"It sounds like a mystery," yawned Spruce, apparently in a listless manner, but secretly all agog to learn what the lawyers of his friend knew; "Madame Alpenny says you are a mystery."
"Me!" Hench laughed scornfully; "why, there's nothing mysterious about me. As you said just now, I am a simple person who places all his cards on the table."
"Yes"--Spruce nodded--"more fool you. Now, if you will only allow that old woman to think that there really is a mystery connected with you--and there seems to be so far as this legal interview is concerned--she may give you a chance of becoming her daughter's husband."
"Perhaps! But why does she think me a mystery?"
"I can't tell you. She was very vague about the matter. She declares that she has seen you somewhere and that you have a history."
"History be hanged. My father had sufficient money to travel about and put me to school at Winchester. When I left I joined him, and we went through Europe to this place and that until he died and was buried in Paris. What mystery is there about that?"
"None. But your family----?"
"I haven't got any save my father, who is dead. And he told me very little about himself or his belongings. We are a Welsh family, I believe."
"Hench isn't a Welsh name."
"Owain is, anyhow, and the spelling is old Welsh," retorted the other.