"He's a very bright young fellow," he said, musingly. "I don't think he would be easily deceived. He's quite a clever detective, in his way." He was studying the pair from under bent brows. Just then Mr. Latham's hat fell from his hands to the floor, and before he had recaptured it, the solicitor had entered, followed by a serious-faced young man, whom he carelessly named to the two strangers.
"Mr. Grant."
The lady's hand went suddenly to her heart, and her face was ashen beneath the dotted veil.
"Are you ill, madam?"
"A twinge," she faltered.
"It's neuralgia," declared the man, drawing his chair toward her. "She's subject to these sharp attacks. Better, Bessie?"
She nodded, and fixed her eyes upon "Mr. Grant," to whom Mr. Myers was saying:
"This lady, Grant, is positive that the Brierlys, of whom you have talked to me, are not now living. There has been tricking somewhere, and deception. Will you help us to understand one another?" The lawyer's face had grown very grave.
Francis Ferrars seated himself directly before the woman, whose eyes never left his face now, and were growing visibly apprehensive.
