e cabman. This was an
inspiration calculated to set her down at once with the staff as one who
knew the ropes. In the white and gold hall she halted for a moment,
puzzled and rather nervous. She had never set foot in the Vesuvius; she
had never heard it mentioned without a smile or a wink. Now, a little
flushed and her heart beating, she realised that she did not know her
way about.

Victoria need have had no fears. Before she had time to take in the
scene, a tall man with a perfectly groomed head and a well fitting
evening dress bowed low before her.

'Madame wishes no doubt to deposit her wrap,' he said in gentle tones.
His teeth flashed white for a moment.

'Yes,' said Victoria, . . . 'Yes, where is the cloak room?'

'This way, madame. If madame will permit me. . . .' He pointed towards
the end of the hall and preceded her steps. An elderly woman behind the
counter received Victoria's wrap and handed her a brass token without
looking at her. While she pulled up her gloves she looked round
curiously. The cloak room was small; behind the counter the walls were
covered by a mahogany rack with some hundred pigeon-holes. The fiercer
light of an unshaded chandelier beat down upon the centre of the room.
Victoria was conscious of an extraordinary atmosphere, a blend of many
scents, tobacco smoke, leather; most of the pigeon-holes were bursting
with coloured wraps, many of them vivid blue or red; here and there long
veils, soiled white gloves hung out of them; a purple ostrich feather
hung from an immense black hat over a white and silver Cingalese shawl.
Victoria turned sharply. The man was inspecting her coolly with an air
of intentness that showed approval.

'Where does madame wish to go?' he asked as they entered the hall. 'In
the buffet perhaps?'

He opened the door. Victoria saw for a second a long counter laden with
bottles, at which stood a group of men, some in evening dress, some in
tweed suits; she saw a few women among them, all with smiles upon their
faces. Behind the counter she had time to see the barmaid, a beautiful
girl with dark eyes and vivid yellow hair.

'No, not there,' she said quickly. It reminded her of the terrible
little bar of which Farwell had given her a glimpse. 'You are the
manager, I believe . . . I want to go up into the supper room.'

'Certainly, madame; will madame come this way?'

The manager preceded her up to the first floor. On the landing, two men
in tweeds suddenly stoppe