"No! except that he seemed a little depressed. But there's something else about Barney that I always suspected, that I've never heard mentioned yet. Mind you, it may be true or it may not, but I always suspected it." "What was that?" Wrayson demanded. "I believe that he was married," she declared impressively. "Married!" Wrayson looked incredulous. It certainly did not seem probable. "Where is his wife then?" he asked. "Why hasn't she turned up to claim his effects? Besides, he lived alone. He was my neighbour, you know. His brother has taken possession of his flat." The lady rather enjoyed the impression she had made. She was not averse, either, to being seen in so prominent a place in confidential talk with a man of Wrayson's appearance. It might not be directly remunerative, but it was likely to do her good. "He showed me a photograph once," she continued. "A baby-faced chit of a girl it was, but he was evidently very proud of it. A little girl of his down in the country, he told me. Then, do you know this? He was never in London for Sunday. Every week-end he went off somewhere; and I never heard of any one who ever saw him or knew where he went to." "This is very interesting," Wrayson admitted; "but if he was married, surely his wife would have turned up by now!" "Why should she?" the lady answered. "Don't you see that she very likely has what all you gentlemen seem to be so anxious about--his income?" "By Jove!" Wrayson exclaimed softly. "Of course, if there was anything mysterious about the source of it, all the more reason for her to keep dark." "Well, that's what I've had in my mind," she declared, summoning the waiter. "I'll take another liqueur, if you don't mind." Wrayson nodded. His thoughts were travelling fast. "Did you tell Mr. Bentham this?" he asked. "Not I," she answered. "The old fool got about as much out of me as he deserved--and that's nothing." "I'm sure I'm very much obliged," Wrayson answered, drawing out his pocketbook. "I wonder if I might be allowed--?" He glanced at her inquiringly. She nodded. "I'm not proud," she declared. * * * * * "As an amateur detective," Wrayson remarked to himself, as he strolled homewards, "I am beginning rather to fancy myself. And yet--"