"That is not a remarkable fact, if regarded apart from to-day's
tragedy," he said, and there was more than a hint of soul-weariness in
his voice. "Miss Melhuish was a very talented and attractive woman. I
first met her as the outcome of a suggestion that one of my books should
be dramatized, a character in the novel being deemed eminently suitable
for her special rôle on the stage. The idea came to nothing. She was
appearing in a successful play at the time, and was rehearsing its
successor. Meanwhile, I--fell in love with her, I suppose, and she
certainly encouraged me in the belief that she might accept me. I did
eventually propose marriage. Then she told me she was married already.
It was a painful disillusionment--at the time. I only saw her, to speak
to, once again."

"Did she reveal her husband's name?"

"Yes--a Mr. Ingerman."

The superintendent looked grave. That was a professional trick of his. He
had never before in his life heard of Mr. Ingerman, but encouraged the
notion that this gentleman was thoroughly, and not quite favorably, known
to him. Sometimes it happened that a witness, interpreting this sapient
look by the light of his or her personal and intimate knowledge, would
blurt out certain facts, good or bad as the case might be, concerning the
person under discussion.

But Grant remained obstinately silent as to the qualities of this
doubtful Ingerman, so Mr. Fowler scribbled the name in a note-book, and
was particular as to whether it ended in one "n" or two.

Still, he carried other shots in his locker. In fact, Mr. Fowler, had he