“‘There’s no Mrs. MacPherson here.’ “I heard a man’s voice from inside the flat,— “‘What is it, Belle?’ “She called back over her shoulder,— “‘Here’s a party asking to see Mrs. MacPherson.’ “‘Who is it?’ asked the voice. “‘Who are you, anyway?’ said Belle to me. “‘I have been sent here by Mr. MacPherson, Mr. Angus MacPherson, with a message for his wife,’ I said, ‘but as I have evidently made a mistake I had better apologise and go away.’ “She looked suddenly thoughtful—or was it apprehensive? “‘No, don’t go away,’ she said. ‘You haven’t made a mistake. Come in.’ “I went in, and she closed the door behind me. I followed her into the sitting-room where, amid surroundings at once pretentious and tawdry, a man, also in a dressing-gown, lay stretched on the sofa smoking cigarettes. He was handsome in a vulgar way, with black wavy hair and a curved, sensuous mouth. “‘Now,’ said Belle, ‘let’s hear your news of Mr. Angus MacPherson?’ “‘First of all,’ I answered, ‘may I know who I am talking to?’ “Belle and the man exchanged glances. “‘Oh, well,’ she said then, I am Mrs. MacPherson all right enough. If you have really got a message for me, let’s hear it.’ “There was anxiety in her tone, and she edged nearer to the handsome man, and surreptitiously took possession of his hand. “I did not think that the news of MacPherson’s death was likely to cause much grief to his widow. I therefore said without preamble,— “I have come to tell you that he died a week ago of cholera. I was with him at the time, and I have brought you the certificate of his death, also his will. He left no other papers.’ “‘Angus dead?’ said Angus’s widow. ‘You don’t say! Poor old Angus!’ “She was relieved by my words; I know she was relieved. She began reading the will with avidity. If I could find nothing else to admire about her, I could at least admire her candour. “‘He’s left me five hundred a year,’ she said abruptly, ‘and the rest to some archi—what is it? society. Five hundred a year, and he had a thousand!’ “‘Oh, come, Belle,’ said the handsome man, ‘that’s better than nothing.’ “She let her eyes dwell on his face with real affection, real kindliness. “‘Let’s have a look at that will,’ he murmured lazily. “She passed it across to him, sat down on a stool, clasped her knees, and became meditative. “‘Poor old Angus!’ she repeated. ‘Fancy that! Well, he was rare fun in his day, wasn’t he, Dick?’ “‘No end of a dog,’ replied Dick without removing his eyes from the will. “‘Perhaps, if there are no questions you want to ask me, I had better be going now,’ I began. I was bewildered, for MacPherson, in spite of his eccentricities, had undoubtedly been a scholar and a man of refinement. “Dick stirred from his spoilt torpor. “‘I suppose it is quite certain,’ he said, ‘that there is no mistake? I mean, it’s quite certain he’s dead?’