"Your heir!" I echoed. I had not thought of that before. His house betokened that he was wealthy. "You are very generous," I added, not without some sarcasm. "But I do not feel inclined to accept any such responsibility from one whose name even I do not know." "Of course," he said easily. "I was stupid not to introduce myself. In the excitement it quite slipped my memory. Pray forgive me. My name is Wynd--Wyndham Wynd." "Well, Mr Wynd," I said with some forced politeness, "I think we may as well conclude this interview. I wish to make the acquaintance of my wife." "Quite natural," he answered, smiling good-humouredly. "Quite natural that you should wish to see her; only I beg you, doctor, to prepare for disappointment." "Your warning is unnecessary," I responded as carelessly as I could. My curiosity had been aroused by the healthfulness of that small, well-formed hand, and I intended to investigate for myself. That house was, I felt certain, a house of mystery. I had turned towards the door, but in an instant he had reached it and stood facing me with his back to it resolutely, saying-- "You will go to her on one condition--the condition I have already explained." "That I take her life seriously, and give a certificate of death from natural causes," I said. "No, Mr Wynd, I am no murderer." "Not if we add to the sum an extra five thousand?" "I will not harm her for an extra fifty thousand. Let me pass!" I cried with fierce resolution. "When you have promised to accede to my request." "I will never promise that." "Then you will not enter her room again." Almost as the words left his lips there was a low tap at the door, and it opened, disclosing Davies, who announced-- "The Major, sir." "Show him in." The visitor, who entered jauntily with his silk hat still set at a slight angle on his head, was the well-groomed man who had led my bride up the aisle of the church. I judged him to be about forty-five, dark-complexioned, good-looking, but foppish in appearance, carrying his monocle with ease acquired by long practice. "Well, Wynd," he said, greeting his friend, cheerily, "all serene?" "Entirely," answered the other. And then, turning to me, introduced the newcomer as "Major Tattersett." "This, Major, is Dr Colkirk, my new son-in-law," he explained. "Permit me to present him." "Congratulate you, my dear sir," he responded laughing good-humouredly, while the Tempter remarked-- "The Major is, of course, fully aware of the circumstances of your marriage. He is our nearest friend." "Marriage rather unconventional, eh?" the other remarked to me. "Poor Beryl! It is a thousand pities that she has been struck down like that. Six months ago down at Wyndhurst she was the very soul of the house-parties--and here to-day she is dying." "Extremely sad," I remarked. "As a medical man I see too vividly the uncertainty of human life."