In the absence of rain the water ran clear as gin, and the marks made by the feet of Adelaide Melhuish's murderer were still perceptible.

If only those misshapen blotches could reveal their secret! If only some Heaven-sent ray of intuition would enable him to put the police on the track of the criminal! Theoretically, a novelist and essayist should be a first-rate detective, yet, brought face to face with an actual felony, here was one who perforce remained blind and dumb.
Yet he was not blameworthy for failing to solve a mystery which was rapidly establishing a record for bewildering elements.

Wherein he did err most lamentably was in his reading of a woman's heart.
No answering telegram came from his friend in London.

The day wore slowly till it was time to attend the inquest.

He found a crowd gathered in front of the Hare and Hounds.