The wig and best suit were brushed anew, water was brought into requisition for the visible portions of his person, and, with his most engaging expression arranged upon his parchment face, he presented himself before the widow.

There was a skirmish of small talk, during which Mr. Clamp was placid and self-conscious, while his vis-a-vis, though smiling and apparently at ease, was yet alert and excited,—­darting furtive glances, that would have startled him like flashes of sunlight reflected from a mirror, if he had not been shielded by his own self-complacency.

“You-have-sent-for-me-on-business,-I-believe,” said the lawyer, in a tone continuous and bland as a stream of honey.

“Yes, Sir; I have great confidence in your judgment, and I know that you are devoted to the interests of our family.  My poor husband always esteemed you highly.”

“Oh, Ma’am! you do me honor!”

“If I have not consulted you about our affairs of late, it is because I have had troubles which I did not wish to burden you with.”

“We all have our troubles, Mrs. Kinloch.”

“They are very sad to bear,—­but profitable, nevertheless.

“But I’m sure you must be wonderfully supported in your trials; I never saw you looking better.”

And truly, her thin and mobile lips were of a strangely bright coral, and her usually wan cheeks wore a delicate flush, lending her a beauty, not youthful, to be sure, but yet fascinating.  One might desire to see an eye less intense and restless, but he would rarely see a woman of forty so charming.

“You notice my color,” said Mrs. Kinloch, mournfully, and with a faint smile; “it’s only the effect of a headache.  I am far enough from well.”

“Indeed!” was the sympathetic reply.

“I have met with a great loss, Mr. Clamp,—­some papers of the greatest importance.  I was going to consult you about them.”

“In which I got ahead of you,” thought he.

“Now, ever since the disappearance of Lucy, I have thought she had something to do with them.  I never went to the secretary, but she was sure to be spying about.  And I believe she knew about my affairs as well as I do myself.”

“Or I,” mentally ejaculated the lawyer,—­meanwhile keeping as close as an oyster.

She continued,—­“As the girl was ignorant, and without any interest in the matter more than that of curiosity, I am puzzled to account for all this.”

“’Tis strange, truly!”

“Yes, I’m sure she must be only the tool of some shrewder person.”

“You alarm me!  Who can it be?”

“Perhaps Mildred, or some one who is plotting for her.  The Hardwicks, you know, expect she will marry Mark Davenport.”

“Do they, indeed?  Well, now, that’s a shrewd conjecture.  Then you think Lucy didn’t drown herself?”

“She?  By no means!”

“But what can I do in the matter, Mrs. Kinloch?”