She was slight of figure, middle-aged and gray-haired.

The wanness of her thin features was accentuated by an attire of deep mourning, but the pallor in her cheeks fled for an instant when she set eyes on Theydon.
"Pray forgive the intrusion," she faltered.

"I--I expected to meet an older man." It was a curious utterance, and Theydon tried to relieve her evident nervousness by being mildly humorous.
"I hope to correct my juvenile appearance in course of time," he said, smiling.

"Meanwhile, won't you be seated?
You are not quite unknown to me, Miss Beale.

That is--I heard of you last night from the Scotland Yard people." She sat down at once, but seemed to be at a loss for words.