Do you intend to become a corpse?"
He leaned over and tapped on the table between us. "We are trying to
prove a crime. I intend for the time to be the criminal."
He looked so curious, bent forward and glaring at me from under his
bushy eyebrows, with his shoes on his knee--for he had taken them off
to wade to the stairs--and his trousers rolled to his knees, that I
wondered if he was entirely sane. But Mr. Holcombe, eccentric as he
might be, was sane enough.
"Not _really_ a criminal!"
"As really as lies in me. Listen, Mrs. Pitman. I want to put myself
in Ladley's place for a day or two, live as he lived, do what he did,
even think as he thought, if I can. I am going to sleep in his room
to-night, with your permission."
I could not see any reason for objecting, although I thought it silly
and useless. I led the way to the front room, Mr. Holcombe following
with his shoes and suit case. I lighted a lamp, and he stood looking
around him.
"I see you have been here since we left this afternoon," he said.
"Twice," I replied.
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