He was large and florid, with
a bald head and a dyed mustache, but his coloring was an unwholesome
purple as the false pretender was ushered in.
"I am sorry to intrude upon you, Mr. Crofts," began Langholm, "but I
have come to make a few inquiries about the late Alexander Minchin, who,
I believe, once--"
"Quite right! Quite right!" cried Crofts, as the purple turned a normal
red in his sanguine countenance. "Alexander Minchin--poor fellow--to be
sure! Take a seat, Inspector, take a seat. Happy to afford you any
information in my power."
If Mr. Crofts looked relieved, however, as many a decent citizen might
under similar visitation, it was a very real relief to Langholm not to
have been found out at a glance. He took the proffered seat with the
greater readiness on noting how near it was to the door.
"The death of Mr. Minchin is, as you know, still a mystery--"
"I didn't know it," interrupted Crofts, who had quite recovered his
spirits. "I thought the only mystery was how twelve sane men could have
acquitted his wife."
"That," said Langholm, "was the opinion of many at the time; but it is
one which we are obliged to disregard, whether we agree with it or not.
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