“I knew he was not here,” replied Captain Poindexter gently, as he drew the proffered chair towards her, “but this is business that concerns you both.” He stopped and glanced upwards at the picture. “I suppose you know nothing of his business? Of course not,” he added reassuringly, “nothing, absolutely nothing, certainly.” He said this so kindly, and yet so positively, as if to promptly dispose of that question before going further, that she assented mechanically. “Well, then, he's taken some big risks in the way of business, and--well, things have gone bad with him, you know. Very bad! Really, they couldn't be worse! Of course it was dreadfully rash and all that,” he went on, as if commenting upon the amusing waywardness of a child; “but the result is the usual smash-up of everything, money, credit, and all!” He laughed and added: “Yes, he's got cut off--mules and baggage regularly routed and dispersed! I'm in earnest.” He raised his eyebrows and frowned slightly, as if to deprecate any corresponding hilarity on the part of Mrs. Tucker, or any attempt to make TOO light of the subject, and then rising, placed his hands behind his back, beamed half-humorously upon her from beneath her husband's picture, and repeated: “That's so.” Mrs. Tucker instinctively knew that he spoke the truth, and that it was impossible for him to convey it in any other than his natural manner; but between the shock and the singular influence of that manner she could at first only say, “You don't mean it!” fully conscious of the utter inanity of the remark, and that it seemed scarcely less cold-blooded than his own. Poindexter, still smiling, nodded. She arose with an effort. She had recovered from the first shock, and pride lent her a determined calmness that more than equaled Poindexter's easy philosophy. “Where is he?” she asked. “At sea, and I hope by this time where he can not be found or followed.” Was her momentary glimpse of the outgoing ship a coincidence, or only a vision? She was confused and giddy, but, mastering her weakness, she managed to continue in a lower voice: “You have no message for me from him? He told you nothing to tell me?” “Nothing, absolutely nothing,” replied Poindexter. “It was as much as he could do, I reckon, to get fairly away before the crash came.” “Then you did not see him go?” “Well, no,” said Poindexter. “I'd hardly have managed things in this way.” He checked himself and added, with a forgiving smile, “But he was the best judge of what he needed, of course.” “I suppose I will hear from him,” she said quietly, “as soon as he is safe. He must have had enough else to think about, poor fellow.”