country-mansion overlooking Dartmoor, where my clever hostess greeted me warmly.
We dined together tête-à-tête in the fine oak-panelled room, and afterwards we were closeted in the library, the servants having previously been informed of my professional capacity.
"He will occupy the room you now have," she said at last in a low voice, as she crouched near the fire, her dark, wonderful eyes fixed upon me. "I leave it to you to devise some means."
"While dressing to-night I made an examination of the room, hardly knowing what course to adopt. But a plan occurred to me at dinner. I shall explain it to-morrow, before I leave for London."
"No. Tell me now. I am all anxiety. Is there any chance of failure?"
"I think not, Mrs. Auberon," was my quiet reply. "We both of us have far too much at stake to court disaster. But—well, may I speak quite frankly?"
"Certainly. Are we not friends?"
"I am about to perform you a service, and well—one generally expects payment for such delicate work—not much, of course, but—just a slight acknowledgment. Say a sum equal to that before, eh?"
