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A tall, narrow-fronted villa like its fellows, its stoop and entrance were hidden behind a grey weather-board, pierced by one door, at which he knocked. There was no answer, and he knocked even louder.

A third time he knocked, with no success, and then he decided to try the rear of the building.

His first knock at the back door was answered by a squat old woman with a slight moustache. She looked at him a little uncertainly.

"What is the name? M'sieur does not receive," she said in French.

"He expects me, aunty," said Spike. "I wired him."

The woman's dull eyes lit up.

"Perfectly I remember. Will m'sieur come this way?"

She led him up a short flight of uncarpeted stairs and knocked at a door on the landing. A voice bade her enter, and she went in before the visitor.

Spike found himself in a long, and, because of its length and height, apparently narrow room, the one wall of which was hung with tapestries, the other covered almost to the ceiling with bookshelves. Light came from two silver electroliers, and these were ablaze, for the only natural illumination was that which came through a stained-glass window at the end.