said. “Tell me, my friends, shall we ever see him?”

“That’s darned good,” said the American. “Darned good! As for seven o’clock⁠— I’m beginning to believe there is no such person.”

“I should not advise you to think that, my friend,” said the Russian pleasantly.

There was a silence⁠—rather an uncomfortable silence, Bundle felt.