veyor's instrument,
nerves cold and strong as a steel chain. He was a man to be relied upon
in a crisis. And both Edith and I liked him better than any of the
others.

Lucius Pescini was an aristocrat of the accepted type--slender, tall,
unmistakably distinguished. His hair was such a dark shade of brown that
it invariably passed as black, he had eyes no less dark, sparkling under
dark brows, and his small mustache and perfectly trimmed beard was in
vivid contrast to a rather pale skin.

Of Major Kenneth Dell I had never heard. He had been an officer in the
late war, and now he was Bill Van Hope's friend, although not yet
acquainted with Nealman. The two men met cordially, and Van Hope stood
above them, the tallest man in the company by far, beaming friendship
upon them both. Dell was of medium size, sturdily built, garbed with
exceptionally good taste in imported flannels. He also had gray, vivid
eyes, under rather fine brows, gray hair perfectly cut, a slow smile and
quiet ways. Solely because he was a man of endless patience I expected
him to distinguish himself with rod and reel.

Bill Van Hope, Nealman's friend of whom I had heard so much, was not
only tall, but broad and powerful. He had kind eyes and a happy
smile--altogether as good a type of millionaire-sportsman as any one
would care to know. Nealman introduced him to me, and his handshake was
firm and cordial.

Nealman took them all into the great manor house: I went with Nealman's
chauffeur to see about the handling of their luggage. This was at
half-past four of a sunlit day in September. I didn't see any of the
guests again until just before the dinner hour, when a matter of a
broken fly-tip had brought me into the manor house. Thereupon occurred
one of a series of incidents that made my stay at Kastle Krags the most
momentous three weeks of my life.

It was only a little thing--this experience in Nealman's study. But
coming events cast their shadows before--and certainly it was a shadow,
dim and inscrutable though it was, of what the night held in store. I
had passed Florey the butler, gray and sphynx-like in the hallway, spoke
to him as ever, and turned through the library door. And my first
impression was that some other guest had arrived in my absence.

A man was standing, smoking, by the window. I supposed at once that he
was an absolute stranger. There was not a single familiar image, not the
least impulse to my memory. I started to speak, and