I was not to be left long in doubt, for presently the door opened and the young lady herself entered the room.  I say ‘young lady,’ because her age could not at most have been more than one-or two-and-twenty.  She was tall and the possessor of a graceful figure, while one glance was sufficient to show me that her face was an exceedingly pretty one.  (Afterwards I discovered that her eyes were dark brown.) I rose and offered her a chair.

“Good morning, Miss Kitwater,” I said.  “This is an unexpected visit.  Won’t you sit down?”

When she had done so I resumed my seat at the table.

“Mr. Fairfax,” she began, “you are the great detective, I believe?”

I admitted the soft impeachment with as much modesty as I could assume at so short a notice.  She certainly was a very pretty girl.

“I have come to talk to you about my uncle.”

She stopped as if she did not quite know how to proceed.

“Then the gentleman who called upon me yesterday, and who has the misfortune to be blind, is your uncle?” I said.

“Yes!  He was my father’s younger and only brother,” she answered.  “I have often heard my father speak of him, but I had never seen him myself until he arrived in England, a month ago with his companion, Mr. Codd.  Mr. Fairfax, they have suffered terribly.  I have never heard anything so awful as their experiences.”

“I can quite believe that,” I answered.  “Your uncle told me something of their great trouble yesterday.  It seems wonderful to me that they should have survived to tell the tale.”

“Then he must have told you of Hayle, their supposed friend” (she spoke with superb scorn), “the man who betrayed them and robbed them of what was given them?”

“It was for that purpose that they called upon me,” I answered.  “They were anxious that I should undertake the search for this man.”

She rested her clasped hands upon the table and looked pleadingly at me.

“And will you do so?”

“I am considering the matter,” I said, with the first feeling of reluctance I had experienced in the case.  “I have promised to give them my decision this afternoon.”

“So they informed me, and that is why I am here,” she replied.  “Oh, Mr. Fairfax, you don’t know how I pity them!  Surely if they could find this man his heart would be touched, and he would refund them a portion, at least, of what he took from them, and what is legally theirs.”

“I am afraid it is very doubtful whether he will,” I said, “even in the event of his being found.  Gentlemen of his description are not conspicuous for their pity, nor, as a rule, will they disgorge unless considerable pressure of an unpleasant description is brought to bear upon them.”

“Then that pressure must be brought to bear,” she said, “and if I may say so, you are the only one who can do it.  That is why I have called upon you this morning.  I have come to plead with you, to implore you, if necessary, to take the matter up.  I am not very rich, but I would willingly give all I have in the world to help them.”