aughed at this description, as the lady's bulk gave
the lie to her assertion. However, on diplomatic grounds he suppressed
his mirth, and followed his ponderous guide into a sitting-room so small
that she almost filled it herself.

As he left the passage he saw a brilliant red head pop down the
staircase leading to the basement; but whether it was that of a man or a
woman he could not say. Still, on recalling Miss Greeb's description of
the Bensusan household, he concluded that the red head was the property
of Rhoda, the sharp servant, and argued from her appearance in the
background, and rapid disappearance, that she was in the habit of
listening to conversations she was not meant to hear.

Mrs. Bensusan sat down on the sofa, as being most accommodating to her
bulk, and cast a watery look around the small apartment, which was
furnished in that extraordinary fashion which seems to be the peculiar
characteristic of boarding houses. The walls and carpet were patterned
with glowing bunches of red roses; the furniture was covered with
stamped red velvet; the ornaments consisted of shells, wax fruit under
glass shades, mats of Berlin wool, vases with dangling pendants of
glass, and such like elegant survivals of the early Victorian epoch.

Hideous as the apartment was, it seemed to afford Mrs. Bensusan--also a
survival--great pleasure; and she cast a complacent look around as
Lucian seated himself on an uncomfortable chair covered with an
antimacassar of crochet work.

"My rooms are most comfortable, an' much liked," said Mrs. Bensusan,
sighing, "but I have not had many lodgers lately. Rhoda thinks it must
be on account of that horrible murder."

"The murder of Vrain in No. 13?"

"Ah!" groaned the fat woman, looking tearfully over her double chin, "I
see you have heard of it."

"Everybody has heard of it," replied Lucian, "and I was one of the first
to hear, since I live in Miss Greeb's house, opposite No. 13."

"Indeed, sir!" grunted Mrs. Bensusan, stiffening a little at the sound
of a rival lodging-house keeper's name. "Then you are Mr. Denzil, the
gentleman who occupies Miss Greeb's first floor front."

"Yes. And I have come to ask you a few questions."

"About what, sir?" said Mrs. Bensusan, visibly alarmed.

"Concerning Mr. Wrent."

"You are a friend of his?"

"I said so, Mrs. Bensusan, but as a matter of fact I never set eyes on
the gentleman in my life."

Mrs. Bensusan gasped like a fish out of water,