“‘No, don’t go away,’ she said. ‘You haven’t made a mistake. Come in.’
“I went in, and she closed the door behind me. I followed her into the sitting-room where, amid surroundings at once pretentious and tawdry, a man, also in a dressing-gown, lay stretched on the sofa smoking cigarettes. He was handsome in a vulgar way, with black wavy hair and a curved, sensuous mouth.
“‘Now,’ said Belle, ‘let’s hear your news of Mr. Angus MacPherson?’
“‘First of all,’ I answered, ‘may I know who I am talking to?’
“Belle and the man exchanged glances.
“‘Oh, well,’ she said then, I am Mrs. MacPherson all right enough. If you have really got a message for me, let’s hear it.’
“There was anxiety in her tone, and she edged nearer to the handsome man, and surreptitiously took possession of his hand.
“I did not think that the news of MacPherson’s death was likely to cause much grief to his widow. I therefore said without preamble,—
“I have come to tell you that he died a week ago of cholera. I was with him at the time, and I have brought you the certificate of his death, also his will. He left no other papers.’
“‘Angus dead?’ said Angus’s widow. ‘You don’t say! Poor old Angus!’