"Marr! Why, what is it? Has he had an accident?"
"Dead!" the other man said laconically, arranging the gardenia in his
coat, and taking a comprehensive survey of the room.
"Dead!" Julian repeated, without expression. "Dead!"
"Yes. Well, bye-bye. Going on to the Empire!"
He turned to go, but Julian caught his arm.
"Wait a moment. When did he die?"
"Last night. In the dead of the night, or in the early morning."
"What of?"
"They don't know. There's going to be an inquest. The poor chap didn't
die at home, but in a private hotel, in the Euston Road, the 'European.'
He's lying there now. Funny sort of chap, but not bad in his way. I
expect--"
Here the man bent down and murmured something into Julian's ear.
"Well, see you again presently. 'In the midst of life,' eh?"
He lounged away and began applying his intellect to the dissection of a
sardine.
Julian turned round in his chair and again faced Valentine. But he did
not go on eating the cutlet in aspic that lay upon his plate. He sat
looking at Valentine, and at last said:
"How horribly sudden!"
"Yes," Valentine answered sympathetically. "He must have had a weak
heart."
"I dare say. I suppose so. Valentine, I can't realize it.
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