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A family dinner at 7.30 in the Bravo residence, quote, a stucco structure of bastard Gothic, unquote,

surrounded by a lawn, rose bushes, melon pits, and a binary. In short, an Englishman's

suburban villa in the year 1876.

We see this trio on an evening in April, waited upon by their butler Frederick Rowe.

The dinner is whiting, a roast of lamb, poached eggs on buttered toast and vegetables,

followed by a bloater paste, probably as a savory.

No sweets are mentioned.

Bravo took what the others did, except that he ate no fish.

The wine is interesting.

The butler had decanted the usual allowance for the meal, two bottles of sherry, a bottle of Marsala, and a bottle of

burgundy. Mr. Bravo had a pint of claret with his luncheon in town and a glass of wine

when he came in from his ride before dinner. Now with this meal, he drinks his customary three or four glasses of burgundy.

Nobody else takes this wine.

Mrs. Bravo and Mrs. Cox had not been without venuous comfort during the day.

Mrs. Bravo, who was in delicate health, had a solitary luncheon at home, and with it, champagne, I suppose,

a pint. Yet considering what has been attested about her, I would not put it past her to get away

with a court and tell the butler to keep his mouth shut. She spent the afternoon reclining on a couch. She spent the afternoon reclining on a couch. True Crime Historian presents Sunday Magazine number 13.

Episode 163 kicks off with the man who owned Manhattan,

the story of a determined private detective who sets out to crack one of the classic con games

and match wits with the man with an educated laugh. Following that, we have love and money, two motives, a tale from the 1870s about a blackmail

scheme that goes way over the top. And finally, from our favorite pioneer of true crime, the

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