ting bolt upright, gazing steadily ahead.

"I wonder," he said slowly, "what has become of the letter which he was
going to give you!"

"One thing is certain," she declared. "It is in the hands of those whose
interests would have been affected by its delivery."

"How much of this am I to tell the chief?" the young man asked.

"Every word," Penelope answered. "You see, I am trying to give you
a start in your career. What bothers me is an entirely different
question."

"What is it?" he asked.

She laid her hand upon his arm.

"How much of it I shall tell to a certain gentleman who calls himself
Inspector Jacks!"

CHAPTER VI. MR. COULSON INTERVIEWED

The Lusitania boat specials ran into Euston Station soon after three
o'clock in the afternoon. A small company of reporters, and several
other men whose profession was not disclosed from their appearance, were
on the spot to interview certain of the passengers. A young fellow from
the office of the Evening Comet was, perhaps, the most successful, as,
from the lengthy description which had been telegraphed to him from
Liverpool, he was fortunate enough to accost the only person who had
been seen speaking to the murdered man upon the voyage.

"This is Mr. Coulson, I believe?" the young man said with conviction,
addressing a somewhat stout, gray-headed American, with white moustache,
a Homburg hat, and clothes of distinctly transatlantic cut.

That gentlemen regarded his interlocutor with some surprise but without
unfriendliness.

"That happens to be my name, sir," he replied. "You have the advantage
of me, though. You are not from my old friends Spencer & Miles, are
you?"

"Spencer & Miles," the young man repeated thoughtfully.

"Woollen firm in London Wall," Mr. Coulson added. "I know they wanted to
see me directly I arrived, and they did say something about sending to
the station."

The young man shook his head, and assumed at the same time his most
engaging manner.

"Why, no, sir!" he admitted. "I have no connection with that firm at
all. The fact is I am on the staff of an evening paper. A friend of
mine in Liverpool--a mutual friend, I believe I may say," he
explained--"wired me your description. I understand that you were
acquainted with Mr. Hamilton Fynes?"

Mr. Coulson set down his suitcase for a moment, to light a cigar.

"Well, if I did know the poor fellow just to nod to," he said, "I don't
see that's any reason why I should talk about him