pointed to the husband; fortunately never to the wife. Poor thing, she died
probably of a broken heart, but women when they love, think only of one object
on earth�the one who is beloved.
"To me the whole thing was clear from the very first. When I read the account of
the murder�the knife! stabbing!�bah! Don't I know enough of English crime not to
be certain at once that no Englishman, be he ruffian from the gutter or be he
Duke's son, ever stabs his victim in the back. Italians, French, Spaniards do
it, if you will, and women of most nations. An Englishman's instinct is to
strike and not to stab. George Higgins or Lord Arthur Skelmerton would have
knocked their victim down; the woman only would lie in wait till the enemy's
back was turned. She knows her weakness, and she does not mean to miss.
"Think it over. There is not one flaw in my argument, but the police never
thought the matter out�perhaps in this case it was as well." He had gone and
left Miss Polly Burton still staring at the photograph of a pretty,
gentle-looking woman, with a decided, wilful curve round the mouth, and a
strange, unaccountable look in the large pathetic eyes; and the little
journalist felt quite thankful that in this case the murder of Charles Lavender
the bookmaker�cowardly, wicked as it was�had remained a mystery to the police
and the public.
The York Mystery Page 3