red, resident in Paris as the chief Continental
agent of the Manderson firm, and fully satisfied with his position and
prospects. He discoursed on these for some twenty minutes. This subject
at length exhausted, he went on to tell Trent, who confessed that he had
been away from England for a year, that Marlowe had shortly after the
death of Manderson entered his father's business, which was now again in
a flourishing state, and had already come to be practically in control
of it. They had kept up their intimacy, and were even now planning a
holiday for the summer. Mr Bunner spoke with generous admiration of his
friend's talent for affairs. 'Jack Marlowe has a natural big head,' he
declared, 'and if he had more experience, I wouldn't want to have him up
against me. He would put a crimp in me every time.'

As the American's talk flowed on, Trent listened with a slowly growing
perplexity. It became more and more plain that something was very wrong
in his theory of the situation; there was no mention of its central
figure. Presently Mr Bunner mentioned that Marlowe was engaged to
be married to an Irish girl, whose charms he celebrated with native
enthusiasm.

Trent clasped his hands savagely together beneath the table. What could
have happened? His ideas were sliding and shifting. At last he forced
himself to put a direct question.

Mr Bunner was not very fully informed. He knew that Mrs Manderson had
left England immediately after the settlement of her husband's affairs,
and had lived for some time in Italy. She had returned not long ago to
London, where she had decided not to live in the house in Mayfair,
and had bought a smaller one in the Hampstead neighbourhood; also, he
understood, one somewhere in the country. She was said to go but little
into society. 'And all the good hard dollars just waiting for some one
to spraddle them around,' said Mr Bunner, with a note of pathos in his
voice. 'Why, she has money to burn--money to feed to the birds--and
nothing doing. The old man left her more than half his wad. And think of
the figure she might make in the world. She is beautiful, and she is the
best woman I ever met, too. But she couldn't ever seem to get the habit
of spending money the way it ought to be spent.'

His words now became a soliloquy: Trent's thoughts were occupying all
his attention. He pleaded business soon, and the two men parted with
cordiality.

Half an hour later Trent was in his studio, swiftly and