"I THINK HE'S DEAD"
IT was Lenise Elroy who was supping at the Torbay Hotel when Hector Woodridge looked through the c***k in the blind and saw her with her friends. The man who brought her the wrap to put on her shoulders was Fletcher Denyer.
Denyer lived mainly on his wits. He was a dark, handsome man, about ten years younger than Mrs. Elroy, and made her acquaintance some two years back at a ball at a large London hotel. He was a man likely to attract such a woman. He was unscrupulous; of his morals the less said the better; he possessed unlimited confidence in himself. Who he was, or where he came from, no one appeared to know, but he had wormed himself into a certain class of society, had become known on the racecourse, and in financial circles, and acted as a kind of tout to more t
