It was a still and frosty evening. As the motor drew up in the walled enclosure before the Tower, the noise of its brakes echoed through the profound silence in which the Tower was wrapped. No sign of life in the dark front; no ray of light anywhere from its shuttered windows.
Yet, to her astonishment, as she alighted, and before she had rung the bell, the front door was thrown open, and Dixon with a couple of dogs at his heels ran down the steps.
At sight however of the veiled and cloaked lady who had descended from the motor, the old man stopped short, evidently surprised. With an exclamation Victoria did not catch, he retreated to the threshold of the house.
She mounted rapidly, not noticing that a telegraph boy on a bicycle had come wheeling into the forecourt behind her.
As she threw back her veil, Dixon stared at her in dumb amazement. Then she suddenly perceived behind him a tall figure advancing. She made a few steps forward through the dimly lighted hall, and found herself within a foot of Edmund Melrose himself.
He gave a start--checked himself--and stood staring at her. He wore spectacles, and was leaning on a stick. She had a quick impression of physical weakness and decay.
Without any visible embarrassment she held out her hand.
"I am lucky to have found you at home, Mr. Melrose. Will you give me twenty minutes' conversation on some important business?"
"Excuse me!" he said with a profound bow, and a motion of the left hand toward the stick on which he supported himself--"or rather my infirmities."
His glittering eyes surveyed her. Dixon approached him holding out a telegram.
"Allow me," said Melrose, as he tore open the envelope and perused the message. "Ah! I thought so! You were mistaken, Lady Tatham--for another visitor--one of those foreign fellows who waste so much of my time--coming to see a few little things of mine. Shut the door, Dixon--the man has missed his train. Now, Lady Tatham!--you have some business to discuss with me. Kindly step this way."
He turned toward the gallery. Victoria followed, and Dixon was left in the hall, staring after them in a helpless astonishment.
The gallery lit by hanging lamps made a swift impression of splendid space and colour on Lady Tatham as she passed through it in Melrose's wake. He led the way without a word, till he reached the door of his own room.