her once more upon the threshold of my room. She was fainting—almost on the point of collapse! I gave her some brandy and helped her downstairs. At the door of the flat was a cab, and in it was the man Barnes, dead—murdered!"
The breath came through Duncan's teeth with a little hiss. One could fancy that he was wishing that his had been the hand to strike the blow. The Baron glanced round casually. He called a waiter and complained of the slow service, sent for another bottle of wine, and lit a cigarette.
"I think," he said, "that we will pause for a moment or so. Mr. Wrayson's narrative is a little dramatic! Ah! Mademoiselle la danseuse goes! What a toilet!"
Mademoiselle favoured their table with her particular regard as she passed out, and accepted with a delightful smile the fan which she dropped in passing, and which the Baron as speedily restored. He resumed his seat, stroking his grey moustache.
"A very handsome young lady," he remarked. "I think that now we may continue."
"The girl?" Duncan asked quickly.
"Was your sister," Wrayson answered.
There was a moment's intense silence. Duncan was doing his best to look unconcerned, but the hand which played with his wineglass shook.
"How—was he murdered?"
"Strangled with a fine cord," Wrayson answered.
"In the cab?"
"There or inside the building! It is impossible to say."
"And no one was ever tried for the murder?"
"No one," Wrayson answered.
