Henshaw heard him to the
end in what seemed a mood of hardly restrained, somewhat resentful
impatience.
"I don't understand it at all," he said when the story was finished.
"Nor do any of us," Morriston returned promptly. "The whole affair is
as mysterious as it is lamentable. Still it appears to be clearly a
case of suicide."
"Suicide!" Henshaw echoed with a certain scornful incredulity. "Why
suicide? In connexion with my brother the idea seems utterly
preposterous."
"The door locked on the inside," Morriston suggested.
"That, I grant you, is at first sight mysterious enough," Henshaw
returned, his keen eyes fixed on Morriston. "But even that does not
reconcile me to the monstrous improbability of my brother, Clement,
taking his own life. I knew him too well to admit that."
"Unfortunately," Morriston replied, sympathetically restraining any
approach to an argumentative tone, "your brother was practically a
stranger to me, and to us all. My friends here, Captain Kelson and Mr.
Gifford, met him casually at the railway station and drove with him to
the _Golden Lion_ in the town, where they all put up.
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