I talked.  I do not profess to have said anything original upon the subject, but I gave a short sketch of the characteristics of the beetle, and ran over the more common species, with some allusions to the specimens in my own little collection and to the article upon “Burying Beetles” which I had contributed to the Journal of Entomological Science.

“What! not a collector?” cried Lord Linchmere.  “You don’t mean that you are yourself a collector?” His eyes danced with pleasure at the thought.

“You are certainly the very man in London for my purpose.  I thought that among five millions of people there must be such a man, but the difficulty is to lay one’s hands upon him.  I have been extraordinarily fortunate in finding you.”

He rang a gong upon the table, and the footman entered.

“Ask Lady Rossiter to have the goodness to step this way,” said his lordship, and a few moments later the lady was ushered into the room.  She was a small, middle-aged woman, very like Lord Linchmere in appearance, with the same quick, alert features and grey-black hair.  The expression of anxiety, however, which I had observed upon his face was very much more marked upon hers.  Some great grief seemed to have cast its shadow over her features.  As Lord Linchmere presented me she turned her face full upon me, and I was shocked to observe a half-healed scar extending for two inches over her right eyebrow.  It was partly concealed by plaster, but none the less I could see that it had been a serious wound and not long inflicted.

“Dr. Hamilton is the very man for our purpose, Evelyn,” said Lord Linchmere.  “He is actually a collector of beetles, and he has written articles upon the subject.”

“Really!” said Lady Rossiter.  “Then you must have heard of my husband.  Everyone who knows anything about beetles must have heard of Sir Thomas Rossiter.”

For the first time a thin little ray of light began to break into the obscure business.  Here, at last, was a connection between these people and beetles.  Sir Thomas Rossiter—­ he was the greatest authority upon the subject in the world.  He had made it his lifelong study, and had written a most exhaustive work upon it.  I hastened to assure her that I had read and appreciated it.

“Have you met my husband?” she asked.

“No, I have not.”

“But you shall,” said Lord Linchmere, with decision.

The lady was standing beside the desk, and she put her hand upon his shoulder.  It was obvious to me as I saw their faces together that they were brother and sister.

“Are you really prepared for this, Charles?  It is noble of you, but you fill me with fears.”  Her voice quavered with apprehension, and he appeared to me to be equally moved, though he was making strong efforts to conceal his agitation.

“Yes, yes, dear; it is all settled, it is all decided; in fact, there is no other possible way, that I can see.”