“It was just such a day as this,” he continued.  “It might have been almost this hour.  The library windows—­”

He ceased and looked fixedly towards the house.  Brett, too, gazed in silence.  They saw a small, pale-faced, exceedingly handsome Italian—­a young man, with coal-black eyes and a mass of shining black hair—­scowling at them from within the library.

A black velvet coat and a brilliant tie were the only bizarre features of his costume.  They served sufficiently to enhance his foreign appearance.  Such a man would be correctly placed in the marble frame of a Neapolitan villa; here he was unusual, outre, “un-English,” as Brett put it.

But he was evidently master.  He flung open the window, and said, with some degree of hauteur: 

“Whom do you wish to see?  Can I be of any assistance?”

His accent was strongly marked, but his words were well chosen and civil enough, had his tone accorded with their sense.  As it was, he might be deemed rude.

Brett advanced.

“Are you Signor Capella?” he inquired.

“Mr. Capella.  Yes.”

“Then you can, indeed, be of much assistance.  This gentleman is Mrs. Capella’s cousin, Mr. David Hume-Frazer.”

“Corpo di Baccho!”

The Italian was completely taken by surprise.  His eyebrows suddenly stood out in a ridge.  His sallow skin could not become more pallid; to show emotion he flushed a swarthy red.  Beyond the involuntary exclamation in his own language, he could not find words.

“Yes,” explained the smiling Brett, “he is a near relative of yours by marriage.  We were told by the lodge-keeper that Mrs. Capella was indisposed, but under the circumstances we felt assured that she would receive her cousin—­unless, that is, she is seriously ill.”

“It is an unexpected pleasure, this visit.”

Capella replied to the barrister, but looked at Hume.  He had an unpleasant habit of parting his lips closely to his teeth, like the silent snarl of a dog.

“Undoubtedly.  We both apologise for not having prepared you.”

Brett’s smooth, even voice seemed to exasperate the other, who continued to block the library window in uncompromising manner.

“And you, sir.  May I ask who you are?”

“My name is Brett, Reginald Brett, a friend of Mr. Hume’s—­who, I may mention, does not use his full surname at present.”

The Italian was compelled to turn his glittering eyes upon the man who addressed him so glibly.

“I am sorry,” he said slowly, “but Mrs. Capella is too unwell to meet either of you to-day.”

“Ah!  We share your regrets.  Nevertheless, as a preliminary to our purpose, you will serve our needs equally well.  May we not come in?”

Capella was faced with difficult alternatives.  He must either be discourteous to two gentlemanly strangers, one of them his wife’s relative, or admit them with some show of politeness.  An Italian may be rude, he can never be gauche.  Having decided, Capella ushered them into the library with quick transition to dignified ease.