some capitalists. Richard Delroy—perhaps you know him?”
“No; only by reputation.”
“He has helped me greatly.”
“You got through, then, sooner than you expected?”
“Yes—I thought it would take a week, at least. Mr. Delroy had arranged that the conference should take place at his country house near Babylon. We finished the details yesterday, and,” he added, after the faintest hesitation, “an extremely unfortunate event occurred there last night which made any further stay impossible—I dare say you saw an account of it in the evening papers?”
“Oh, yes; that murder and robbery. The evidence seems to point very strongly toward a young fellow named Drysdale.”
“Very strongly,” he agreed, nodding with just the right degree of concern, “although I’m hoping that he may be able to prove himself not guilty. An amiable young fellow—somewhat impulsive and headstrong—but let us not talk about it. It’s too unpleasant. This evening, we must be gay.”
There is no need for me to detail what we did talk about, since it in no way concerns this story; but I had never seen Tremaine to better advantage. He was the unexceptionable gentleman, the man of the world who had travelled far and tasted many things, a brilliant and witty talker—a personality, in a word, on the whole so fascinating and impressive that long before the evening was over I had dismissed as ridiculous my vague suspicions of an hour before.
