Mr. Coulson, being invited to do so, seated himself on the lounge
by the young lady's side. He leaned a little forward with a hand
on either knee.

"I don't exactly know what I can tell you," he remarked. "I take
it, then, that you were well acquainted with Mr. Fynes?"

"I used to know him quite well," Penelope answered, "and
naturally I am very much upset. When I read in the paper an
account of your interview with the reporter, I could see at once
that you were not telling him everything. Why should you, indeed?
A man does not want every detail of his life set out in the
newspapers just because he has become connected with a terrible
tragedy."

"You're a very sensible young lady, Miss Morse, if you will allow
me to say so," Mr. Coulson declared. "You were expecting to see
something of Mr. Fynes over here, then?"

"I had an appointment to lunch with him today," she answered. "He
sent me a marconigram before he arrived at Queenstown."

"Is that so?" Mr. Coulson exclaimed. "Well, well!"

"I actually went to the restaurant," Penelope continued, "without
knowing anything of this. I can't understand it at all, even now.
Mr. Fynes always seemed to me such a harmless sort of person, so
unlikely to have enemies, or anything of that sort. Don't you
think so, Mr. Coulson?"