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Updated: May 18, 2025
He threw the card on the table. Mr. Ingerman entered. He did not offer any conventional greeting, but nodded, or bowed. Grant could not be sure which form of salutation was intended, because the visitor promptly sat down, uninvited. Minnie hesitated at the door. Her master's callers were usually cheerful Bohemians, who chatted at sight.
Thus far, he, Grant, had been merely uncivil, using a bludgeon for wit, whereas the visitor was making play with a finely-tempered rapier. "Now that you have established your identity, Mr. Ingerman, perhaps you will tell me why you are here," he said. "I have come to Steynholme to inquire into my wife's death." "A most laudable purpose.
Isidor G. Ingerman intrude." "So marriage was out of the question?" "If you expect an answer yes." Ingerman rested the handle of his stick against his lips. "That isn't how the situation was represented to me at the time," he said thoughtfully.
Possibly, the man was already in league with that narrow-minded village constable, so every passing hour made more urgent the need of a trained intelligence being brought to bear on the mystery of Adelaide Melhuish's killing. Grant racked his brains to discover who could possibly have a motive for committing the crime. Naturally, his thoughts flew to Ingerman.
"I want you to believe me when I tell you," he said, "that I never gave serious thought to the notion of marrying Miss Martin until such a possibility was suggested last night by that swab, Ingerman." "Ah, Ingerman! You kept a record of what he said, I gather?" "Yes, here it is." Grant rose, and went to a writing-desk with nests of drawers which stood against the wall on the left of the door.
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