LITMIR.BIZ

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an' obligin' gentleman he is, although coloured, which I couldn't hev believed if I 'adn't seed it for meself. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to tell you how he mended the big fish-kettle——"

      The coroner did excuse her, and from the box, cutting her reminiscences short. Then he said:

      "Gentlemen, have you heard enough, or do you wish to adjourn for the attendance of the visitor. Dr. Nicholson, who looked in for half an hour and listened to the music? I have a letter from him in which he asks to be excused if possible. He is on the panel, and has many poor patients in this district and in Hurley. I do not propose to bring him from his work unless you, gentlemen, think it necessary."

      The jury of petty tradesmen, recruited from the neighbourhood, had already been two days away from business, and the rate of remuneration was low. They were unanimous in not wishing to adjourn for the attendance of Dr. Nicholson, and were then shepherded by the coroner into finding a verdict.

      They found that Monsieur Pierre Lamotte had met his death by drowning, hut how he got into the river there was no evidence to show.

      Mr. David Devenish had a trenchant leader the next day in the Daily Grail, commenting upon the inconclusiveness of this verdict and finding fault with the way the proceedings had been conducted.

      The article went on, after saying that the matter could not end there:

      "The only evidence that might have proved of value was the evidence that was not called. From Dr. Nicholson we might have learnt, for instance, whether he had observed any excitement in manner, any irregularity in the pupils, any cerebral or locomotor symptoms to account for the action of Pierre Lamotte that led to his death. Was he a sleep-walker? Was any illness looked for, or only abrasions? Why was there not a complete autopsy made instead of a partial one?"

      The article aroused a certain amount of attention, and several people wrote letters. Others expressed their views in clubs and at suburban dinners. But nothing, of course, was done, and within a few weeks Pierre Lamotte's death ceased to have any interest for the general public.

      The next incident that occured bearing in any way upon the tragedy was that Dr. Nicholson, the panel doctor who had visited the houseboat, was removed from his position owing to a bad mistake he made with a patient when himself under the influence of drink or some drug.

      David Devenish, happening to meet Keightley Wilbur at the Savoy grill, heard that Dr. Nicholson had written to him asking for assistance, and was shown Keightley's reply, of which he was evidently rather proud:

      "That you have not the smallest claim upon my benevolence makes it agreeable to me to bestow it. Herewith a cheque, which will be repeated monthly until you have your inevitable delirium tremens, or I receive the Nobel Prize for my contributions to English literature. The circumstances having no relation to each other, must be considered together. … "

      When David Devenish left the restaurant he found himself wondering about this laboured letter, why it had been shown him, and why Wilbur should give Dr. Nicholson an allowance. Keightley Wilbur was very rich, and, of course, known to be liberal to his friends. But the last person in the world whom one would have thought could be counted among Keightley Wilbur's friends was a panel doctor. David's mind was naturally a suspicious one, and his paper was always on the outlook for sensational matter. Keightley Wilbur was still unclassified in the ordered pigeon-holes where dwelt the putative and premature obituaries of prominent men. David Devenish thought of him as something of a genius, if something of a charlatan; a cinematograph show of a youngster, coruscating fitfully and brilliantly. Nevertheless, he had a certain tolerant liking for him, accentuated by the knowledge that Keightley more than returned his feeling. It was in the Daily Grail, in an article written by David himself, that Keightley received his first Press recognition and "The Nut's Progress" the impetus that sped its sales into six figures. The two men frequented the same places—the Garrick Club and the Savoy grill-room, the Saville, and first nights at the theatres. Keightley was literary and David merely journalistic, but there was a certain community of interests between them. Therefore, although David was suspicious, and believed that Keightley knew more about Pierre Lamotte's death than he had told the coroner, he made no definite attempt to confirm his suspicions.

      Eighteen months after the death of Pierre Lamotte, David Devenish met, for the first time. Miss Ellaline Blancy, lately returned from completing her musical education in Paris, and already engaged for the new musical comedy about which all the papers were full.

      At nineteen, when seen in the coroner's court as a witness in the Lamotte case, Ellaline had been merely a pretty girl with fair hair, blue eyes, and lovely little teeth. At twenty-one, after the advantages of eighteen months in Paris and one or two at the Odeon, her outlines refined, grace added to her beauty, she had all the exotic charm of a super supper cat. David succumbed—succumbed utterly, to the great entertainment of his many friends and the undisguised and sympathetic amusement of Keightley Wilbur.

      But David Devenish was not the man to take lightly even a love affair with a Gaiety girl. Within three weeks of the first meeting he asked Ellaline to marry him.

      She told Keightley of this proposal on the following Sunday. He had come to fetch her for a motor drive, but the luxurious flat in Ashley Gardens was full of fog, and their intentions halted. It was after they had discussed the weather, last night's audience, and one or two other topical questions, that Ellaline came out with her astonishing news:

      "David Devenish has asked me to marry him."

      "No! Brave boy! And, of course, you said 'Yes'?"

      Keightley flung himself on the sofa and seemed highly diverted. Ellaline was offended at the way he took her news.

      "Why shouldn't I?" she said.

      "Why, indeed?"

      Between the fog and the red glow of the fire her fair hair shone like a will-o'-the-wisp in marsh land.

      "I'd like to know what you'd do if I took you at your word."

      "Try me!"

      There was laughter in his eyes when he looked at her, and she broke into angry speech:

      "You think you can do and say what you like with me! I've half a mind to show you——"

      "Half a mind! You think you have as much as that altogether?"

      "I'm not going to be made fun of."

      "But if you persist in being so amusing?"

      "Perhaps you wouldn't care if I did say 'Yes'—if I did marry David Devenish?"

      "Indeed I should. I should mind very much." He was emphatic, and she softened at once, would have spoken, but that he went on too quickly: "I am attached to David. I am under a very serious obligation to him. He explained me to a slow world. But for David I might be still published in special editions, calf bound, and paid for by myself. Certainly I should object to your marrying David."

      "You are trying to insult me."

      "Are you going to make a scene?" he asked politely, as if entertained by the idea, and curious.

      She burst into tears and voluble, incoherent reproaches. He listened attentively, but soon became bored.

      "You are saying exactly the things every woman has said from time immemorial. There isn't even 'copy' in it." His calmness and indifference enraged her, and she broke out:

      "Well! I could say very different ones if I chose."

      "Could you? Then I wish you would. You are very good-looking, and improving in your stage work, but I must point out to you that your conversation lacks originality."

      "You know what I could talk about!" she said savagely.

      "Cosmetics, and the necessity of distilled water for the complexion?"

      "Of something you would not like anybody to know," she answered angrily, watching him, nevertheless, as if to see how he would take the blow.

      "And

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