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Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. Only a book detective could dope this out. Never sent for the shirt. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. . ” He said. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask.
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