We fell into the full glow of a lamp-lit, cushioned, tiny room, with a circular wall lined with books, a circular table, and a circular seat around it.

At this table sat three people.

One was Basil, who, in the instant after alighting there, had fallen into an attitude of marmoreal ease as if he had been there from boyhood; he was smoking a cigar with a slow pleasure.

The second was Lieutenant Drummond Keith, who looked happy also, but feverish and doubtful compared with his granite guest.

The third was the little bald-headed house-agent with the wild whiskers, who called himself Montmorency.