uaintance, Baron. Signor Nello
Corsini. You will no doubt remember him at the last Covent Garden
Concert."

The Baron held out his hand and his smile was very kindly. "I
recollect you well, Signor. You played very beautifully; you took the
place of Bauquel, who played our good friend Degraux a rather scurvy
trick."

Nello bowed. He felt very embarrassed. The Countess had discreetly
turned her head, so as not to appear to listen to their conversation.
The young violinist had, no doubt, something of a private nature to
impart.

"I have taken advantage of the Countess's kindness to make your
acquaintance, Baron. The fact is, I have in my possession a letter
addressed to you, a few days before his death, by a friend of mine, a
Monsieur Peron. Did you know anybody of that name?"

"Peron, Peron!" repeated the Baron, then he shook his snow-white head.
"No; that name recalls nobody to me."

"I have reason to believe it was an assumed one and that he was a
great friend of yours some years ago. I am charged to deliver it
personally into your hands."

The bright eyes took on an alert expression. "You have not got it with
you, I suppose?"

"No, sir, I would not risk carrying it about with me. Would it be
possible for me to see you at your office, or anywhere else, for a few
moments?"

The Baron thought a second. "Certainly. Come to Old Broad Street
to-morrow morning, say at eleven o'clock. Please be punctual, as my
day is pretty well cut up with appointments."

"At eleven to the minute, sir," was Corsini's answer. After a few
minutes' chat with the Countess, in which he tactfully included the
young violinist, the Baron pursued his tour of the drawing-rooms,
exchanging numerous greetings, for he knew every artist in London.

CHAPTER VII

The next morning Corsini presented himself at the palatial premises in
Old Broad Street where the Baron evolved his vast financial schemes.
After he had waited in an anteroom for a couple of minutes, a slim
young man, who looked like a confidential secretary, appeared from an
inner apartment, and led him down a long corridor to Salmoros's
private sanctum.

It was a handsome apartment, beautifully furnished. Your feet sank in
the thick Turkey carpet; the easy-chairs were models of artistic
design and comfort. There were only a few pictures on the walls, but
each one was a gem. The Baron was a lover of art in every shape and
form, and one of the best-known collectors in Europ