"Well," that gentleman answered, "to tell you the honest truth,
Miss Morse, I'm afraid I am going to disappoint you a little. I
wasn't over well acquainted with Mr. Fynes, although a good many
people seemed to fancy that we were kind of bosom friends. That
newspaper man, for instance, met me at the station and stuck to
me like a leech; drove down here with me, and was willing to
stand all the liquor I could drink. Then there was a gentleman
from Scotland Yard, who was in such a hurry that he came to see
me in my bedroom. _He_ had a sort of an idea that I had been
brought up from infancy with Hamilton Fynes and could answer a
sheaf of questions a yard long. As soon as I got rid of him, up
comes that page boy and brings your card."

"It does seem too bad, Mr. Coulson," Penelope declared, raising
her wonderful eyes to his and smiling sympathetically. "You have
really brought it upon yourself, though, to some extent, haven't
you, by answering so many questions for this Comet man?"

"Those newspaper fellows," Mr. Coulson remarked, "are wonders.
Before that youngster had finished with me, I began to feel that
poor old Fynes and I had been like brothers all our lives. As a
matter of fact, Miss Morse, I expect you knew him at least as
well as I did."

She nodded her head thoughtfully.

"Hamilton Fynes came from the village in Massachusetts where I
was brought up. I've known him all my life."