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Updated: June 7, 2025
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.
Granice to ask him to repeat the statement he had made about the Lenman murder. His manner was so quiet, so reasonable and receptive, that Granice's self-confidence returned. Here was a sensible man a man who knew his business it would be easy enough to make HIM see through that ridiculous alibi! Granice offered Mr.
"It used to strike me sometimes that old Lenman was just like one of his own melons the pale-fleshed English kind. His life, apathetic and motionless, hung in a net of gold, in an equable warm ventilated atmosphere, high above sordid earthly worries.
He laid a hand on Denver's arm. "Send a stenographer, and put my statement in the paper." But Denver did not warm to the idea. "My dear fellow, you seem to forget that all the evidence was pretty thoroughly sifted at the time, every possible clue followed up. The public would have been ready enough then to believe that you murdered old Lenman you or anybody else.
"It used to strike me sometimes that old Lenman was just like one of his own melons the pale-fleshed English kind. His life, apathetic and motionless, hung in a net of gold, in an equable warm ventilated atmosphere, high above sordid earthly worries.
Ascham laid down his extinct cigar. "What's the matter? Aren't you well? What on earth are you driving at?" "I'm perfectly well. But I murdered my cousin, Joseph Lenman, and I want it known that I murdered him." "Yes. That's why I sent for you. I'm sick of living, and when I try to kill myself I funk it." He spoke quite naturally now, as if the knot in his throat had been untied.
The Italian had done well seemed to have a sense of responsibility. And that very morning he had been ordered to pick the melon, which was to be shown next day at the county fair, and to bring it in for Mr. Lenman to gaze on its blonde virginity.
It was a nuisance for me, of course, for Wrenfield is two hours from town; but my mother, who was a slave to family observances, had always been good to the old man, so it was natural we should be called on and there was the saving of rent and the good air for Kate. So we went. "You never knew Joseph Lenman?
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.
Then away again it was just eleven-thirty when I got to Wrenfield. "I left the car in a dark lane behind the Lenman place, and slipped through the kitchen-garden. The melon-houses winked at me through the dark I remember thinking that they knew what I wanted to know.... By the stable a dog came out growling but he nosed me out, jumped on me, and went back... The house was as dark as the grave.
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