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Updated: June 25, 2025
If Americans generally erred as widely as they did in their estimate of the Spanish sea-power as compared with their own, it is not surprising that Englishmen erred perhaps a little more. Crosland has written since; but he has fortunately not been taken sufficiently seriously by the American people even to cause them annoyance.
Newton Crosland, a rather tall, thin, pale, and lady-like person, looking, I thought, of a sensitive character.
The answer was a bullet, which struck the wall behind them. Then Crosland fired down into the hall, but at random. He saw no one, but as a fact he shot the man through the head. "Do you think the man was alone?" I asked. "In the hall, yes; but I feel convinced there was some one else in the house who escaped," Crosland answered.
"When the old lady heard he was there she would see him. As the son was anxious his mother shouldn't know of the tragedy, it was arranged that she should be told that Morrison's visit was the outcome of a casual remark Crosland had dropped to a friend concerning Mrs. Crosland's suffering.
Everything had to be thought of before Helen Crosland rushed out for the police." "You assume that the whole household was in the conspiracy?" I asked. "Yes, and that they are exceedingly clever. What do you think of the theory?" "As a theory rather interesting, but I am still waiting for a fact or two." "Here's one," said Quarles, taking up the revolver. "This is Crosland's; I purloined it.
Crosland was an invalid, often confined to her bed and even at her best only able to get about with difficulty. She suffered from some acute form of rheumatism and was tied to her bed at this time. The son's version of the tragedy was simple and straightforward.
Newton Crosland, a rather tall, thin, pale, and lady-like person, looking, I thought, of a sensitive character.
The thieves, or rather thief, was heard, the sound must have been considerable to arouse both Crosland and his sister; the thief makes no attempt to conceal himself and fires the moment he is spoken to; in short, there was a considerable amount of bungling, quite unlike the experts we have been thinking of.
Newton Crosland, a young man who once called on me in Liverpool, the husband of a literary lady, formerly Camilla Toulmin. The lady herself was coming to spend the evening. We talked of politics and spiritualism and literature; and before we rose from table, Mr. Bennoch drank the health of the ladies, and especially of Mrs. , in terms very kind towards her and me.
I wonder if she has ever heard of a quack who made a new man of me. What was his name now?" "Was it Bush?" Crosland asked. "No, but it was a commonplace name." "As a matter of fact a man named Bush has been to see my mother. I dare not tell Dr. Heathcote; at one time I fancy Bush did her good, or she got better naturally, but she believes in him.
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