e widow, your unknown auntie, the body-snatcher who
annexed the old boy--what of her?"

"I've asked the trust company people whether she's in sight anywhere,
and they assure me that she is not on these shores. Torrence, the third
vice-president--you know Torry; he was in the class ahead of us at
college, the man who never smiles--Torry seemed anxious to learn about
her from me, which is certainly droll. He said she acknowledged her last
remittance three months ago from Bangkok--wherever that is. Torry
couldn't see that Bangkok is so absurdly remote that the idea of a
widow's strolling off there is funny. I suppose the old girl's resumed
her tour of the world looking for another retired merchant to add to her
list."

"Very likely. To what nation, tribe, or human group does this predatory
person belong?"

"I'll tell you all I know. Just as I was sailing for France I got a
letter from Uncle Bash stating in the most businesslike fashion that he
was about to be married to a lady he had met on his trip out to Japan.
The dire event was to occur at the American Embassy the following day.
From which I judged that my presence at the ceremony was neither
expected nor desired. Oddly enough, months afterward, I picked up an
English paper in a French inn that contained an announcement of the
marriage in the usual advertisement form. The lady was succinctly
described as Mrs. Alice Wellington Cornford, widow of the late Archibald
Reynolds Cornford, Pepperharrow Road, Hants. All Torrence knows of the
subsequent proceedings is what he got in official reports of Uncle
Bash's death from the consul-general at Tokyo. He was buried over there
and the life-insurance companies were rather fussy about the legal
proof, Torry says. Whether the widow expects to come to America
ultimately or will keep moving through the Orient marrying husbands and
burying them is a dark mystery. If she should turn up, the house at
Barton is hers, of course, but with her roving disposition I fancy my
aunt Alice wouldn't like the place. The Jap stuff is worth a bit of
money, and if the lady is keen for such things and not a mere
adventuress she may take it into her head one of these days to come over
and inspect the loot."

"I can see the vampire," said Searles musingly, "landing at the Grand
Central with enough hand-luggage to fill a freight-car; a big, raw-boned
creature, with a horse face and a horrible mess as to clothes. You will
be there to meet her, defer