"Never mind, Mr. Tertius!" she said, patting his shoulders. "You and I are friends, too, anyway. I don't like Barthorpe when he's like that--I hate that side of him. And anyhow, Barthorpe doesn't matter--to me. I don't suppose he matters to anything--except himself." Mr. Tertius gravely shook his head. "Mr. Barthorpe Herapath may matter a great deal, my dear," he remarked. "He is a very forceful person. I do not know what provision my poor friend may have made, but Barthorpe, you will remember, is his nephew, and, I believe, his only male relative. And in that case----" Mr. Tertius was just then interrupted by the entrance of a footman who came in and looked inquiringly at Peggie. "There's a taxi-cab driver at the door, miss," he announced. "He says he would like to speak to some one about the news in the paper about--about the master, miss." Peggie looked at Mr. Tertius. And Mr. Tertius quickly made a sign to the footman. "Bring the man in at once," he commanded. And, as if to lose no time, he followed the footman into the hall, and at once returned, conducting a young man who carried a copy of the _Argus_ in his hand. "Yes?" he said, closing the door behind them and motioning the man to a seat. "You wish to tell us something! This lady is Miss Wynne--Mr. Herapath's niece. You can tell us anything you think of importance. Do you know anything, then?" The taxi-cab driver lifted the _Argus_. "This here newspaper, sir," he answered. "I've just been reading of it--about Mr. Herapath, sir." "Yes," said Mr. Tertius gently. "Yes?" "Well, sir--strikes me as how I drove him, sir, this morning," answered the driver. "Gentleman of his appearance, anyway, sir--that's a fact!" Mr. Tertius glanced at Peggie, who was intently watching the caller. "Ah!" he said, turning again to the driver, "you think you drove either Mr. Herapath or a gentleman of his appearance this morning. You did not know Mr. Herapath by sight, then?" "No, sir. I've only just come into this part--came for the first time yesterday. But I'm as certain----" "Just tell us all about it," said Mr. Tertius, interrupting him. "Tell us in your own way. Everything, you know." "Ain't so much to tell, sir," responded the driver. "All the same, soon's I'd seen this piece in the paper just now I said to myself, 'I'd best go round to Portman Square and tell what I do know,' I says. And it's like this, sir--I come on this part yesterday--last night it was. My taxi belongs to a man as keeps half a dozen, and he put me on to night work, this end of Oxford Street. Well, it 'ud be just about a quarter to two this morning when a tall, well-built gentleman comes out of Orchard Street and made for my cab. I jumps down and opens the door for him. 'You know St. Mary Abbot's Church, Kensington?' he says as he got in. 'Drive me down there and pull up at the gate.' So, of course, I ran him down, and there he got out, give me five bob, and off he went. That's it, sir."