d? Well, we should prefer to treat with him in person, of
course, if possible.'

'It isn't possible,' said Mark, 'my friend was lost at sea, but he
asked me to represent him in this matter, and I believe I know his
wishes.'

'I've no doubt of it; but you see, Mr.--Mr. Ashburn, this must be
considered a little. I suppose you have some authority from him in
writing, to satisfy us (merely as a matter of business) that we are
dealing with the right person?'

'I have not indeed,' said Mark, 'my friend was very anxious to retain
his incognito.'

'He must have been--very much so,' said Mr. Fladgate, coughing; 'well,
perhaps you can bring me some writing of his to that effect? You may
have it among your papers, eh?'

'No,' said Mark, 'my friend did not think it necessary to give me
one--he was anxious to----'

'Oh, quite so--then you can procure me a line or two perhaps?'

'I told you that my friend was dead,' said Mark a little impatiently.

'Ah, so you did, to be sure, I forgot. I thought--but no matter. Well,
Mr. Ashburn, if you can't say anything more than this--anything, you
understand, which puts you in a position to treat with us, I'm
afraid--I'm _afraid_ I must ask time to think over this. If your
friend is really dead, I suppose your authority is determined.
Perhaps, however, his--ahem--anxiety to preserve his incognito has led
him to allow this rumour of his death to be circulated?'

'I don't think that is likely,' said Mark, wondering at an
undercurrent of meaning in the publisher's tone, a meaning which had
nothing sinister in it, and yet seemed urging him to contradict
himself for some reason.

'That is your last word, then?' said Mr. Fladgate, and there was a
sharp inflection as of disappointment and irritation in his voice, and
the fold in his forehead deepened.

'It must be,' said Mark, rising, 'I have kept you too long already.'

'If you really _must_ go,' said Mr. Fladgate, not using the words in
their conventional sense of polite dismissal. 'But, Mr. Ashburn, are
you quite sure that this interview might not be saved from coming to
nothing, as it seems about to do? Might not a word or two from you set
things right again? I don't wish to force you to tell me anything you
would rather keep concealed--but really, this story you tell about a
Mr. Vincent Beauchamp who is dead only ties our hands, you
understand--ties our hands!'

'If so,' said Mark, uncomfortably, 'I can only say I am very sorry fo