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Updated: May 13, 2025
"And what might his references be, now?" "To his bankers, the London and Orient, in Threadneedle Street," answered Mrs. Killenhall promptly. "And to his solicitors, Crawle, Pawle and Rattenbury, of Bedford Bow." "Very satisfactory they were, no doubt, ma'am?" suggested Drillford. Mrs. Killenhall let her eye run round the appointments of the room. "Eminently so," she said dryly. "Mr.
"I think Miss Wickham will be safe for some time," he said. "Horrified as she is at the conduct of the wicked Mrs. Killenhall, she is sufficiently feminine to be taking a vast interest in my aunt's account of how she brought off her wonderful stroke of genius this afternoon. So shall we go round?"
From what he could see, it was well furnished, but dark and gloomy; gloomy, too, was a back room, high up the stairs, into which Mrs. Killenhall presently showed him. There, looking somewhat anxious, sat Miss Wickham, alone. "Here's Mr. Viner," said Mrs. Killenhall. "I'll tell Dr. Martincole he's come." She motioned Viner to a chair and went out. But the next instant Viner swung quickly round.
And that its owner was expected home every minute was made evident to the two men by the fact that a spirit-case was set on the centre table, with glasses and mineral waters and cigars; Viner remembered, as his eyes encountered these things, that a half-burned cigar lay close to the dead man's hand in that dark passage so close by. "Mrs. Killenhall?
Killenhall, who had remained standing until then, suddenly sat down, with a murmur of horror. But the girl was watching the inspector steadily. "When was this? and how, and where?" she inquired. "A little time ago, near here," answered Drillford. "This gentleman, Mr. Viner, a neighbour of yours, found him dead. There's no doubt, from what we can see, that he was murdered for the sake of robbery.
Killenhall ask you to come down for the same purpose, Mr. Viner?" Viner, before he replied, looked round the room. Considering the extreme shabbiness and squalour of the surrounding district, he was greatly surprised to find that the apartment in which he and Miss Wickham waited was extremely well furnished, if in an old-fashioned and rather heavy way.
He led the way across the hall to the dining-room where a reminder of Ashton's death met his and Viner's view as soon as they had crossed the threshold. The funeral was to take place next day, and Mrs. Killenhall and Miss Wickham were contemplating a massive wreath of flowers which had evidently just arrived from the florist's and been deposited on the centre-table.
Just then came another interruption; for the second time since his return from the police-court, he was summoned to the telephone. To his great surprise, the voice that hailed him was Mrs. Killenhall's. "Is that Mr. Viner?" the voice demanded in its usual brisk, clear tones. "Yes," answered Viner. "Is that Mrs. Killenhall?" "Yes!" came the prompt reply. "Mr. Viner, can you be so very kind?
Killenhall and Miss Wickham looked at each other wonderingly. "Where is that? It sounds like the name of some village tavern." "Ah, but you don't know this part of London as I do, sir!" said Barleyfield, with a knowing smile. "If you did, you'd know the Grey Mare well enough it's an institution.
Killenhall, now in mourning garments, in company with a little man whom Viner at once recognized as a well-known tradesman of Westbourne Grove a florist and fruiterer named Barleyfield, who was patronized by all the well-to-do folk of the neighbourhood. He smiled and bowed as Viner entered the room, and turned to Miss Wickham as if suggesting that she should explain his presence. "Oh, Mr.
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