“Sir William Franks—­there.”  In a mixture of Italian and English the driver told Aaron to get down and ring the bell on the right.  Aaron got down and in the darkness was able to read the name on the plate.

“How much?” said Aaron to the driver.

“Ten franc,” said the fat driver.

But it was his turn now to screw down and scrutinise the pink ten-shilling note.  He waved it in his hand.

“Not good, eh?  Not good moneys?”

“Yes,” said Aaron, rather indignantly.  “Good English money.  Ten shillings.  Better than ten francs, a good deal.  Better—­better—­”

“Good—­you say?  Ten sheeling—­” The driver muttered and muttered, as if dissatisfied.  But as a matter of fact he stowed the note in his waistcoat pocket with considerable satisfaction, looked at Aaron curiously, and drove away.

Aaron stood there in the dark outside the big gates, and wished himself somewhere else.  However, he rang the bell.  There was a huge barking of dogs on the other side.  Presently a light switched on, and a woman, followed by a man, appeared cautiously, in the half-opened doorway.

“Sir William Franks?” said Aaron.

“Si, signore.”

And Aaron stepped with his two bags inside the gate.  Huge dogs jumped round.  He stood in the darkness under the trees at the foot of the park.  The woman fastened the gate—­Aaron saw a door—­and through an uncurtained window a man writing at a desk—­rather like the clerk in an hotel office.  He was going with his two bags to the open door, when the woman stopped him, and began talking to him in Italian.  It was evident he must not go on.  So he put down the bags.  The man stood a few yards away, watchfully.

Aaron looked down at the woman and tried to make out something of what she was saying, but could not.  The dogs still barked spasmodically, drops fell from the tall, dark trees that rose overhead.

“Is Mr. Lilly here?  Mr. Lilly?” he asked.

“Signor Lillee.  No, Signore—­”

And off the woman went in Italian.  But it was evident Lilly was not at the house.  Aaron wished more than ever he had not come, but had gone to an hotel.

He made out that the woman was asking him for his name—­“Meester—?  Meester—?” she kept saying, with a note of interrogation.

“Sisson.  Mr. Sisson,” said Aaron, who was becoming impatient.  And he found a visiting card to give her.  She seemed appeased—­said something about telephone—­and left him standing.

The rain had ceased, but big drops were shaken from the dark, high trees.  Through the uncurtained window he saw the man at the desk reach the telephone.  There was a long pause.  At length the woman came back and motioned to him to go up—­up the drive which curved and disappeared under the dark trees.

“Go up there?” said Aaron, pointing.

That was evidently the intention.  So he picked up his bags and strode forward, from out of the circle of electric light, up the curved drive in the darkness.  It was a steep incline.  He saw trees and the grass slopes.  There was a tang of snow in the air.