ng books
and in museums; his profound and patiently accumulated knowledge of a
number of curiously disconnected subjects which had stirred his interest
at different times had given him a place in the quiet, half-lit world
of professors and curators and devotees of research; at their amiable,
unconvivial dinner parties he was most himself. His favourite author was
Montaigne.

Just as Mr. Cupples was finishing his meal at a little table on the
veranda, a big motor car turned into the drive before the hotel. 'Who
is this?' he enquired of the waiter. 'Id is der manager,' said the young
man listlessly. 'He have been to meed a gendleman by der train.'

The car drew up and the porter hurried from the entrance. Mr. Cupples
uttered an exclamation of pleasure as a long, loosely built man, much
younger than himself, stepped from the car and mounted the veranda,
flinging his hat on a chair. His high-boned, quixotic face wore a
pleasant smile; his rough tweed clothes, his hair and short moustache
were tolerably untidy.

'Cupples, by all that's miraculous!' cried the man, pouncing upon Mr.
Cupples before he could rise, and seizing his outstretched hand in
a hard grip. 'My luck is serving me today,' the newcomer went on
spasmodically. 'This is the second slice within an hour. How are you,
my best of friends? And why are you here? Why sit'st thou by that ruined
breakfast? Dost thou its former pride recall, or ponder how it passed
away? I am glad to see you!'

'I was half expecting you, Trent,' Mr. Cupples replied, his face
wreathed in smiles. 'You are looking splendid, my dear fellow. I will
tell you all about it. But you cannot have had your own breakfast yet.
Will you have it at my table here?'

'Rather!' said the man. 'An enormous great breakfast, too--with refined
conversation and tears of recognition never dry. Will you get young
Siegfried to lay a place for me while I go and wash? I shan't be three
minutes.' He disappeared into the hotel, and Mr. Cupples, after a
moment's thought, went to the telephone in the porter's office.

He returned to find his friend already seated, pouring out tea, and
showing an unaffected interest in the choice of food. 'I expect this to
be a hard day for me,' he said, with the curious jerky utterance which
seemed to be his habit. 'I shan't eat again till the evening, very
likely. You guess why I'm here, don't you?'

'Undoubtedly,' said Mr. Cupples. 'You have come down to write about the
murder