Grosse had lost a great fortune. The affair
teemed with professional interest, and then he liked the man himself. He
had a taste for the type, for the man who knows how to cut a figure in
the great world without being vulgar or ostentatious. He liked Edmund's
manner, his tact, his gift for putting people at their ease. Rumour said
that the baronet had shown pluck since the news had come, and had
behaved handsomely to underlings. Most men become agitated, irritable,
and even cruel when driven into such a position.

It never entered into Murray's imagination to appear to know that Edmund
had any cause for care: he was not his solicitor, and he knew that his
visitor had not come about his own affairs. But he could not conceal an
added degree of respect, and liking even, under the impenetrable manner
which hid his own aching sense of close personal suffering. Grosse
answered the firm hand-grip with a kindly smile.

"I only heard of Madame Danterre's death when I got to Genoa on our
return journey."

"And she died just before you left London," said Murray.

"Yes; I must have overlooked the paper in which it was announced,
although I thought I read up all arrears of news whenever we went into
port. I wonder no one mentioned it in Cairo; there were several people
there who seemed posted up in Lady Rose's affairs. What do you know
about Madame Danterre's will?"

"Very little but rumour; nothing is published. Miss Dexter was too ill
to attend to business until about two weeks ago; she only saw her lawyer
at the end of January. Anyhow, Madame Danterre having died abroad makes
delays in this sort of business. But I have been wanting to see you," he
said.

Something in his manner made Grosse ask him if he had news.

"Nothing very definite, but things are moving in your direction; and
something small, but solid, is the fact that old Akers's son, and the
other private, Stock, who witnessed some deed or other for Sir David,
are coming home. The regiment is on its way back in the _Jumna_."

Edmund, watching the strong, heavy face, could see that this interested
him less than something else as yet unexpressed.

Murray leant back in the round office chair, and crossed his legs in the
well of the massive table before him. Edmund bent forward, his face
sunburnt and healthy after the weeks on the yacht, but the eyes seemed
tired.

"I don't know that it comes to much," Murray went on slowly, "but three
days after Madame Danterre'