[THE WOMAN ON THE PAVEMENT]
Mr Stacey was a tall, portly gentleman, quite an accepted type of family lawyer. He was white-headed and inclined to be red-faced. He carried a pair of nose glasses, which were as often between his fingers as on his nose. His manner was urbane, with a tendency towards pomposity; and when he smiled, which was often, he showed a set of teeth which were as white and regular as the dentist could make them. He was followed into the room by Mr Gardner; and when the apartment contained three persons it was filled to overflowing.
"Miss Arnott, my excellent friend, Mr Gardner here, has brought me most important news--most important. He actually tells me that you are--eh--the Miss Arnott for whom we have been so long in search."
"I am Miss Arnott. I am not aware, however, that anyone has searched for me. I don't know why they should."
Mr Gardner, who had been showing a vivid consciousness of scanty space, proffered a suggestion.
"If I might make so bold, sir, as to ask Miss Arnott to honour me by stepping down to my poor parlour, we should, at least, have a little more room to move."
"Mrs Sayers has already made me a similar proposal. I declined it, as I decline yours. What you wish to say to me you will be so good as to say to me here. This room, such as it is, is at anyrate my own--for the present."
"For the present; quite so!--quite so! A fine spirit of independence--a fine spirit. I think, Miss Arnott, that before long you will have other rooms of your own, where you will be able to be independent in another sense. I understand that you claim to be the only surviving relative of Septimus Arnott, of Exham Park, Hampshire."
"You understand quite wrongly; I claim nothing. I merely say that I am the only child of Sextus Arnott, and that I had an uncle whose name was Septimus. When they were young men my father and his brother were both artists. But, after a time, Uncle Septimus came to the conclusion that there was not much money to be made out of painting. He wanted my father to give it up. My father, who loved painting better than anything else in the world"--the words were uttered with more than a shade of bitterness--"wouldn't. They quarrelled and parted. My father never saw his brother again, and I have never seen him at all."
"You don't know, then, that he is dead?"