IV
Abrupt as the crash of a stone through a conservatory-pane came the break in the silence which had enisled them. It came in the form of a knock on the door, peremptory, impatient, authoritative. It brought the world back about them, at a stroke. It reminded Kestner of why he was there, of a mission that had stood for the moment forgotten, of the danger that might still be ahead of them.
"Wait!" he said in a whisper as he started for the door. But before he could cross the room that door swung open and a man stepped inside.
The first thing about this man that impressed Kestner was his size. Yet an over-fastidiousness of apparel seemed to lend to the great figure a touch of the effeminate. He reminded the American of an Angle viking in a silk-lined Inverness. He made a figure that at first glance might pass unchallenged through the grand monde of Rome, yet beneath the immaculate raiment and the official-like posture of the shoulders lay some inalienable trace of the charlatan.
Kestner saw at a glance that the man was Watchel, at one time answering to the name of Wimpffen, and at still another known as Keudell. He knew it by the small sword-scars on the blonde cheek, by the deep-set eyes under the yellow lashes, by the grim and saturnine mouth with the touch of mockery about the heavy lips. He recalled certain things from Wils-
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