“It is possible,” he said, “that by this time Mr.----- Mr. Smith, shall we call him, to match your Mr. Jones?--is attending my wife’s reception, from which your message called me. If he has not yet arrived, my secretary shall telephone for him.” Mr. Coulson indicated his approval. “Seems to me,” he remarked, “that I have struck a fortunate evening for my visit.” Sir Edward touched the bell and his secretary appeared. “Sidney,” he said, “I want you to find the gentleman whose name I am writing upon this piece of paper. If he is not in the reception rooms and has not arrived, telephone for him. Say that I shall be glad if he would come this way at once. He will understand that it is a matter of some importance.” The secretary bowed and withdrew, after a glance at the piece of paper which he held in his hand. Sir Edward turned toward his visitor. “Mr. Coulson,” he said, “will you allow me the privilege of offering you some refreshment?” “I thank you, sir,” Mr. Coulson answered. “I am in want of nothing but a smoke.” Sir Edward turned to the bell, but his visitor promptly stopped him. “If you will allow me, sir,” he said, “I will smoke one of my own. Home-made article, five dollars a hundred, but I can’t stand these strong Havanas. Try one.” Sir Edward waved them away. “If you will excuse me,” he said, “I will smoke a cigarette. Since you are here, Mr. Coulson, I may say that I am very glad to meet you. I am very glad, also, of this opportunity for a few minutes’ conversation upon another matter.” Mr. Coulson showed some signs of surprise. “How’s that?” he asked. “There is another subject,” Sir Edward said, “which I should like to discuss with you while we are waiting for Mr. Smith.” CHAPTER XX. THE ANSWER Mr. Coulson moved his cigar into a corner of his mouth, as though to obtain a clear view of his questioner’s face. His expression was one of bland interest. “Well, I guess you’ve got me puzzled, Sir Edward,” he said. “You aren’t thinking of doing anything in woollen machinery, are you?” Sir Edward smiled. “I think not, Mr. Coulson,” he answered. “At any rate, my question had nothing to do with your other very interesting avocation. What I wanted to ask you was whether you could tell me anything about a compatriot of yours--a Mr. Hamilton Fynes?” “Hamilton Fynes!” Mr. Coulson repeated thoughtfully. “Why, that’s the man who got murdered on the cars, going from Liverpool to London.” “That is so,” Sir Edward admitted. Mr. Coulson shook his head. “I told that reporter fellow all I knew about him,” he said. “He was an unsociable sort of chap, you know, Sir Edward, and he wasn’t in any line of business.”