Mr. Coulson seemed a little startled.

"I didn't understand," he said thoughtfully, "that Fynes had any
very intimate friends over this side."

Penelope shook her head.

"I don't mean to imply that we have been intimate lately," she
said. "I came to Europe nine years ago, and since then, of
course, I have not seen him often. Perhaps it was the fact that
he should have thought of me, and that I was actually expecting
to have lunch with him today, which made me feel this thing so
acutely."

"Why, that's quite natural," Mr. Coulson declared, leaning back a
little and crossing his legs. "Somehow we seem to read about
these things in the papers and they don't amount to such a lot,
but when you know the man and were expecting to see him, as you
were, why, then it comes right home to you. There's something
about a murder," Mr. Coulson concluded, "which kind of takes hold
of you if you've ever even shaken hands with either of the
parties concerned in it."

"Did you see much of the poor fellow during the voyage?" Sir
Charles asked.

"No, nor any one else," Mr. Coulson replied. "I don't think he
was seasick, but he was miserably unsociable, and he seldom left
his cabin. I doubt whether there were half a dozen people on
board who would have recognized him afterwards as a