man, asked the clerk a few questions, and was apparently satisfied. "I
don't think there's any need for an inquest," he said in reply to
Eldrick. "I knew the old man very well--he was much feebler than he
would admit. The exertion of coming up these stairs of yours, and the
coughing brought on by the fog outside--that was quite enough. Of
course, the death will have to be reported in the usual way, but I have
no hesitation in giving a certificate. You've let the Town Hall people
know? Well, the body had better be removed to his rooms--we must send
over and tell his housekeeper. He'd no relations in the town, had he?"

"Only one in the world that he ever mentioned--his grandson--a young
barrister in London," answered Eldrick. "We've just been wiring to him.
Here, Pratt, you take these messages now, and get them off. Then we'll
see about making all arrangements. By-the-by," he added, as Pratt moved
towards the door, "you don't know what--what he came to see me about?"

"Haven't the remotest idea, sir," answered Pratt, readily and glibly.
"He died--just as I've told you--before he could tell me anything."

He went downstairs, and out into the street, and away to the General
Post Office, only conscious of one thing, only concerned about one
thing--that he was now the sole possessor of a great secret. The
opportunity which he had so often longed for had come. And as he hurried
along through the gathering fog he repeated and repeated a fragment of
the recent conversation between the man who was now dead, and
himself--who remained very much alive.

"You haven't shown it to anybody else?" Pratt had asked.

"Neither shown it to anybody, nor mentioned it to a soul," Antony Bartle