'Did he mean your interview?' Trent asked thoughtfully.

'From the words alone you would think so,' Mr. Cupples answered. 'But the way
in which he uttered them gave me a strange and very apprehensive feeling. I
received the impression that the man had formed some sinister resolve. But I
regret to say I had lost the power of dispassionate thought. I fell into a
great rage'--Mr. Cupples's tone was mildly apologetic--'and said a number of
foolish things. I reminded him that the law allowed a measure of freedom to
wives who received intolerable treatment. I made some utterly irrelevant
references to his public record, and expressed the view that such men as he
were unfit to live. I said these things, and others as ill-considered, under
the eyes, and very possibly within earshot, of half a dozen persons sitting on
this veranda. I noticed them, in spite of my agitation, looking at me as I
walked up to the hotel again after relieving my mind for it undoubtedly did
relieve it,' sighed Mr. Cupples, lying back in his chair.

'And Manderson? Did he say no more?'

'Not a word. He listened to me with his eyes on my face, as quiet as before.
When I stopped he smiled very slightly, and at once turned away and strolled
through the gate, making for White Gables.' 'And this happened--?' 'On the
Sunday morning.'

'Then I suppose you never saw him alive again?'

'No,' said Mr. Cupples. 'Or rather yes--once. It was later in the day, on the
golf-course. But I did not speak to him. And next morning he was found dead.'

The two regarded each other in silence for a few moments. A party of guests
who had been bathing came up the steps and seated themselves, with much