The servant retired, and Judas in his dark dress, with a crafty look on his bloodless face, stood looking at Mr. Marson.
"Will you be seated, sir?" said the latter gentleman, indicating a chair.
"Wis pleasure, monsieur," said Judas, bowing. "Speak you de français, monsieur?"
"Oui."
"Très bien," replied Guinaud, with a satisfied smile; "let us speak my tongue, monsieur, if you please! I am not at home in your English!"
He sat down with a self-satisfied smile, drew his gloves off his long, lean hands, and having thrown open his overcoat, rubbed his hands together slowly, as he looked at Marson with his most guileless expression.
"Eh! my faith, but it is cold in this England of yours," he said, passing his hand over his smooth red hair. "I am a child of the South, me, and find these skies of rain not pleasant, after my beautiful Provence."
"What do you want to see me about?" asked Marson, sharply, taking an instinctive dislike to the sleek, treacherous manner of Judas. "I cannot spare you much time, so please be quick."
Judas shrugged his shoulders, smiled blandly, and came to the point by slow degrees.
"I am the friend of the late Sebastian Melstane, monsieur."