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Updated: June 29, 2025
Denver shook his head. "I might think so if I hadn't happened to know that you WANTED to. There's the hitch, don't you see?" Granice groaned. "No, I didn't. You mean my wanting to be found guilty ?" "Of course! If somebody else had accused you, the story might have been worth looking into. As it is, a child could have invented it. It doesn't do much credit to your ingenuity."
He beamed at Granice over his pipe-bowl, and the latter, lighting his cigar, said to himself: "Success makes men comfortable, but it makes them stupid." Then he turned, and began: "Denver, I want to tell you " The clock ticked rhythmically on the mantel-piece.
At this point in his narrative Granice stood up, and went to lean against the mantel-piece, looking down at Ascham, who had not moved from his seat, or changed his attitude of rigid fascinated attention. "Then came the summer when we went to Wrenfield to be near old Lenman my mother's cousin, as you know. Some of the family always mounted guard over him generally a niece or so.
It had been a happy thought to call up the editor of the Investigator Robert Denver was the very man he needed... Granice put out the lights in the library it was odd how the automatic gestures persisted! went into the hall, put on his hat and overcoat, and let himself out of the flat. In the hall, a sleepy elevator boy blinked at him and then dropped his head on his folded arms.
He read on with a thumping heart found the name of a young author he had barely heard of, saw the title of a play, a "poetic drama," dance before his eyes, and dropped the paper, sick, disgusted. It was true, then she WAS "game" it was not the manner but the matter she mistrusted! Granice turned to the servant, who seemed to be purposely lingering. "I shan't need you this evening, Flint.
Outside the building the two men stood still, and the journalist's companion looked up curiously at the long monotonous rows of barred windows. "So that was Granice?" "Yes that was Granice, poor devil," said McCarren. "Strange case! I suppose there's never been one just like it? He's still absolutely convinced that he committed that murder?" "Absolutely. Yes." The stranger reflected.
Granice, with a throbbing heart, watched Denver refill his pipe. The editor, at any rate, did not sneer and flout him. After all, journalism gave a deeper insight than the law into the fantastic possibilities of life, prepared one better to allow for the incalculableness of human impulses. "Well?" Granice faltered out. Denver stood up with a shrug. "Look here, man what's wrong with you?
"Yes blinding. She didn't know anything when she had that kind. And her room was at the back of the flat." Denver again meditated. "And when you got back she didn't hear you? You got in without her knowing it?" "Yes. I went straight to my work took it up at the word where I'd left off why, Denver, don't you remember?" Granice suddenly, passionately interjected. "Remember ?"
And that was why he had sent for Ascham to help him... The lawyer, over the Camembert and Burgundy, began to excuse himself for his delay. "I didn't like to say anything while your man was about but the fact is, I was sent for on a rather unusual matter " "Oh, it's all right," said Granice cheerfully. He was beginning to feel the usual reaction that food and company produced.
McCarren had fastened on the case at once, "like a leech," as he phrased it jumped at it, thrilled to it, and settled down to "draw the last drop of fact from it, and had not let go till he had." No one else had treated Granice in that way even Allonby's detective had not taken a single note.
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