'And Mrs. Manderson? Was she there?'

'Yes. What about her?'

'Prostrated by the shock,' hinted the reporter, 'and sees nobody. Human
interest.'

'I wouldn't put that in, Mr. Figgis,' said a quiet voice. It belonged to Miss
Morgan, a pale, graceful woman, who had silently made her appearance while the
dictation was going on. 'I have seen Mrs. Manderson,' she proceeded, turning
to Sir James. 'She looks quite healthy and intelligent. Has her husband been
murdered? I don't think the shock would prostrate her. She is more likely to
be doing all she can to help the police.'

'Something in your own style, then, Miss Morgan,' he said with a momentary
smile. Her imperturbable efficiency was an office proverb. 'Cut it out,
Figgis. Off you go! Now, madam, I expect you know what I want.'

'Our Manderson biography happens to be well up to date,' replied Miss Morgan,
drooping her dark eyelashes as she considered the position. 'I was looking
over it only a few months ago. It is practically ready for tomorrow's paper. I
should think the Sun had better use the sketch of his life they had about two
years ago, when he went to Berlin and settled the potash difficulty. I
remember it was a very good sketch, and they won't be able to carry much more
than that. As for our paper, of course we have a great quantity of cuttings,
mostly rubbish. The sub-editors shall have them as soon as they come in. Then
we have two very good portraits that are our own property; the best is a
drawing Mr. Trent made when they were both on the same ship somewhere. It is
better than any of the photographs; but you say the public prefers a bad