We finished our breakfast, and my brother hobbled over to the window.  For several minutes he remained there, looking out upon the street with the aimless air of a man who scarcely knows what to do with his day.

“What are you thinking of doing, Austen?” he asked me.

“I had no plans,” I answered.  “Some part of the day I thought I would look up these people—­the Deloras.”

Ralph nodded and turned to his servant.

“Goreham,” he said, “I will have the motor in an hour.  Come and dine with me, will you, Austen?” he said, turning to me.  “I don’t suppose you will go down to Feltham for a day or two.”

“I will come, with pleasure,” I answered.  “Where are you going to motor to?”

Ralph answered a little vaguely.  He had some calls to make, and he was not altogether sure.  I left him in a few minutes and descended to the street.  I turned westward and walked for some little distance, when suddenly I was attracted by the sight of a familiar figure issuing from the door of a large, gray stone house.  We came face to face upon the pavement.  It was the man whose life I had probably saved only a few hours ago.

He lifted his hat, and his dark eyes sought mine interrogatively.

“You were not, by chance, on the way to call upon me?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Not only,” I answered, “was I ignorant of where you lived, but I do not even know your name.”

“Both matters,” he remarked quietly, “are unimportant.”

I glanced at the house from which he had issued.

“It would seem,” I remarked, “that you have diplomatic connections.”

“Why not?” he answered.  “Indeed,” he continued thoughtfully, “I do not see, Captain Rotherby, why my name should remain a secret to you.”

He drew a card from his pocket, and handed it to me.  I read it with ill-concealed curiosity.

    MR. ALFONSE LAMARTINE

    Brazilian Legation.

    12, Porchester Square.

“You are a South American?” I asked quickly.

“By birth,” he answered.  “I have lived chiefly in Paris, and here in London.”

“You knew Mr. Delora at Brazil, then?” I asked.

“I know the family quite well,” he answered.  “They are very influential people.  I have told you my name, Captain Rotherby,” he continued, “because I see no reason why we two should not be frank with one another.  I am of necessity interested in the movements and doings of Mr. Delora and his niece.  You,” he continued, “appear to have been drawn a little way into the mesh of intrigue by which they are surrounded.”

I drew my arm through his.  We were walking now side by side.

“Look here,” I said, “you were quite right in what you said.  There is no reason why we should have secrets from one another.  Tell me about these people, and why on earth they have any connections at all with persons of the class of Louis and those others.”