"Certainly, Mr. Brassfield! The Turkish room, and a steak, and no one admitted——"
"Except such people as Mr. Alvord may bring. We shall want some good cigars, and a few bottles of that blue seal."
"Yes, sir," said Tony. "Will you speak to this gentleman before you go up, sir?"
Brassfield turned and confronted an elderly man of florid countenance, whose white mustache and frock-coat presented a most respectable appearance. Mr. Brassfield bent on him a piercing look, and strove mentally to account for the impression that he had met this man before, wondering again at that hazy association with the mystical, dreamy region of the woman in yellow and black. It was as if he saw everything that evening through some medium capable of imparting this mystic coloring. The stranger faced him steadily.
"I presume you remember me, Mr. Brassfield," said he. "Blodgett of Hazelhurst."
"Of course it's unpardonable in me," said Brassfield, "but I don't remember you, and I fear I've never heard of the place."
"Well," said Judge Blodgett, "it's entirely immaterial. I merely wanted to say that I've some matters of very great importance to communicate to you, if you'll just step up to my rooms at the Bellevale House."
"I can hardly conceive of anything you may have to say," said Brassfield guardedly, "which can not be as well said here. We are quite alone."
"I—the fact is," said the judge, floundering, "what I have to say must be communicated in the presence of a person who is there, a person——"
"May I ask whom?"