�And you couldn�t if there were?� Granice smiled.
�Probably not. As a matter of fact, she wanted my advice about her choice of counsel. There was nothing especially confidential in our talk.�
�And what�s your impression, now you�ve seen her?�
�My impression is, very distinctly, That nothing will ever be known.�
�Ah—?� Granice murmured, puffing at his cigar.
�I�m more and more convinced that whoever poisoned Ashgrove knew his business, and will consequently never be found out. That�s a capital cigar you�ve given me.�
�You like it? I get them over from Cuba.� Granice examined his own reflectively. �Then you believe in the theory that the clever criminals never are caught?�
�Of course I do. Look about you—look back for the last dozen years—none of the big murder problems are ever solved.� The lawyer ruminated behind his blue cloud. �Why, take the instance in your own family: I�d forgotten I had an illustration at hand! Take old Joseph Lenman�s murder—do you suppose that will ever be explained?�
As the words dropped from Ascham�s lips his host looked slowly about the library, and every object in it stared back at him with a stale unescapable familiarity. How sick he was of looking at that room! It was as dull as the face of a wife one has wearied of. He cleared his throat slowly; then he turned his head to the lawyer and said: �I could explain the Lenman murder myself.�
Ascham�s eye kindled: he shared Granice�s interest in criminal cases.