ppenings were an every-day occurrence, into a world
peopled by strange men and women who always carried secrets about
with them. And, in a sense, no one was more mysterious than Fenella
herself. He asked himself as he stood there whether her vagaries
were merely temperamental, the air of mystery which seemed to
surround her simply accidental. He thought of that night at her
house, the curious intimacy which from the first moment she had
seemed to take for granted, the confidence with which she had
treated him. He remembered those few breathless moments in her room,
the man's hand upon the window-sill, with the strange colored ring,
worn with almost flagrant ostentation. And then, with a
lightning-like transition of thought, the gleam of the hand with
that self-same ring, raised to strike a murderous blow, which he had
seen for a moment through the doors of the Milan. The red seal ring
upon the finger--what did it mean? A doubt chilled him for a moment.
He told himself with passionate insistence, that it was not possible
that she could know of these things. Her words were idle, her
theories a jest. He turned away from the window and caught up a
morning paper, resolved to escape from his thoughts. The first
headline stared up at him:

THE ROSARIO MURDER.
SENSATIONAL ARREST EXPECTED.
RUMORED EXTRAORDINARY DISCLOSURES.

He threw the paper down again. Then the door was suddenly opened,
and Fenella appeared. She rang a bell.

"I am going to order luncheon," she announced. "My brother will be
here directly."

Arnold bowed, a little absently. Against his will, he was listening
to voices on the landing outside. One he knew to be Starling's, the
other was Count Sabatini's. He closed his ears to their speech, but
there was no doubt whatever that the voice of Starling shook with
fear. A moment or two later the two men entered the room. Count
Sabatini came forward with outstretched hand. A rare smile parted
his lips. He looked a very distinguished and very polished
gentleman.

"I am pleased to meet you again, Mr. Chetwode," he said, "the more
pleased because I understand from my sister that we are to have the
pleasure of your company for luncheon."

"You are very kind," Arnold murmured.

"Mr. Starling--I believe that you met the other night," Count
Sabatini continued.

Arnold held out his hand but could scarcely repress a start.
Starling seemed to have lost weight. His cheeks were