rnished room on the ground floor,
close beside the door opening upon the street. It was lighted by one
hanging lamp. On the divan which constituted the principal item
of furniture a small man, slenderly built, was sitting. He wore a
broad-brimmed hat, so broad of brim that it threw the whole of the upper
part of his face into shadow. It was impossible to see his eyes. Beside
him rested a heavy walking-stick.

As Zahara entered, a wonderful, gaily coloured figure, this man did not
move in the slightest, but sat, chin on breast, his small, muscular,
brown hands resting on his knees. His companion, however, a person of
more massive build, elegantly dressed and handsome in a swarthy fashion,
bowed gravely and removed his hat. Zahara liked his eyes, which were
dark and very bold looking.

"M. Agapoulos is engaged," she said, speaking in French. "What is it you
wish to know?"

The man regarded her fixedly, and:

"Senorita," he replied, "I will be frank with you."

Save for his use of the word "senorita" he also spoke in French. Zahara
drew her robe more closely about her and adopted her most stately
manner.

"My name," continued the other, "does not matter, but my business is to
look into the affairs of other people, you understand?"

Zahara, who understood from this that the man was some kind of inquiry
agent, opened her blue eyes very widely and at the same time shook her
head.

"No," she protested; "what do you mean?"

"A certain gentleman came here a short time ago, came into this
house and must be here now. Don't be afraid. He has done nothing very
dreadful," he added reassuringly.

Zahara retreated a step, and a little wrinkle of disapproval appeared
between her pencilled brows. She no longer liked the man's eyes, she
decided. They were deceitful eyes. His companion had taken up the heavy
stick and was restlessly tapping the floor.

"There is no one here," said Zahara calmly, "except the people who live
in the house."

"He is here, he is here," muttered the man seated on the divan.

The tapping of his stick had grown more rapid, but as he had spoken in
Spanish, Zahara, who was ignorant of that language, had no idea what he
had said.

"My friend," continued the Spaniard, bowing slightly in the direction
of the slender man who so persistently kept his broad-brimmed hat on his
head, "chanced to hear the voice of this gentleman as he spoke to your
porter on entering the door. And although the door was clo