“Thank you, dear, ever so much for your delightful dinner,” she exclaimed, “and for bringing me home.  As for the music, well, I can’t talk about it.  I am just going upstairs into my room to sit and think.”

“Don’t sit up too late and spoil your pretty colour, dear,” Mrs. Delarey advised.  “Good-bye!  Don’t forget I am coming in to lunch with you to-morrow.”

The car rolled off.  Ella, a large umbrella held over her head by the door-keeper, stepped up the little strip of drugget which led into the softly-warmed hall of the Leeland.  Behind her came her maid, Lenora, and Macdougal, who had been riding on the box with the chauffeur.  He paused for a moment to wipe the snow from his clothes as Ella crossed the hall to the lift.  Lenora turned towards him.  He whispered something in her ear.  For a moment she shook.  Then she turned away and followed her mistress upstairs.

Arrived in her apartment, Ella threw herself with a little sigh of content into a big easy-chair before the fire.  Her sitting-room was the last word in comfort and luxury.  A great bowl of pink roses, arrived during her absence, stood on the small table by her side.  Lenora had just brought her chocolate and was busy making preparations in the bedroom adjoining.  Ella gave herself up for a few moments to reverie.  The magic of the music was still in her blood.  She had made progress.  That very afternoon her master, Van Haydn, had spoken to her of her progress—­Van Haydn, who had never flattered a pupil in his life.  In a few weeks’ time her mother and father were coming out to her.  Meanwhile, she had made hosts of pleasant friends.  Attentions of all sorts had been showered upon her.  She curled herself up in her chair.  It was good to be alive!

A log stirred upon the fire.  She leaned forward lazily to replace it and then stopped short.  Exactly opposite to her was a door which opened on to a back hall.  It was used only by the servants connected with the hotel, and was usually kept locked.  Just as she was in the act of leaning forward, Ella became conscious of a curious hallucination.  She sat looking at the handle with fascinated eyes.  Then she called aloud to Lenora.

“Lenora, come here at once.”

The maid hurried in from the next room.  Ella pointed to the door.

“Lenora, look outside.  See if any one is on that landing.  I fancied that the door opened.”

The maid shook her head incredulously.

“I don’t think so, my lady,” she said.  “No one but the waiter and the chambermaid who comes in to clean the apartment, ever comes that way.”

She crossed the room and tried the handle.  Then she turned towards her mistress in triumph.

“It is locked, my lady,” she reported.

Ella rose to her feet and herself tried the handle.  It was as the maid had reported.  She, however, was not altogether reassured.  She was a young woman whose nerves were in a thoroughly healthy state, and by no means given to imaginative fears.  She stood a little away, looking at the handle.  It was almost impossible that she could have been mistaken.  Her hands clasped for a moment the necklace which hung from her neck.  A queer presentiment of evil crept like a grey shadow over her.