When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
“The question of motive has been rather overshadowed by the question of method,” observed Father Brown thoughtfully. “At that moment, apparently, Miss Druce was the immediate gainer by the death.” “Good God! What a cold-blooded way of talking,” cried Fiennes, staring at him. “You don’t really mean to hint that she—” “Is she going to marry that Dr. Valentine?” asked the other. “Some people are against it,” answered his friend. “But he is liked and respected in the place and is a skilled and devoted surgeon. “So devoted a surgeon,” said Father Brown, “that he had surgical instruments with him when he went to call on the young lady at teatime. For he must have used a lancet or something, and he never seems to have gone home.” Fiennes sprang to his feet and looked at him in a heat of inq