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Updated: June 29, 2025
Granice passed out into the street. At the corner of Fifth Avenue he hailed a crawling cab, and called out an up-town address. The long thoroughfare stretched before him, dim and deserted, like an ancient avenue of tombs. But from Denver's house a friendly beam fell on the pavement; and as Granice sprang from his cab the editor's electric turned the corner.
In the right-hand corner lay a thick manuscript, bound in paper folders, and tied with a string beneath which a letter had been slipped. Next to the manuscript was a small revolver. Granice stared a moment at these oddly associated objects; then he took the letter from under the string and slowly began to open it. He had known he should do so from the moment his hand touched the drawer.
And I've taken the opportunity to write out a clearer statement " Granice's hand shook so that he could hardly draw the folded paper from his pocket. As he did so he noticed that the reporter was accompanied by a tall man with grave compassionate eyes. It came to Granice in a wild thrill of conviction that this was the face he had waited for...
Hewson was a slight sallow nondescript man of about fifty the kind of man of whom one is sure to see a specimen in any crowd. "Just the type of the successful detective," Granice reflected as he shook hands with his visitor. And it was in that character that Mr. Hewson briefly introduced himself. He had been sent by the District Attorney to have "a quiet talk" with Mr.
Ashgrove sent for me." Granice raised his head with a quick movement of surprise. For a moment he was shaken out of his self-absorption. "Mrs. Ashgrove?" Ascham smiled. "I thought you'd be interested; I know your passion for causes celebres. And this promises to be one. Of course it's out of our line entirely we never touch criminal cases. But she wanted to consult me as a friend.
"Above all, don't lose heart. I see hundreds of cases like yours," the doctor added cheerfully from the threshold. On the doorstep Granice stood still and laughed. Hundreds of cases like his the case of a man who had committed a murder, who confessed his guilt, and whom no one would believe! Why, there had never been a case like it in the world.
Suddenly he remembered the outcry: "Those Italians will murder you for a quarter!" But no definite project presented itself: he simply waited for an inspiration. Granice and his sister moved to town a day or two after the incident of the melon. But the cousins, who had returned, kept them informed of the old man's condition.
Then we heard that he was ill that there'd been a consultation. Perhaps the fates were going to do it for me! Good Lord, if that could only be! ..." Granice stopped and wiped his forehead: the open window did not seem to have cooled the room. "Then came word that he was better; and the day after, when I came up from my office, I found Kate laughing over the news that he was to try a bit of melon.
Allonby smiled faintly under his heavy grayish moustache. He had a ruddy face, full and jovial, in which his keen professional eyes seemed to keep watch over impulses not strictly professional. "Well, I don't know that we need lock you up just yet. But of course I'm bound to look into your statement " Granice rose with an exquisite sense of relief.
He plunged into a trolley and left Granice gazing desolately after him. Two days later he reappeared at the apartment, a shade less jaunty in demeanor. "Well, Mr. Granice, the stars in their courses are against you, as the bard says. Can't get a trace of Flood, or of Leffler either. And you say you bought the motor through Flood, and sold it through him, too?" "Yes," said Granice wearily.
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