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She hesitated for a moment. He remained purposely silent. He was anxious to try and comprehend the drift of her thoughts. "Do you know why?" she asked. "Did he find the task too difficult, or did he relinquish it from any other motive?" "I am not sure," Wrayson answered. "I met him the night before last. He was very much altered. He had the appearance of a man altogether unnerved.
Heneage started when he was addressed, and his manner, when he recognized Wrayson, lacked altogether its usual composure. "I'm all right," he answered. "Beastly hot in town, though, isn't it? I'm off in a day or two. Where have you been to?" "North of France," Wrayson answered. "You look as though you wanted a change!" "I'm going to Scotland directly I can get away."
You would have been perfectly justified in taking them from her." "I suppose so," Wrayson assented, doubtfully. "Somehow she seemed to get the upper hand of us towards the end. I think she suspected that some of us knew more than we cared to tell her about her husband's death." Louise shivered a little and remained silent. Wrayson walked to the window and back.
"Certainly not," Heneage replied. "She is a representative of one of the oldest families in Europe, a persona grata at the Court of her country, and an intimate friend of Queen Helena's. She is by no means an adventuress." "Then why," Wrayson asked, "should you attach such significance to the fact of her friendship with Miss Deveney?"
Morris Barnes had come from South Africa. It was a common name enough, and yet, from the first, he was sure that this was some relative. What was the object of his visit? The ideas chased one another through his brain. Was he, too, an avenger? There was a knock at the door, and the clerk from downstairs ushered in his visitor. Wrayson could scarcely repress a start.
Yet inane though her features, lacking altogether strength or distinction, there was stamped into them something of that dumb, dog-like fidelity to some object which redeemed them from utter insignificance. Wrayson, as he watched her, found himself thinking more kindly of the dead man himself.
"I came to you," Mr. Bentham said, "because I was very well aware that, for some reason or other, your evidence at the inquest was not quite as comprehensive as it might have been." "Then, for Heaven's sake, tell me all that you know!" Wrayson exclaimed. "Take my word for it, I know nothing of this document or paper. I have neither seen it nor heard of it.
Duncan smiled slightly to himself. So far he had not spoken. "It is all new country to me," the newcomer continued, "but from what I have seen of it, I should think it a grand place for painters. Not much for the ordinary tourist, eh?" "That depends," Wrayson answered, "upon the ordinary tourist." "Exactly! Quite so!" the little man agreed.
They will work together, and I am afraid! Not for myself! You know for whom." The Colonel was very grave. He ate slowly, and he seemed to be thinking. "There is one man, a solicitor named Bentham," Wrayson continued, "who I believe knows everything. But I do not think that even Heneage will be able to make him speak. His connection with the affair is on behalf of a mysterious client.
"You're very kind," Wrayson murmured. "He used to come to these places a good deal, didn't he?" She nodded assent. "He was always either here or at the Empire. He wasn't a bad sort, Barney, although he was just like all the rest of them, close with his money when he was sober, and chucking it about when he'd had a drop too much. What did you want to know about him in particular?"
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