They plunged into a long and animated discussion. When at last the
company began to disperse Martini went up to the quiet young woman.

"I will see you home, Gemma."

"Thanks; I want to have a business talk with you."

"Anything wrong with the addresses?" he asked softly.

"Nothing serious; but I think it is time to make a few alterations. Two
letters have been stopped in the post this week. They were both quite
unimportant, and it may have been accidental; but we cannot afford to
have any risks. If once the police have begun to suspect any of our
addresses, they must be changed immediately."

"I will come in about that to-morrow. I am not going to talk business
with you to-night; you look tired."

"I am not tired."

"Then you are depressed again."

"Oh, no; not particularly."

CHAPTER II.

"Is the mistress in, Katie?"

"Yes, sir; she is dressing. If you'll just step into the parlour she
will be down in a few minutes."

Katie ushered the visitor in with the cheerful friendliness of a true
Devonshire girl. Martini was a special favourite of hers. He spoke
English, like a foreigner, of course, but still quite respectably; and
he never sat discussing politics at the top of his voice till one in
the morning, when the mistress was tired, as some visitors had a way of
doing. Moreover, he had come to Devonshire to help the mistress in her
trouble, when her baby was dead and her husband dying there; and ever
since that time the big, awkward, silent man had been to Katie as much
"one of the family" as was the lazy black cat which now ensconced itself
upon his knee. Pasht, for his part, regarded Martini as a useful piece
of household furniture. This visitor never trod upon his tail, or
puffed tobacco smoke into his eyes, or in any way obtruded upon his
consciousness an aggressive biped personality. He behaved as a mere man
should: provided a comfortable knee to lie upon and purr, and at
table never forgot that to look on while human beings eat fish is not
interesting for a cat. The friendship between them was of old date.
Once, when Pasht was a kitten and his mistress too ill to think about
him, he had come from England under Martini's care, tucked away in a
basket. Since then, long experience had convinced him that this clumsy
human bear was no fair-weather friend.

"How snug you look, you two!" said Gemma, coming into the room. "One
would think you had settled yourselves for the evening."

Martini carefull