The Captain, it may be remembered, had only seen the baronet once before, on that Sunday morning when he took account of him in his high-backed pew at church. Now that he beheld him close at hand, he could not help saying to himself, “What a grand wreck of a man!—and what a splendid fellow he must have been in his prime!” And indeed, although Sir Gilbert’s one-time height of six feet two inches was now slightly curtailed owing to the burden of his years, he still towered above most people with whom he came in contact, as though he were descended from some heroic race of old, while his shaggy brows, his white drooping moustache, his high thin nose and his eyes still luminous with a sort of untamed fire, lent to his aspect a something of leonine majesty. “Captain Verinder, I presume,” said Sir Gilbert as he advanced, holding the other’s card between his thumb and forefinger. The Captain bowed. “You have—a—um—the advantage of me, sir. But pray be seated.” His keen critical eyes were taking Verinder in from head to foot as he spoke. It was a scrutiny which, despite his coolness and his habitual indifference to the opinion of others, somewhat disconcerted the latter. “I have taken the liberty of intruding upon you, Sir Gilbert,” he began, as he drew forward a chair and gave a little preliminary cough behind his hand, “in order that I may have an opportunity of laying before you certain information which has only quite recently come into my possession, but which, I feel sure, when you have been made aware of it, you will agree with me is of the greatest possible importance.” Sir Gilbert opened his eyes a little wider than usual. “Pray proceed, sir,” he said stiffly. “The information to which I refer bears especially on certain incidents in the life of your late son and heir, Mr. John Alexander Clare.” On the instant Sir Gilbert’s figure became as rigid as a ramrod. His lips opened and then shut again without a sound. “Unless my information is at fault,” resumed the Captain, “the last occasion on which you and your son met was when, accompanied by another gentleman, you stopped for a few hours at Catanzaro in Calabria, at which place Mr. Clare was then residing.” Sir Gilbert contented himself with bowing a grave assent. His face just then was a puzzle. “Shortly afterwards Mr. Clare emigrated to the United States, and there, between two and three years later, he unfortunately met with his death through an accident.” Here the Captain paused and looked questionably at Sir Gilbert. “Your information, Mr.—er—Captain Verinder, is quite correct as far as it goes,” said the latter as if in response to the look. “Still, I fail to see in what way—er—in short——” “Why I, a stranger, have had the impertinence to come here and talk to you about matters which, as you doubtless think, can be no possible concern of mine,” interposed Verinder coolly. “That is the precise point, Sir Gilbert, as to which I now propose to enlighten you.”