Instantly there was dead silence. Looks and
furtive winks were exchanged. There had been talk of a detective being
employed. Perhaps this was he. Mr. Tomlin knew the stranger's name, as he
had taken a room, but that was the extent of the available information.
"A fine evenin', sir," said Tomlin, drawing a cork noisily. "Looks as
though we were in for a spell o' settled weather."
"Yes," agreed Ingerman, summing up the conclave at a glance. "Somehow,
such a lovely night ill accords with the cause of my visit to
Steynholme."
"In-deed, sir?"
"Well, you and these other gentlemen may judge for yourselves. It will
be no secret tomorrow. I am the husband of the lady who was found in the
river outside Mr. Grant's residence this morning."
Sensation, as the descriptive reporters put it. Mr. Tomlin was dumbly but
unanimously elected chairman of the meeting, and was vaguely aware of his
responsibilities. He drew himself a fresh glass of bitter.
"You don't tell me, sir!" he gasped. "Well, the idee! The pore lady's
letters were addressed to Miss Adelaide Melhuish. Perhaps you don't know,
sir, that she stayed here!"
"Oh, yes. I was told that by the local police-constable.
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