rily.

"Sit down." Denzil sat. Wimp stood.

Wimp was young and fresh-colored. He had a Roman nose, and was smartly
dressed. He had beaten Grodman by discovering the wife Heaven meant for
him. He had a bouncing boy, who stole jam out of the pantry without
anyone being the wiser. Wimp did what work he could do at home in a
secluded study at the top of the house. Outside his chamber of horrors
he was the ordinary husband of commerce. He adored his wife, who thought
poorly of his intellect, but highly of his heart. In domestic
difficulties Wimp was helpless. He could not even tell whether the
servant's "character" was forged or genuine. Probably he could not level
himself to such petty problems. He was like the senior wrangler who has
forgotten how to do quadratics, and has to solve equations of the second
degree by the calculus.

"How much money do you want?" he asked.

"I do not make bargains," Denzil replied, his calm come back by this
time. "I came to tender you a suggestion. It struck me that you might
offer me a fiver for my trouble. Should you do so, I shall not refuse
it."

"You shall not refuse it--if you deserve it."

"Good. I will come to the point at once, My suggestion concerns--Tom
Mortlake."

Denzil threw out the name as if it were a torpedo. Wimp did not move.

"Tom Mortlake," went on Denzil, looking disappointed, "had a
sweetheart." He paused impressively.

Wimp said "Yes?"

"Where is that sweetheart now?"

"Where, indeed?"

"You know about her disappearance?"

"You have just informed me of it."

"Yes, she is gone--without a trace. She went about a fortnight before
Mr. Constant's murder."

"Murder? How do you know it was a murder?"

"Mr. Grodman says so," said Denzil, startled again.

"H'm! Isn't that rather a proof that it was suicide? Well, go on."

"About a fortnight before the suicide, Jessie Dymond disappeared. So
they tell me in Stepney Green, where she lodged and worked."

"What was she?"

"She was a dressmaker. She had a wonderful talent. Quite fashionable
ladies got to know of it. One of her dresses was presented at Court. I
think the lady forgot to pay for it; so Jessie's landlady said."

"Did she live alone?"

"She had no parents, but the house was respectable."

"Good-looking, I suppose?"

"As a poet's dream."

"As yours, for instance?"

"I am a poet; I dream."

"You dream you are a poet. Well, well! She was engaged to Mortlake?"

"Oh, yes! They made no sec