least of all I, an experienced and professional
author, accepted this contribution to our investigations without
reserve. A lengthy apprenticeship to life warned us that "things do not
happen that way." But just for a few moments (and this was the cause of
our silence) we revelled in the delicious sensation of having beheld in
one of its most incredible gestures the long arm of coincidence. Swiftly
we sketched out the story. Eagle-faced adventurer--marries his
mistress--casts her off--leaves her penniless in New York--she
blackmails him--he grants her an income--agent in New York takes charge
of letters--yes, it hung together--it hung together, coincided!

Personally I was a little disappointed after the first flush of
excitement. I thought it a little melodramatic and I abhor melodrama. I
wanted something finer, something with a touch of great sentiment,
something commensurate with the beauty and dignity of the woman's bodily
frame, something that would explain and gild with delicate interest the
expression of sombre and uncommunicative melancholy that hung like a
cloud over her face. I felt reluctant to delve further into a history
that was footed upon so unsatisfactory a foundation as this enigmatic
creature who had blazed suddenly upon the painter-cousin's vision, a
mere spendthrift man of pleasure, inarticulate save in his startlingly
decadent behaviour. After all, what had he done, this fine gentleman
with an eagle face and iron will? Sold a few automobiles to the
aristocracy. Pooh! In America he would pass as a hustling business man
with unconventional ideas. In grey, feudal old London, no doubt, he
appeared as a meteoric genius, a veritable Napoleon of salesmanship, a
marvel. But here----!

"Well," I said, at length, "what do you think of it?"

Bill slipped out of her chair and prepared to go in and get the dinner
ready. We dine at six.

"I think," said she, "that there is nothing in it. It's hardly likely
that--well, is it?" she asked, vaguely.

"No," we agreed, "it isn't."

"Still," I added, "it is a most interesting commentary upon our own
little problem. It only shows how indefinitely one might extend the
ramifications of a trivial tale. Of course, the children believe
implicitly in the statement that he is at sea. If that be a legend, it
is clever. But then--it is impossible."

"It's not a common name," remarked Mac, filling his pipe.

"It's a very easily assumed one," I argued. "It's a name you c