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"No—I'm afraid she isn't. You see—" she brushed back a ringlet of damp hair—"my cousin Marcus believes that he can rediscover all sorts of lost secrets in some way that I'm sorry to say I don't altogether understand—"

"And of which you don't altogether approve?"

"Well, perhaps I don't. I mean, if it calls for his association with—" she hesitated—"queer people."

"Such as Mrs. Vane?"

"All kinds of queer people. Unfortunately, he is quite indifferent to public opinion."

"So I gather." Firth smiled reassuringly. "Weel—I don't believe there is any further evidence I want just now, Miss Perigal. And as you probably know the way to the guest room—nae doubt ye do—my advice is to turn in."

"Thank you; I will. Good-night." She included all three men in the words, crossed the lobby to the foot of the marble stair, and went up.

In an awkward and rather puzzled way, they watched the slight figure until it was lost to sight on a landing. They heard the sound of an opening door, followed by that of a door being closed; then, once more, nothing but the pattering of rain in the street outside.