r ear,
and looked up from the accounts she was writing. She had heard someone
moving about in the salon, but she had thought it must be Jacques, who
a few minutes before had been cleaning the brass on the front door.
The voice, which addressed her casually and without any preliminary
greeting, stirred something in her memory. She rose from her desk by
the window and shot the intruder a glance, at the same time reaching
the matches from the sideboard.

"Here you are," she said, holding out the box.

The visitor, cigarette in mouth and hands in pockets, sauntered into
the room and took it from her. He was young, English, immaculately
dressed, except for a rather baggy Burberry, worn loosely over his
tweed suit, and he carried a pair of very smart motoring gloves, which
he cast upon the table. His manner was at once hard and immature,
languid and curiously restless. A second glance assured Esther that
her first suspicion was correct. Undoubtedly he was the young man she
had seen on several occasions, notably with the Frenchwoman at the
Restaurant des Ambassadeurs.

Puffing contemplatively, he let his eyes roam about the room.

"Doctor still out?" he inquired in a vacant tone.

"Yes, but he'll probably be home in a few minutes. It's nearly
lunch-time."

She was going to ask if she could do anything for him, but she decided
the question was superfluous. He had the air of a friend, not a
patient, of an intimate dropping in for an informal call. It came to
her that she must amend her opinion that Dr. Sartorius was quite
without social ties. She was about to return to her work when the
young man's roving eyes reached her in their tour and rested upon her
face for several seconds, their vacant gaze giving way to speculative
attention.

"You have a familiar look, you know," he remarked. "I seem to recall
seeing you somewhere. Where was it?"

Esther met his scrutiny for a moment, then slowly shook her head.

"Odd. You've not been here before, have you? With Sartorius, I mean?"

"No, never."

He carefully flicked an ash upon the rug, then looked at her again.

"Yet I'm positive I've seen your face somewhere about Cannes." The
problem appeared mildly to interest him. "Have you any idea where it
could have been?"

She regarded him for some seconds, considering what to say.

"Yes," she replied deliberately. "I can tell you where it was. At
least, I believe I know."

"Where?"

"In the grill-room