Hume did not yet know what a concession to exciting
circumstances his new-found friend had made the previous day in ordering
spirits before luncheon.
When the servant vanished, Capella settled himself in his chair with the
air of a man awaiting explanations. Yet he was restless and disturbed. He
was afraid of these two. Why? Brett determined to try the effect of
generalities.
"You probably guess the object of our visit?" he began.
"I? No. How should I guess?"
"As the husband of a lady so closely connected with Mr. Hume--"
But the Italian seemed to be firmly resolved to end the suspense.
"Caramba!" he broke in. "What is it?"
"It is this. Mr. Hume has asked me to help him in the investigation of
certain--"
The library door swung open, and a lady entered. She was tall, graceful,
distinguished-looking. Her cousinship to Hume was unmistakable. In both
there was the air of aristocratic birth. Their eyes, the contour of their
faces, were alike. But the fresh Anglo-Saxon complexion of the man was
replaced in the woman by a peach-like skin, whilst her hair and eyebrows
were darker.
She was strikingly beautiful. A plain black dress set off a figure that
would have caused a sculptor to dream of chiselled marble.
"A passionate, voluptuous woman," thought Brett. "A woman easily swayed,
but never to be compelled, the ready-made heroine of a tragedy.
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