professionally. We became friends. I fancied I was in love with her. I
proposed marriage. Then, and not until then, did the ghost of Mr."--Grant
bent forward, and consulted the card--"Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman intrude."

"So marriage was out of the question?"

"If you expect an answer--yes."

Ingerman rested the handle of his stick against his lips.

"That isn't how the situation was represented to me at the time," he said
thoughtfully.

Grant was still sore with the recollection of the way in which the
superintendent of police had forced him to confess the pitiful scheme
whereby a woman in love had sought to gain her ends. He refused to sully
her memory a second time that day, even to gain the upper hand in this
troublesome controversy.

"I neither know nor care what representations may have been made to you,"
he retorted. "I merely tell you the literal truth."

"Possibly. Possibly. It was not I who used the word 'lie,' remember. But
if you are ungracious enough to refuse to withdraw the offensive phrase,
let it pass. We are not in France. This deadly business will be fought
out in the law courts. I am here to-night of my own initiative. I thought
it only fair and reasonable that you and I should meet before we are
brought face to face at a coroner's inquest, and, it may be, in an Assize
Court.... No, no, Mr. Grant. Pray do not put the worst construction on my
words. _Someone_ murdered my wife. If the police show intelligence and