“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 at random, Mr. Grant. The levying of blackmail connotes that the person bled desires that some discreditable, or dangerous, fact should be concealed.” “Such is not my position.” “I—I wonder.” “I can relieve you of any oppressive doubt. I informed the police some few hours ago that you have appeared already in a similar role.” “Oh, you did, did you?” snarled Ingerman, suddenly abandoning his pose, and gazing at Grant with a curiously snakelike glint in his black eyes. “Yes. It interested them, I fancied.” Grant was sure of his man now, and rather relieved that the battle of wits was turning in his favor.