ith
immense knuckles and brutal, short, stubbed nails. Paul took one of
the huge red hands with a barely repressed shudder. It was cold and
clammy and strong as a vise.

"If ever," thought the baronet to himself, "I have touched the hand of
a murderer, I have touched one now."

The tall young man sat down presently and carefully watched Paul with
his narrow, light blue eyes, which glinted and flashed all over Paul's
face. Boris Ivanovitch looked at him sidelong. The red-haired woman
alone gazed at him openly and frankly with eyes that were almost
honestly blue.

There was a little pause while conversation hung fire. There was
nothing for this curious collection of human beings to talk about
except the traveller himself, and on this subject their tongues had to
be silent as long as he remained.

Suddenly the door opened, and a portly man with a sallow, greasy face
came quickly in. He stood still, with his hand on the panel of the
door, and gave a short, quick gasp which caused Paul to look at him
sharply. That form struck Paul as strangely familiar.

The fat man closed the door behind him gently, and came into the
centre of the room.

"Mr. Aldringham," said Ivanovitch, "allow me to present Monsieur
Virot, who acts as manager of our estates."

The Frenchman's sallow and greasy countenance broke into a hideously
affable smile as Paul shook hands with him.

The pause which followed this introduction became so embarrassing that
the lady suggested that they go in to tea; and in a cheerful
dining-room Paul found himself looking curiously at the collection of
tea and coffee pots, _vodka_ decanters, bacon and eggs, and muffins
and cakes, which were spread promiscuously on the clean white
tablecloth.

The conversation turned on many things, but for the most part upon the
weather. Paul's host finished before the rest, and, pleading business,
begged to be excused, and left the room.

When the others of the odd little party had eaten and drunk their fill
of the heterogeneous meal they returned to the drawing-room and Paul
saw before him a most uncomfortable evening. "A strangely assorted
company," he thought, "to find here in this far-away spot." Clearly,
they were all people of the world, and yet there seemed a curious
restraint upon them. Paul guessed, somehow, that it was because of his
presence.

"I trust that you will pardon me, Mademoiselle," and he turned to the
lady--"but I have travelled all the way from Kie