"I have come to Steynholme to inquire into my wife's death."

"A most laudable purpose. I was given to understand, however, that at one
time you took little interest in her living. I have not seen Mrs.
Ingerman for three years--until last night, that is--so there is a
chance, of course, that husband and wife may have adjusted their
differences. Is that so?"

"Until last night!" repeated Ingerman, almost in a startled tone. "You
admit that?"

Grant turned and pointed.

"I saw, or fancied I saw, her face at that window," he said. "She
looked in on me about ten minutes to eleven. I was hard at work, but
the vision, as it seemed then, was so weird and unexpected, that I went
straight out and searched for her. Perhaps 'searched' is not quite the
right word. To be exact, I opened the French window, stood there, and
listened. Then I persuaded myself that I was imagining a vain thing,
and came in."

"What was she doing here?"

"I don't know."

"She arrived in Steynholme on Sunday evening, I am told."

"I heard that, too."