At eleven o'clock last night I was playing bridge with three city men in my flat.
When the news of the murder reached me to-day my first thought, after the shock of it had passed, was:--'That fellow, Grant, may be innocently involved in a terrible crime, and I may figure as the chief witness against him.' I am not speaking idly, as you will learn to your cost.
Yet, when I come on an errand of mercy, you have the impudence to charge me with blackmail.

You are in for a great awakening.

Be sure of that!" And Isidor G.Ingerman walked out, leaving Grant uncomfortably aware that he had not seen the last of an implacable and bitter enemy.
It was something new and very disturbing for a writer to find himself in the predicament of a man with an absolutely clear conscience yet perilously near the meshes of the criminal law.

He had often analyzed such a situation in his books, but fiction diverged so radically from hard fact that the sensation was profoundly disconcerting, to say the least.

He did not go to the post office.