"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Is that you, Leon? I believe I must have been
asleep. Have you been waiting long? Why didn't you wake me? I sent for
you, didn't I? Oh yes. Let me see. It is a business of the greatest
importance, and I'm deuced glad that you are here, for any delay would
be bad for all concerned."

Sir Lionel paused for a few moments, and then began:

"You know about that--that melancholy story of--of poor Dalton."

Leon nodded.

"Did you hear that he is dead?"

"Well, some paragraphs have been going the rounds of the papers to that
effect, though why they should drag the poor devil from his seclusion,
even to announce his death, is somewhat strange to me."

"Well, he is dead, poor Dalton!" said Sir Lionel, "and--and so there's
an end of him and that melancholy business. By-the-way, I suppose you
haven't heard any particulars as to his death?"

"No," said Leon, "nothing beyond the bare fact. Besides, what does it
matter? When a man's dead, under such circumstances, too, no one cares
whether he died of fever or gunshot."

"True," said Sir Lionel, with a sigh. "It isn't likely that any one
would trouble himself to find out how poor Dalton died. Well, that is
the first thing that I had to mention. And now there is another thing.
You know, of course, that he left a daughter, who has been growing up