"No! I am going upstairs to put on my dress, and will then come down and hear what Monsieur Guinaud has to say."
"He wants the interview to be a private one."
Marson did not answer, but sat nervously plucking at his chin.
"You are dealing with a dangerous man," she said in a whisper, not knowing how near Judas might be to the door; "he needs a woman to deal with him. Hush! there is Guinaud! I'll go upstairs this way and be back shortly. Not a word."
She went rapidly towards the masked door, and had just time to let the tapestry drop behind her, when Judas entered, preceded by the servant.
The servant retired, and Judas in his dark dress, with a crafty look on his bloodless face, stood looking at Mr. Marson.
"Will you be seated, sir?" said the latter gentleman, indicating a chair.
"Wis pleasure, monsieur," said Judas, bowing. "Speak you de français, monsieur?"
"Très bien," replied Guinaud, with a satisfied smile; "let us speak my tongue, monsieur, if you please! I am not at home in your English!"
He sat down with a self-satisfied smile, drew his gloves off his long, lean hands, and having thrown open his overcoat, rubbed his hands together slowly, as he looked at Marson with his most guileless expression.
"Eh! my faith, but it is cold in this England of yours," he said, passing his hand over his smooth red hair. "I am a child of the South, me, and find these skies of rain not pleasant, after my beautiful Provence."
"What do you want to see me about?" asked Marson, sharply, taking an instinctive dislike to the sleek, treacherous manner of Judas. "I cannot spare you much time, so please be quick."
Judas shrugged his shoulders, smiled blandly, and came to the point by slow degrees.
"I am the friend of the late Sebastian Melstane, monsieur."
"Eh! you know much, monsieur. Do you also know that he was murdered?"
Monsieur Guinaud lifted his eyes to heaven with a sad smile.
"But yes, certainly, monsieur. He died from a pill of morphia placed in his box of pills of tonic, which he had from the shop of Monsieur Vosk."
Judas narrowed his eyes down to their dangerous expression, and shrugged his shoulders once more, but said nothing.
"And what has Melstane's death to do with me?" asked Marson, coldly.