That night I went to my room at about ten minutes before midnight, and waited for the appearance of my secret visitor.
Just as midnight struck the handle of the door slowly turned and a well-dressed, dark-mustached man of about thirty-five entered silently and bowed.
“Mr. Hargreave?” he asked with a foreign accent. “Or is it Cottingham?”
“Which you please,” I replied in a low voice, laughing.
“I have this to hand to you,” he said as he produced the portion of the visiting-card which I found fitted exactly to that which I had received from Rayne.
“Well?” I asked, inviting him to a chair and afterwards turning the key in the door. “What message have you for me?” Then I noticed for the first time that he bore in his hand a small brown leather attaché-case.
“I know you well by name, Mr. Hargreave,” he said. “You are one of us, I know. Therefore ‘The Golden Face’ sends you a message.”
“Have you seen him?” I asked.
“No,” was his reply. “Though we have been in association for several years, I always receive messages through Vincent Duperré.”