We threaded our way amongst the creeks.  All the time the salt wind blew upon us, and the smell of fresh seaweed seemed to fill the air with ozone.  Just as we came in sight of the road we heard the thunder of hoofs behind.  We turned around.  It was Blenavon, riding side by side with a lady who was a stranger to me.  Her figure was slim but elegant.  I caught a glimpse of her face as they flashed by, and it puzzled me.  Her hair was almost straw coloured, her complexion was negative, her features were certainly not good.  Yet there was something about her attractive, something which set me guessing at once as to the colour of her eyes, the quality of her voice, if she should speak.  Blenavon reined in his horse.

“So you have turned up, Angela,” he remarked, looking at her a little nervously.  “You remember Mrs. Smith-Lessing, don’t you—­down at Bordighera, you know?”

Angela shook her head, but she never glanced towards the woman who sat there with expectant smile.

“I am afraid that I do not,” she said.  “I remember a good many things about Bordighera, but—­not Mrs. Smith-Lessing.  I shall see you at dinner-time, Blenavon.  I have some messages for you.”

I saw the whip come down upon the woman’s horse, but I did not dare to look into her face.  Blenavon, with a smothered oath and a black look at his sister, galloped after her.  I rejoined Lady Angela, who was already in the road.

“Dear me,” she said, “what a magnificent nerve that woman must have!  To dare to imagine that I should receive her!  Why, she is known in every capital in Europe—­a police spy, a creature whose brains and body and soul are to be bought by any one’s gold.”

“What on earth can such a woman want here?” I remarked.

“In hiding, very likely,” Lady Angela remarked.  “Or perhaps she may be an additional complication for you.”

I laughed a little scornfully.

“You, too, are getting suspicious,” I declared.  “The Prince and Mrs. Smith-Lessing are a strong combination.”

“Be careful then that they are not too strong for you,” she answered, smiling.  “I have heard a famous boast of Mrs. Smith-Lessing’s, that never a man nor a lock has yet resisted her.”

I thought of her face as I had seen it in the half light—­a faint impression of delicate colourlessness, and for the life of me I could not help a little shiver.  Lady Angela looked at me in surprise.

“Are you cold?” she asked.  “Let us walk more quickly.”

“It is always cold at this time in the evening,” I remarked.  “It is the mist coming up from the marshes.  One feels it at unexpected moments.”

“I am not going to take you any farther,” she declared, “especially as you are coming up to-night.  Eight o’clock, remember.  Go and salve your conscience with some work.”

I protested, but she was firm.  So I stood by the gate and watched her slim young figure disappear in the gathering shadows.