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Updated: June 29, 2025
Granice had the habit of dropping in to smoke a cigar with him on Sunday afternoons, and the friends generally sat in Venn's work-shop, at the back of the old family house in Stuyvesant Square. Off this work-shop was the cupboard of supplies, with its row of deadly bottles.
He waved his visitor to a chair, and leaned across his desk with the encouraging smile of a consulting physician. Granice broke out at once: "That detective you sent me the other day " Allonby raised a deprecating hand. " I know: it was Stell the alienist. Why did you do that, Allonby?" The other's face did not lose its composure. "Because I looked up your story first and there's nothing in it."
Wait I'll do it myself." Denver pushed down the upper sash, and returned to his chair. "Well go on," he said, filling another pipe. His composure exasperated Granice. "There's no use in my going on if you don't believe me." The editor remained unmoved. "Who says I don't believe you? And how can I tell till you've finished?" Granice went on, ashamed of his outburst.
HUBERT GRANICE, pacing the length of his pleasant lamp-lit library, paused to compare his watch with the clock on the chimney-piece. Three minutes to eight. In exactly three minutes Mr. Peter Ascham, of the eminent legal firm of Ascham and Pettilow, would have his punctual hand on the door-bell of the flat.
It was becoming harder and harder for him to control these reflexes. He turned on his heel, tossing to the servant over his shoulder: "Very good. Put off dinner." Down his spine he felt the man's injured stare. Mr. Granice had always been so mild-spoken to his people no doubt the odd change in his manner had already been noticed and discussed below stairs. And very likely they suspected the cause.
"I haven't a theory. I know who murdered Joseph Lenman." Ascham settled himself comfortably in his chair, prepared for enjoyment. "You know? Well, who did?" he laughed. "I did," said Granice, rising. He stood before Ascham, and the lawyer lay back staring up at him. Then he broke into another laugh. "Why, this is glorious! You murdered him, did you? To inherit his money, I suppose?
"My impression is, very distinctly, that nothing will ever be known." "Ah ?" Granice murmured, puffing at his cigar. "I'm more and more convinced that whoever poisoned Ashgrove knew his business, and will consequently never be found out. That's a capital cigar you've given me." "You like it? I get them over from Cuba." Granice examined his own reflectively.
Some professional matter, no doubt the punctilious lawyer would have allowed nothing less to interfere with a dinner engagement, more especially since Granice, in his note, had said: "I shall want a little business chat afterward." But what professional matter could have come up at that unprofessional hour?
One day, about three weeks later, Granice, on getting home, found Kate excited over a report from Wrenfield. The Italian had been there again had somehow slipped into the house, made his way up to the library, and "used threatening language." The house-keeper found cousin Joseph gasping, the whites of his eyes showing "something awful."
I'm giving a little supper at Rector's quiet, little affair, you understand: just Miss Melrose I think you know her and a friend or two; and if you'll join us..." Granice stumbled out of the office without knowing what reply he had made. He waited for four days four days of concentrated horror.
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