Left alone with his visitor, Dombrain, still maintaining the same position, stood watching her with a mesmeric stare as she glided into one of the chairs beside the table.
"Won't you sit down, Mr. Alfred Dombrain?"
His face was suddenly suffused with a rush of blood, and he sat down heavily.
"Madam! who are you?"
"Don't you know? Ah! what a pity; and you have such a good memory for voices."
"I--memory--voices," he stammered, moving restlessly.
"Yes; why not, Mr. Damberton?"
"Hush! For God's sake, hush! Who are you? Who are you?"
The woman flung back her veil, and he recoiled from the sight of her face with a hoarse, strangled cry.
"Jezebel Pethram!"