The young clerk opened the door again, began to murmur inaudibly, and was swept aside. There came in a bright presence and a faint delicious waft of expensive French scent. Something very tall, very elegant, very feminine advanced with a vague but radiant smile. Dark blue eyes with incredible lashes came to rest upon John Taylor. A deep musical voice said,

“I’ll have to introduce myself-Lady Marian Thorpe-Ennington. Nobody ever gets it right the first time, and I’m sure I don’t wonder. I’m always telling Freddy he ought to drop one of the bits, but he says he can’t, in case the relations who might be going to leave him money have their feelings hurt and cut him out of their wills. So I just have to go about explaining, and spelling it. There’s an E at the end of the Thorpe, and two Ns in Ennington.” She sank gracefully into a chair. “And now do tell me-is it you I’ve been writing to?”

As she moved away from the door, a lank, uncertain figure appeared from behind her. It was a male figure, and it looked very uncomfortable in an awkwardly cut blue suit-too tight, too light, too jaunty. John Taylor, perceiving it, made a shot in the dark.

“Mr. Miller?”

Al Miller said, “That’s right.”

He had a cap in his hand and kept turning it and plucking at it in a manner extremely likely to shorten its life. He stood long enough to enable Jacob Taverner to see how nervous he was, and that he had dark hair with too much grease on it, a set of dark irregular features shining with perspiration, and a most distressing tie. All at once he seemed to realize that he was the only person standing, and came down suddenly on the edge of a chair, where he produced a brightly coloured handkerchief and mopped his brow.

He was still doing so when Jeremy Taverner and Jane Heron arrived together.