was crowded, and the coloured band, from the space against the wall on
their left, was playing a lively one-step. Ferrani was buttonholed by
an important client as they crossed the threshold, and they lingered
for a moment, waiting for his guidance. Whilst they stood there, a
curious thing happened. The leader of the orchestra seemed to draw his
fingers recklessly across the strings of his instrument and to produce
a discord which was almost appalling. A half-pained, half-amused
exclamation rippled down the room. For a moment the music ceased. The
conductor, who was responsible for the disturbance, was sitting
motionless, his hand hanging down by his side. His features remained
imperturbable, but the gleam of his white teeth, and a livid little
streak under his eyes gave to his usually good-humoured face an utterly
altered, almost a malignant expression. Ferrani stepped across and
spoke to him for a moment angrily. The man took up his instrument,
waved his hand, and the music re-commenced in a subdued note. Pamela
turned to the chief maitre d'hotel, who had now re-joined them.

"What an extraordinary breakdown!" she exclaimed. "Is your leader a man
of nerves?"

"Never have I heard such a thing in all my days," Ferrani assured them
fervently. "Joseph is one of the most wonderful performers in the
world. His control over his instrument is marvellous.... Captain
Holderness asked particularly for this table."

They seated themselves at the table reserved for them against the wall.
Their cicerone was withdrawing with a low bow, but Pamela leaned over
to speak to him.

"Your music," she told him, "is quite wonderful. The orchestra consists