“Were you down here when her husband died?” I asked, trying to make the question

sound as casual as possible.

 

“No. From all I heard it would be a good riddance. Uncharitable, perhaps, but

the truth.”

 

I agreed.

 

“Ashley Ferrars was by no means a pattern husband,” I said cautiously.

 

“Blackguard, I thought,” said Blunt.

 

“No,” I said, “only a man with more money than was good for him.”

 

“Oh! money! All the troubles in the world can be put down to money—or the lack

of it.”

 

“Which has been your particular trouble?” I asked.

 

“I’ve enough for what I want. I’m one of the lucky ones.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“I’m not too flush just now, as a matter of fact. Came into a legacy a year ago,

and like a fool let myself be persuaded into putting it into some wild-cat