"Nothing, thank you," she answered. "I wish only to be alone
while I read this."

He left her with a little sympathetic murmur, and closed the door
behind him. The girl raised her veil now and spread the newspaper
out on the table before her. There was an account of the tragedy;
there were interviews with some of the passengers, a message from
the captain. In all, it seemed that wonderfully little was known
of Mr. Hamilton Fynes. He had spoken to scarcely a soul on board,
and had remained for the greater part of the time in his
stateroom. The captain had not even been aware of his existence
till the moment when Mr. Hamilton Fynes had sought him out and
handed him an order, signed by the head of his company,
instructing him to obey in any respect the wishes of this
hitherto unknown passenger. The tug which had been hired to meet
him had gone down the river, so it was not possible, for the
moment, to say by whom it had been chartered. The station-master
at Liverpool knew nothing except that the letter presented to him
by the dead man was a personal one from a great railway magnate,
whose wishes it was impossible to disregard. There had not been a
soul, apparently, upon the steamer who had known anything worth
mentioning of Mr. Hamilton Fynes or his business. No one in
London had made inquiries for him or claimed his few effects.
Half a dozen cables to America remained unanswered.

That papers had been stolen from him--papers or money--was
evident from the place of concealment in his coat, where the
lining had been torn away, but there was not the slightest
evidence as to the nature of these documents or the history of
the murdered man. All that could be done was to await the news