ily. "It was a cleverly
worked job, but there was no mystery about it. Some chap went for him
because he got riding about like a millionaire. A more unromantic figure
than Hamilton Fynes never breathed. Call him a crank and you've finished
with him."

Penelope sighed once more and looked at the tips of her patent shoes.

"It has been so kind of you," she murmured, "to talk to us. And yet, do
you know, I am a little disappointed. I was hoping that you might have
been able to tell us something more about the poor fellow."

"He was no talker," Mr. Coulson declared. "It was little enough he had
to say to me, and less to any one else."

"It seems strange," she remarked innocently, "that he should have
been so shy. He didn't strike me that way when I knew him at home in
Massachusetts, you know. He travelled about so much in later years, too,
didn't he?"

Penelope's eyes were suddenly upraised. For the first time Mr. Coulson's
ready answers failed him. Not a muscle of his face moved under the
girl's scrutiny, but he hesitated for a short time before he answered
her.

"Not that I know of," he said at length. "No, I shouldn't have called
him much of a traveller."

Penelope rose to her feet and held out her hand.

"It has been very nice indeed of you to see us, Mr. Coulson," she said,
"especially after all these other people have been bothering you. Of
course, I am sorry that you haven't anything more to tell us than we
knew already. Still, I felt that I couldn't rest until we had been."

"It's a sad affair, anyhow," Mr. Coulson declared, walking with them to
the door. "Don't you get worrying your head, young lady, though, with
any notion of his having had enemies, or anything of that sort. The poor
fellow was no hero of romance. I don't fancy even your halfpenny papers
could drag any out of his life. It was just a commonplace robbery, with
a bad ending for poor Fynes. Good evening, miss! Good night, sir! Glad
to have met you, Sir Charles."

Mr. Coulson's two visitors left and got into a small electric brougham
which was waiting for them. Mr. Coulson himself watched them drive off
and glanced at the clock. It was already a quarter past six. He went
into the cafe and ordered a light dinner, which he consumed with much
obvious enjoyment. Then he lit a cigar and went into the smoking room.
Selecting a pile of newspapers, he drew up an easy chair to the fire and
made himself comfortable.

"Seems to me I may have a longi