"Come in," said the lawyer.
And enter a waiter, with a card for Mr. Walraven. That gentleman took it with a start.
"Speak of the—Hugh Ingelow!" he muttered. "Sardonyx, I wish to see Ingelow in private. I'll drop into your office in the course of the day."
Mr. Sardonyx bowed and took his hat and his departure at once.
Mr. Ingelow and he crossed each other on the threshold.
The young artist entered, his handsome face set, and grave, and stern.
Mr. Walraven saw that cold, fixed face with a sinking heart.
"Good-morning, Ingelow," he said, trying to nod and speak indifferently. "Take a seat and tell me the news. I've been out of town, you know."
"I know," Mr. Ingelow said, availing himself of the proffered chair only to lean lightly against it. "Thanks. No, I prefer to stand. My business will detain you but a few minutes. I come from Miss Dane."
He spoke with cold sternness. He could not forget the horrible fact that the man before him was a profligate and a murderer.