"Pardon me. Supper furnished by Delmonico, I suppose?" "Well I really have not asked. I daresay." "Thank you, Mr. Brett. Delmonico." Mr. Wood's pencil noted the fact. Brett began to think that he had had enough of the interview, and deliberately lighting a cigarette looked at the reporter. "Anything else you would like to know, Mr. Wood?" "Well, since you have been so very obliging, Mr. Brett, I would like to ask you a question." "All right," said Brett, resignedly. "Go ahead." "Mrs. Darche is a widow, I understand." "Yes." "Mr. Darche was the unfortunate victim of an accident several months ago, I believe?" "Yes." "Then of course there can be no truth in the story that he arrived in New York yesterday?" "What story?" Brett asked, turning sharply upon the young man. "I thought perhaps you might have seen it in this morning's paper," answered Wood quietly. "But perhaps you would not have noticed it, as there was a misprint in the name. A man came to the office yesterday and told the editor in charge that Mr. John Darche, who fell overboard last spring from a steamer, and was supposed to have been drowned, had turned up, and that he had seen him. I guess he was a crank. There are lots of them hanging around the office, and sometimes they get a drink for a bit of sensation." "Oh! is that the way news is manufactured?" inquired Brett, with some contempt. "Not in our office, Mr. Brett," replied the reporter, drawing himself up. "You can see for yourself that we only get our information from the most reliable sources. If that were not so, I should not have disturbed you to-day. But as there is no doubt in your mind that Mr. Darche is positively dead, I daresay that Mrs. Darche would be glad to have the report of her husband's return contradicted?" "I do not think it matters much, since the name was printed Drake." "Pardon me," said Wood. "Some of the papers printed it correctly, and others are going to do so. I just saw two gentlemen from an evening paper, and they have got it straight for this afternoon." "You do not mean to say that the papers believe the story?" asked Brett in real or affected surprise. "Oh no, Mr. Brett, they give it for what it is worth." "With headlines a foot high, I suppose?" "Well, perhaps some of the papers will do so," answered the young man with a smile. Brett's manner changed as he realised that he could not afford to let the reporter take away a wrong impression. He sat down and pointed to a chair. "Take a cigarette, Mr. Wood." "No, I thank you, I do not smoke. Thank you." Mr. Wood sat down upon the edge of the chair beside Brett, who looked at him fixedly for a moment before speaking. "I do not suppose that it is necessary for me to repeat that this story is an absurd fabrication, and that if there is a man who is going about and calling himself John Darche, he ought to be in jail." "Certainly, Mr. Brett, I am quite of that opinion."