Mrs Forrester rose to her feet. "Now I see what a gulf separates us," she said and her voice shook a little. "You've been surrounded for thirty years with all that was best in English literature and all this time you've been reading detective novels! I came here willing to come to a reasonable agreement and take you back home. Now I wish it no longer."
"Very well, my dear," said Albert. "But you think over the detective story."
Mrs Forrester walked downstairs, and when Mrs Bullfinch opened the door and asked if she would like to hire a taxi, she shook her head. "I shall take the tram."
"You needn't be afraid that I won't look after Mr Forrester properly, ma'am," said Mrs Bullfinch, seeing Mrs Forrester to the tram stop. "I know how to run a house and I'm not a bad cook, as you know. And of course, he'll have a hobby. He's going to collect postage stamps." Mrs Forrester was about to say something, but just then a tram pulled up at the stop and she got in.
Wondering what time it was, she looked up at the man sitting opposite her to see whether he was the kind of person she could ask and suddenly started; as sitting there was a respectable-looking gentleman wearing a gold watch chain. It was the very man Albert had described lying dead in Hyde Park. He asked the conductor to stop and she saw him go down a small, dark street. Why? Ah, why? At Hyde Park Corner she suddenly made up her mind to get out. She could not sit still any longer. She felt she must walk. As she passed the Achilles Statue she stopped for a minute and looked at it. Her heart was beating fast. After all Edgar Allan [´xlqn] Poe had written detective stories ...