woodie.

In asking, he removed his hat, glanced at its glisten, put it on again.
The hat was silk. It topped iron grey hair, steel-blue eyes, a
turn-under nose, a thin-lipped mouth, a pointed chin, a stand-up collar,
a dark neckcloth, a morning coat, grey gloves, grey trousers, drab spats
and patent-leather boots. These attributes gave him an air that was
intensely respectable, equally tiresome. One pitied his wife.

"This way, sir."

In the inner and airy office, Dunwoodie nodded, motioned at a chair.

"Ha! Very good of you to trouble."

Jeroloman, seating himself, again removed his hat. Before he could
dispose of it, Dunwoodie was at him.

"Young Paliser's estate. In round figures what does it amount to?"

Jeroloman, selecting a safe place on the table, put the hat on it and
answered, not sparringly, there was nothing to spar about, but with
civil indifference: "Interested professionally?"

"His widow is my client."

Jeroloman's eyes fastened themselves on Dunwoodie, who he knew was
incapable of anything that savoured, however remotely, of shysterism.
But it was a year and a day since he had been closeted with him. In the
interim, time had told. Diverting those eyes, he displayed a smile that
was chill and dental.

"Well, well! We all make mistakes. There is no such person." He paused,
awaiting the possible protest. None came and he added: "The morning
after the murder, his father told me that the young man contemplated
marriage with a lady who had his entire approval. Unfortunately----"

"Yaas," Dunwoodie broke in. "Unfortunately, as you say. The morning
after was the 26th. On the 21st, a gardener, who pretended to be a
clergyman, officiated at his marriage to my client."

Dryly but involuntarily Jeroloman laughed. Dunwoodie was getting on,
getting old. In his day he had been remarkably able. That day had gone.

"Well, well! Even admitting that such a thing could have happened, it
must have been only by way of a lark."

Dunwoodie whipped out his towel. "You don't say so!"

Carelessly Jeroloman surveyed him. He was certainly senile, yet, because
of his laurels, entitled to all the honours of war.

"Look here, Mr. Dunwoodie. You are not by any chance serious, are you?"

"Oh, I'm looking. While I was about it, I looked into the case. Per
verba de praesenti, my client consented to be young Paliser's wife. Now
she is his widow."

Jeroloman weighed it. The weighing took but an instant. Dunwoodie was
l