The girl raised a pair of steady grey eyes to his.
"Will you write your name here?"
She allowed him to pass and showed him some slips of paper on a table in the middle of the room. Hillyard obeyed, and waited, and in a few moments she returned, and opened a door, crossed a tiny ante-room and knocked again. Hillyard entered a room which surprised him, so greatly did its size and the wide outlook from its windows contrast with the dinginess of its approach. A thin man with the face of a French abbé sat indolently twiddling his thumbs by the side of a big bureau.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Mr. Hillyard?"
"Yes."
Commodore Graham nodded to the girl, and Hillyard heard the door close behind him.
"Won't you sit down? There are cigarettes beside you. A match? Here is one. I hope that I didn't bring you home before your time."
"The season had ended," replied Hillyard, who was in no mood to commit himself. "In what way can I help you?"
"Bendish tells me that you know something of Spain."