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Updated: July 5, 2025
It was early in the forenoon of the first day of July that Eliza told her mistress that Mrs. Stetson was asking for her at the telephone. Eliza's face was not a little troubled. "I'm afraid, maybe, it isn't good news," she stammered, as her mistress hurriedly arose. "She's at Mr. Cyril Henshaw's Mrs.
Henshaw protested incredulously. "How how can he be dead? How did he die? An accident?" "I am afraid it looks as though by his own hand," Morriston answered in a hushed voice. The expression of incredulity on Henshaw's face manifestly deepened. "By his own hand?" he echoed. "Suicide? Clement commit suicide? Impossible! Inconceivable!" "One would think so indeed," Morriston replied with sympathy.
And when he read that "Henshaw's work shows now a peculiar strength, a sort of reserve power, as it were, which, beautiful as was his former work, it never showed before," he smiled grimly, and said to Billy: "I suppose, now, that was the fighting I did with my good left hand, eh, dear?" But there was yet one more drop that was to make Bertram's cup of joy brim to overflowing.
That you'd already had one good offer I'm not speaking of marriage and that you were going abroad next summer, and that they were all insufferably proud of you." "Nonsense!" scowled Arkwright, again, coloring like a girl. "That is only some of of Mrs. Henshaw's kind flattery." Calderwell jerked the cigar from between his lips, and sat suddenly forward in his chair. "Arkwright, tell me about them.
Henshaw's equal to that." Kamasura stammered, hesitated. "Don't make no mistake," said Hovey fiercely, "because we'll be standin' close, some of us, an' the first tune you open your damned mouth, we'll bash your head in. Get me?" The entrance of Eric Borgson made it impossible for the Jap to answer with words, but his eyes were eloquent with promise.
He could not quite reconcile it with the way she had spoken of him previously; but then he told himself that he was making too much of the business, and saw what was mere politeness through the magnifying glasses of jealousy. And so, secure in his position, he proceeded to view Henshaw's attempts to ingratiate himself with an amused equanimity.
"I shall not deny it to you, Mr. Gifford, even if I thought it could be of any use. But, knowing so much, you owe it to me to hear my explanation of matters which look so black against me, and above all to accept my absolute assurance that so far as I am concerned Clement Henshaw's wound was quite accidental. Indeed I never dreamt that he had been hurt until his body was found."
The Press sent reporters that the World might know what Art and Society were doing, and how they did it. Before the canvases signed with Bertram Henshaw's name there was always to be found an admiring group representing both Art and Society with the Press on the outskirts to report.
It seemed as though the complete alteration in the man's attitude and manner might indicate that he had got the solution of the mystery, and no longer had that problem to worry him. Certainly there was little to find fault with in him to-day. One thing, however, Gifford did not like, and that was Henshaw's rather obvious admiration for Edith Morriston.
Yes, he remembered Billy Henshaw well, but he had not heard of him for years, since Henshaw's marriage, in fact. He must be forty years old, Ned said; but he was a fine fellow, an exceptionally fine fellow, and would be sure to deal kindly and wisely by his little orphan namesake; of that Ned was very sure. "That's good. I'll write him," declared Mr. James Harding. "I'll write him tomorrow."
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