“A most laudable purpose. I was given to understand, however, that at one time you took little interest in her living. I have not seen Mrs. Ingerman for three years—until last night, that is—so there is a chance, of course, that husband and wife may have adjusted their differences. Is that so?”
“Until last night!” repeated Ingerman, almost in a startled tone. “You admit that?”
Grant turned and pointed.
“I saw, or fancied I saw, her face at that window,” he said. “She looked in on me about ten minutes to eleven. I was hard at work, but the vision, as it seemed then, was so weird and unexpected, that I went straight out and searched for her. Perhaps ‘searched’ is not quite the right word. To be exact, I opened the French window, stood there, and listened. Then I persuaded myself that I was imagining a vain thing, and came in.”
“What was she doing here?”
“I don’t know.”
“She arrived in Steynholme on Sunday evening, I am told.”
“I heard that, too.”
“You imply that you did not meet her?”
“No need to imply anything, Mr. Ingerman. I did not meet her. Beyond the fanciful notion that I had seen her ghost last night, the first I knew of her presence in the village was when I recognized her dead body this morning.”