Mr. Stanley shrugged his shoulders slightly.
"I must congratulate you upon your common sense, Mr. Courage," he said.
"I pass on now to a more important question. Did our friend, before he
died, impart to you any of the hallucinations under which he suffered?
Are you his legatee?"
"I am not," I answered. "I believe that he meant me to be; but his death, when it came, was quite sudden. All the secret information I had from him was his name, and the address of his lawyers."
There was a short silence. I was able to bear with perfect calmness the keen scrutiny to which my visitor was subjecting me.
"I congratulate you heartily, Mr. Courage," he said at last. "Mr. Guest's story, if he had told it to you, would have been a mixture of stolen facts and hallucinations, which might have influenced your life very forcibly for evil. I wished for his death! I admit it freely. But I wished it for this reason: because in all Europe yesterday, there did not breathe a more dangerous man than the man who called himself Leslie Guest."
"Well, he has gone," I said, "and his life, so far as I know of it, has been a very sad one. I have already explained to you my wishes in the matter. I want to forget as speedily as possible the events of the last eight days."
"I should like," Mr. Stanley said, "to see him."
"I am sorry," I answered, "but that is impossible. The nurses are busy in the room now, and apart from that, the dead, at least, should have peace from their enemies. Of one thing I can assure you. Every scrap of paper he had with him is burnt. There is nothing about him or the room which could be of interest to you. I have sent for his lawyer, and am making arrangements for the funeral. There is nothing more to be said or done, except to say good afternoon to you, Mr. Stanley,"
He rose slowly up from his chair.
"You are a little precipitate, Mr. Courage," he said, "but I do not know that I can blame you. Do you object to telling me when the funeral will be?"