at the station. Would I
send on what I required for a short visit, and meet them at eleven
o'clock on the bridge over the Serpentine? It was enough for me. I
packed a large portmanteau hastily, sent it to Charing Cross, and spent
the time at my disposal in the park, which was close to my hotel.

Although the invitation I had received gave me pleasure, I could not
altogether remove from my mind a vague sense of disquietude concerning
Herbert Brande and his Society. The advanced opinions I had heard, if
extreme, were not altogether alarming. But the mysterious way in which
Brande himself had spoken about the Society, and the still more
mysterious air which some of the members assumed when directly
questioned as to its object, suggested much. Might it not be a
revolutionary party engaged in a grave intrigue--a branch of some
foreign body whose purpose was so dangerous that ordinary disguises were
not considered sufficiently secure? Might they not have adopted the
jargon and pretended to the opinions of scientific faddists as a cloak
for designs more sinister and sincere? The experiment I witnessed might
be almost a miracle or merely a trick. Thinking it over thus, I could
come to no final opinion, and when I asked myself aloud, "What are you
afraid of?" I could not answer my own question. But I thought I would
defer joining the Society pending further information.

A few minutes before eleven, I walked towards the bridge over the
Serpentine. No ladies appeared to be on it. There were only a couple of
smartly dressed youths there, one smoking a cigarette. I sauntered about
until one of the lads, the one who was not smoking, looked up and
beckoned to me. I approached leisurely, for it struck me that the boy
would have shown better breeding if he had come toward me, considering
my seniority.

"I am sorry I did not notice you sooner. Why did you not come on when
you saw us?" the smallest and slimmest youth called to me.

"In the name of--Miss--Miss--" I stammered.

"Brande; you haven't forgotten my name, I hope," Natalie Brande said
coolly. "This is my friend, Edith Metford. Metford, this is Arthur
Marcel."

"How do you do, Marcel? I am glad to meet you; I have heard 'favourable
mention' of you from the Brandes," the second figure in knickerbockers
said pleasantly.

"How do you do, sir--madam--I mean--Miss--" I blundered, and then in
despair I asked Miss Brande, "Is this a tableau vivant? What is the
meaning of these