t was eating my dinner in the
big upstairs room of The Cups Hotel, while the hall-porter was
endeavouring to discover for me the whereabouts of Melbourne House.

I had nearly finished my meal when the uniformed servant entered, cap in
hand, saying:

"I've found, sir, that the house you've been inquiring for is out on the
road to Marks Tey, about a mile. An old lady named Miss Morgan lived
there for many years, but she died last autumn, and the place has, they
say, been let furnished to a lady--a Mrs. Petre. Is that the lady you are
trying to find?"

"It certainly is," I replied, much gratified at the man's success. Then,
placing a tip in his palm, I drank off my coffee, put on my overcoat, and
descended to the taxi which he had summoned for me.

He gave directions to the driver, and soon we were whirling along the
broad streets of Colchester, and out of the town on the dark, open road
which led towards London. Presently we pulled up, and getting out, I
found myself before a long, low, ivy-covered house standing back behind a
high hedge of clipped box, which divided the small, bare front garden
from the road. Lonely and completely isolated, it stood on the top of a
hill with high, leafless trees behind, and on the left a thick copse. In
front were wide, bare, open fields.

Opening the iron gate I walked up the gravelled path to the door and
rang. In a window on the right a light showed, and as I listened I heard
the tramp of a man's foot upon the oilcloth of the hall, and next moment
the door was unlocked and opened.

A tall, thin-faced young man of somewhat sallow complexion confronted me.
He had keen, deep-set eyes, broad forehead, and pointed chin.

"Is Mrs. Petre at home?" I inquired briefly.

In a second he looked at me as though with distrust, then apparently
seeing the taxi waiting, and satisfying himself that I was a person of
respectability, he replied in a refined voice:

"I really don't know, but I'll see, if you will step in?" and he ushered
me into a small room at the rear of the house, a cosy but
plainly-furnished little sitting-room, wherein a wood fire burned with
pleasant glow.

I handed him my card and sat down to wait, in the meanwhile inspecting my
surroundings with some curiosity.

Now, even as I recall that night, I cannot tell why I should have
experienced such a sense of grave insecurity as I did when I sat there
awaiting the woman's coming. I suppose we all of us possess in some
deg