“Thank you,” said I.
“A terrible catastrophe. No wonder it has upset you. Horrible! Six living human beings! Three generations of men!”
“That’s just it,” said I. “Three generations of my family swept away, leaving me now at the head of it.”
At this moment the chief’s wife came into the library with the morning paper in her hand. On seeing me she rushed forward.
“Have you had bad news?”
“Yes. Is it in the paper?”
“I was coming to show my husband. The name is an uncommon one. I wondered if they might be relatives of yours.”
I bowed acquiescence. The chief looked at the paragraph below his wife’s indicating thumb, then he looked at me as if I, too, had suffered a seachange.
“I had no idea—” he said. “Why, now—now you are Sir Marcus Ordeyne!”
“It sounds idiotic, doesn’t it?” said I, with a smile. “But I suppose I -am.”