esentations 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
reasonable skill, _someone_ will be tried for the crime. You and I will
certainly be witnesses. That is what I meant to convey. The doubt in my
mind was this--whether to be actively hostile or passively friendly to
the man who, next to me, was interested in the poor woman now lying dead
in a wretched stable of this village."

The almost diabolical cleverness of this long speech, delivered without
heat and with singularly adroit stress on various passages, was revealed
by its effect on Grant. He was at once infuriated and puzzled. Ingerman
was playing him as a fisherman humors a well-hooked salmon. The simile
actually occurred to him, and he resolved to precipitate matters by
coming straightway to the landing-net.

"Is your friendship purchasable?" he inquired, making the rush without
further preamble.

"My wife was, I was led to believe," came the calm retort.

Grant threw scruples to the wind now. Adelaide Mulhuish was being
defamed, not by him, but by her husband.

"We are at cross purposes," he said, weighing each word. "Your wife, who
knew your character fairly well, I am convinced, thought that you were
open to receive a cash consideration for your connivance in a divorce."

"She had told me plainly that she would never live with me again. I was
too fair-minded a man to place obstacles in the way when she wished to
regain her freedom."

"So it was true, then. What was the price? One thousand--two? I am not a
millionaire."

"Nor am I. As a mere matter of pounds, shillings, and pence, it was a
serious matter for me when my wife's earnings ceased to come into the
common stock."

"My first, if rather vague, estimate of you was the correct one. You are
a good bit of a scoundrel, and, if I guess rightly, a would-be
blackmailer."

"You are talking a