I should have ignored him had I been alone, but Trevatt knew so much of other people's affairs that I rather suspected him of being a gossip, and was anxious accordingly that he should not see any lack of cordiality on my part; for the same reason I was unable to tell Smithson as I should like to have done what I thought of his behaviour as regards Valori. As graciously as I could, then, I invited him to get up behind, and for the sake of appearances exchanged a few commonplace remarks during the short drive. But I felt uncomfortable. Even now I was sure Smithson was lying to me, for he had neither sketch-book, colour-box, nor of the other paraphernalia of the painting 
"'Doctor! Quick! He's dying!' screamed a voice."
artist. It was strange how vividly he always managed to convey the impression that he had something to conceal. Arrived at the cottage, I sent Trevatt off with the telegram, and was taking a very formal farewell of my passenger when "Doctor! Quick! He's dying!" screamed a voice. Mrs. Oakenfall, intensely excited, was calling me. I flew up the red-tiled path, but, seizing my arm, she dragged me from the stairs as I had got my foot upon the first .
"This way—in the garden!" she cried.
At the bottom of the garden, fully-dressed and clutching a hand-bag, the Italian lay prone against the fence which bordered the
