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Updated: June 16, 2025
Macallan had been quite incapable of receiving them and hearing what they had to say. In this difficulty they had spoken privately with Mr. Dexter, as Mr. Macallan's old friend, and the only gentleman then staying at Gleninch. "Before bed-time I went upstairs to prepare the remains of the deceased lady for the coffin. The room in which she lay was locked, the door leading into Mr.
Macallan's Diary along with his other papers? "Answer: In replying to this question, we must first do justice to Dexter himself. Infamously as we now know him to have acted, the man was not a downright fiend. That he secretly hated Mr.
'I own to thinking, she writes, 'that your sensitive nature exaggerates or misinterprets the neglect that you experience at the hands of your husband. There, in that one sentence, is the whole truth! Mrs. Eustace Macallan's nature was the imaginative, self-tormenting nature of a poet. No mortal love could ever have been refined enough for her.
"To no living creature," I replied "as yet." "This very strange!" he said, still earnestly reading my face. "What interest can you have in a dead woman whom you never knew? Why did you ask me that question just now? Have you any motive in coming here to see me?" I boldly acknowledged the truth. I said, "I have a motive." "Is it connected with Eustace Macallan's first wife?" "It is."
First Group: Questions relating to the Diary. First Question: obtaining access to Mr. Macallan's private journal, was Miserrimus Dexter guided by any previous knowledge of its contents? "Answer: It is doubtful if he had any such knowledge. The probabilities are that he noticed how carefully Mr.
Playmore's London agents; and from these gentlemen he obtained for me a letter of introduction to Mr. Playmore himself. I had nothing to conceal from my new adviser; and I was properly described in the letter as Eustace Macallan's second wife. A characteristic answer was brought back to the cottage by Ariel: "Mrs.
"Give me Mrs. Macallan's address," I said. The landlady's anger receded into the background, and the landlady's astonishment appeared in its place. "You don't mean to tell me you are going to the old lady herself?" she said. "Nobody but the old lady can tell me what I want to know," I answered. How do we know that Mrs.
She shall call at Mamma Macallan's and fetch you. We will talk to-morrow, when I am fit for it. I am dying to hear you. I will be fit for you in the morning. I will be civil, intelligent, communicative, in the morning. No more of it now. Away with the subject the too exciting, the too interesting subject! I must compose myself or my brains will explode in my head.
I read the evidence through again, without recovering the lost remembrance until I came to these lines close at the end: "Before bed-time I went upstairs to prepare the remains of the deceased lady for the coffin. The room in which she lay was locked; the door leading into Mr. Macallan's room being secured, as well as the door leading into the corridor. The keys had been taken away by Mr. Gale.
Macallan's traveling arrangements in the interval. The post of the next morning decided my course of action. It brought me a letter from my mother-in-law, which added one more to the memorable dates in my domestic calendar. Eustace and his mother had advanced as far as Paris on their homeward journey, when a cruel disaster had befallen them.
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