n Transport Company, Limited?"

"Into which I was inveigled by Greeks. But why this history of ruined
enterprises?"

"It's a sort of schooling. I have noticed that the smartest counsel
invariably begin with a few fireworks in order to induce the proper frame
of mind in a witness."

"Does that mean that you want me to blurt out bitter and prejudiced
accusations against Mr. Grant?"

"I want to hear what you have to say about the death of your wife. You
forced the cross-examining role on me. I'm doing my best."

Ingerman kept silent during many seconds. When he spoke, his cultured
voice was suave as ever.

"Perhaps it was my fault, Mr. Furneaux," he said. "You gave me a strong
hint. I should have taken it, and we might have started an interesting
chat on pleasanter lines. So, with apologies for my insistence about the
train, I make a fresh start. I believe firmly that Grant was directly
concerned in the murder. And I shall justify my belief. Within the past
fortnight a _rapprochement_ between my wife and myself became possible.
It was spoken of, even reduced to the written word. I have her letters.
Mine should be found among her belongings. May I take it that they _have_
been found?"

"Yes," said Furneaux.

"Ah. So far, so good. My poor wife reached the parting of the ways. She
saw that her life was becoming an empty husk. I think the theater was
palling on her. But I see now that she still cherished the dream of
winning the man she loved--not me, her husband, but that handsome
dilettante, Grant. I take it, therefore, that she went to Steynholme to
determine whether or not the glamour of the past was really dead.
Unfortunately, she witnessed certain idyllic passages between her
one-time lover and a charming village girl. Imagine the effect of this
discovery on one of the artistic temperament. 'Hell hath no fury like a
woman scorned,' and my unhappy wife would lash herself into an emotional
frenzy. She would tear a passion to rags. Her very training on the stage
would come to her aid in scathing words--perhaps threats. If Grant
remained cold to her appeal the village beauty should be made to suffer.
Then _he_ would flame into storm. And so the upas-tree of tragedy spread
its poisonous shade until reason fled, and some demon whispered, 'Kill!'
I find no flaw in my theory. It explains the inexplicable. Now, how does
it strike you, Mr. Furneaux?"

"As piffle."

"Is that so? I have the advantage, of course, in know