"If you have read the papers, sir--"
"Yes! I have read that Miss Loach has been murdered. You
went down to Rexton to-day. I presume you heard something
more than the details set forth by the press."
Cuthbert nodded. "It appears to be a mystery."
Caranby did not reply, but looked into the fire. "Poor
Selina!" he said half to himself. "A sad end for such a
charming woman."
"I should hardly apply that word to Miss Loach, sir. She did
not appear to be a lady, and was by no means refined."
"She must have changed then. In her young days she and her
sister were the handsomest women in London."
"I believe you were engaged to one of them," said Mallow
politely.
"Yes," replied his uncle grimly. "But I escaped."
"Escaped?"
"A strange word is it not, but a suitable one."
Cuthbert did not know what to make of this speech. "Have I
your permission to smoke?" he asked, taking out his case.
"Yes! Will you have some coffee?"
"Thank you. I had some before I came here. Will you--" he
extended the case of cigarettes, which Caranby declined.
"Ring for Fletcher to get me my chibouque."
"It is in the corner. We will dispense with Fletcher with
your permission." And Cuthbert brought the chibouque to his
uncle's side. In another minute the old man was smoking as
gravely as any Turk. This method of consuming tobacco was
another eccentricity. For a few moments neither spoke. Then
Caranby broke the silence.
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