"I know that I didn't.

Some newspaper men came to me for information, but I sent them packing.

So, I understand, did Hurst; and as for Jellicoe, you might as well cross-examine an oyster." "Well," said Thorndyke, "the Press-men have queer methods of getting 'copy'; but still, someone must have given them that description of your brother and those plans.

It would be interesting to know who it was.
However, we don't know; and now let us dismiss these legal topics, with suitable apologies for having introduced them." "And perhaps," said I, "we may as well adjourn to what we will call the drawing-room--it is really Barnard's den--and leave the housekeeper to wrestle with the debris." We migrated to the cheerfully shabby little apartment, and, when Mrs.
Gummer had served coffee, with gloomy resignation (as who should say: "If you will drink this sort of stuff I suppose you must, but don't blame _me_ for the consequences"), I settled Mr.Bellingham in Barnard's favourite lop-sided easy chair--the depressed seat of which suggested its customary use by an elephant of sedentary habits--and opened the diminutive piano.
"I wonder if Miss Bellingham would give us a little music ?" I said.
"I wonder if she could ?" was the smiling response.

"Do you know," she continued, "I have not touched a piano for nearly two years?
It will be quite an interesting experiment--to me; but if it fails, you will be the sufferers.