But Grant
did not spare her. He reasoned that she ought to be prepared for an
ordeal which could not be avoided. He was governed by the astute belief
that his very outspokenness in this respect would weaken the inferences
which the police might otherwise draw from it.
Furneaux uttered never a word. He was a first-rate listener, though his
behavior was most undetective-like, since he hardly looked at Grant or
the girl, but seemed to devote his attention almost exclusively to the
scenic panorama in front.
However, when Grant came to the somewhat strenuous passage-at-arms of
the previous night between Ingerman and himself, the little man broke
in at once.
"Isidor G. Ingerman?" he cried. "Is he a tall, lanky, cadaverous,
rather crooked person, with black hair turning gray, and an absurdly
melodious voice?"
"You have described him without an unnecessary word," said Grant.
Furneaux clicked his tongue in a peculiar fashion.
"Go on!" he said. "It's a regular romance--quite in your line, Mr. Grant,
of course, but none the less enthralling because, as you so happily
phrased Miss Martin's lesson in astronomy, it happens to be true."
Grant was scrupulously fair to Ingerman.
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