"And you, my dear," a middle-aged man who bore a resemblance to Adolphe Menjou, took her hand, "must be the fragrant Lady Sylvia Vaughan."
"Right first time," she beamed peppily. "And you have to be Marcus Coote, the chap who owns all this. It's a nice house."
"Nothing on Mainstone, I'm told," he replied, still smiling.
"That's not hard," she laughed charmingly. "So, how do you spend your days, Mr. Coote? I'm told you used to work for a living."
"But now I follow the example of my better," he shot back. "Now, excuse me, Lady Sylvia, but I see a Justice of the Peace who wants to talk to me. Make yourself at home."
"But of course," the brunette let him go. As soon as she was left alone, she headed off into the caverous halls of the castle, searching for Coote's study.
She slipped off her shoes as she climbed a flight of stairs, towards the newest section of the house. If her father's house was anything to go by, that would be where the living quarters were.
She was half-way up the stairs when something gave way under her feet. she fell heavily onto the stairs, and a jet of gas hit her in the face. Her head span a couple of times, before she passed out cold. As darkness claimed her, Lady Sylvia heard someone laughing, very close at hand.