Lavendale seemed to come back with a rush into the world of real things. He withdrew the key from the door, stepped outside and locked it.
'You had better take that to the manager,' he said. 'I will wait outside here. Tell him to come at once.'
'Anything wrong, sir?' the valet repeated.
Lavendale nodded.
'The man there in the chair is dead!' he whispered.
CHAPTER II
THE LOST FORMULA
The two young men stood side by side before the window of the Milan smoke-room—Ambrose Lavendale, the American, and his friend Captain Merrill from the War Office. Directly opposite to them was a narrow street running down to the Embankment, at the foot of which they could catch a glimpse of the river. A little to the left was a dark and melancholy building with a number of sightless windows.
'Wonder what sort of people live in that place?' Merrill asked curiously. 'Milan Mansions they call it, don't they?'
The other nodded.