n the Terrace came up to me at three o'clock in the afternoon,
in broad daylight, and said as how she'd distinctly seen at the
drawin'-room window the face of a pretty, fair-haired girl a-peerin'
through the side of the dirty blind. She described the girl, too, and
said that as soon as she saw she was noticed the inmate of the place
drew back instantly."

"A fair-haired girl!" I exclaimed, quickly interested.

"Yes; she described her as wearin' a black velvet band on her hair."

"And what did you do?" I asked anxiously.

"Why, nothing. I've 'eard too many o' them kind o' tales before."

"Yes," I said reflectively. "Of course all kinds of legends and
rumours must naturally spring up around a house so long closed."

"Of course. It's all in people's imagination. I suppose they'll say
next that a murder's been committed in the place!" he laughed.

"I suppose so," I said, and then, putting a shilling in his hand,
wished him good-night, and passed along.

Jack and the idiot had gone, but, knowing the direction they had
taken--for the youth was, no doubt, on his way home--I was not long
before I caught up my friend, and then together we retraced our steps
towards the Bayswater Road, in search of a taxi.

I could not forget that curious statement that a girl's face had been
seen at the drawing-room window--a fair-headed girl with a band of
black velvet in her hair.

Could it have been Sylvia Pennington?

It was past three o'clock in the morning before I retraced my steps to
Wilton Street. We were unable to find a cab, therefore we walked down
Park Lane together.

On the way Jack had pressed me to tell him the reason of my visit to
that weird house and the circumstances in which my life had been
attempted. For the present, however, I refused to satisfy his
curiosity. I promised him I would tell him the whole facts of the
case some day.

"But why are you at home now?" he asked. "I can't really make you out
lately, Owen. You told me you hated London, and preferred life on the
Continent, yet here you are, back again, and quite settled down in
town!"

"Well, a fellow must come here for the London season sometimes," I
said. "I feel that I've been away far too long, and am a bit out of
touch with things. Why, my tailor hardly knew me, and the hall-porter
at White's had to look twice before he realized who I was."

"But there's some attraction which has brought you to London," he
declared. "I'm sure there is!"

It