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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10110 ***
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+The Postmaster’s Daughter
+
+by Louis Tracy
+
+1916
+
+Also by this author: _ Number Seventeen, The Wheel of Fortune, The Terms of
+Surrender, The Wings of the Morning, &c._
+
+
+Contents
+
+ I. The Face at the Window
+ II. P. C. Robinson “Takes a Line”
+ III. The Gathering Clouds
+ IV. A Cabal
+ V. The Seeds of Mischief
+ VI. Scotland Yard Takes a Hand
+ VII. “Alarums and Excursions”
+ VIII. An Interrupted Symposium
+ IX. He Whom the Cap Fits—
+ X. The Case Against Grant
+ XI. P. C. Robinson Takes Another Line
+ XII. Wherein Winter Gets To Work
+ XIII. Concerning Theodore Siddle
+ XIV. On Both Sides of the River
+ XV. A Matter of Heredity
+ XVI. Furneaux Makes a Successful Bid
+ XVII. An Official Housebreaker
+ XVIII. The Truth at Last
+
+
+
+
+Chapter I.
+The Face at the Window
+
+
+John Menzies Grant, having breakfasted, filled his pipe, lit it, and
+strolled out bare-headed into the garden. The month was June, that
+glorious rose-month which gladdened England before war-clouds darkened
+the summer sky. As the hour was nine o’clock, it is highly probable
+that many thousands of men were then strolling out into many thousands
+of gardens in precisely similar conditions; but, given youth, good
+health, leisure, and a fair amount of money, it is even more probable
+that few among the smaller number thus roundly favored by fortune
+looked so perplexed as Grant.
+
+Moreover, his actions were eloquent as words. A spacious French window
+had been cut bodily out of the wall of an old-fashioned room, and was
+now thrown wide to admit the flower-scented breeze. Between this window
+and the right-hand angle of the room was a smaller window,
+square-paned, high above the ground level, and deeply recessed—in fact
+just the sort of window which one might expect to find in a farm-house
+built two centuries ago, when light and air were rigorously excluded
+from interiors. The two windows told the history of _The Hollies_ at a
+glance. The little one had served the needs of a “best” room for
+several generations of Sussex yeomen. Then had come some iconoclast who
+hewed a big rectangle through the solid stone-work, converted the
+oak-panelled apartment into a most comfortable dining-room, built a new
+wing with a gable, changed a farm-yard into a flower-bordered lawn, and
+generally played havoc with Georgian utility while carrying out a
+determined scheme of landscape gardening.
+
+Happily, the wrecker was content to let well enough alone after
+enlarging the house, laying turf, and planting shrubs and flowers. He
+found _The Hollies_ a ramshackle place, and left it even more so, but
+with a new note of artistry and several unexpectedly charming vistas.
+Thus, the big double window opened straight into an irregular garden
+which merged insensibly into a sloping lawn bounded by a river-pool.
+The bank on the other side of the stream rose sharply and was well
+wooded. Above the crest showed the thatched roofs or red tiles of
+Steynholme, which was a village in the time of William the Conqueror,
+and has remained a village ever since. Frame this picture in flowering
+shrubs, evergreens, a few choice firs, a copper beech, and some sturdy
+oaks shadowing the lawn, and the prospect on a June morning might well
+have led out into the open any young man with a pipe.
+
+But John Menzies Grant seemed to have no eye for a scene that would
+have delighted a painter. He turned to the light, scrutinized so
+closely a strip of turf which ran close to the wall that he might have
+been searching for a lost diamond, and then peered through the
+lowermost left-hand pane of the small window into the room he had just
+quitted.
+
+The result of this peeping was remarkable in more ways than one.
+
+A stout, elderly, red-faced woman, who had entered the room soon after
+she heard Grant’s chair being moved, caught sight of the intent face.
+She screamed loudly, and dropped a cup and saucer with a clatter on to
+a Japanese tray.
+
+Grant hurried back to the French window. In his haste he did not notice
+a long shoot of a Dorothy Perkins rose which trailed across his path,
+and it struck him smartly on the cheek.
+
+“I’m afraid I startled you, Mrs. Bates,” he said, smiling so pleasantly
+that no woman or child could fail to put trust in him.
+
+“You did that, sir,” agreed Mrs. Bates, collapsing into the chair Grant
+had just vacated.
+
+Like most red-faced people, Mrs. Bates turned a bluish purple when
+alarmed, and her aspect was so distressing now that Grant’s smile was
+banished by a look of real concern.
+
+“I’m very sorry,” he said contritely. “I had no notion you were in the
+room. Shall I call Minnie?”
+
+Minnie, it may be explained, was Mrs. Bates’s daughter and assistant,
+the two, plus a whiskered Bates, gardener and groom, forming the
+domestic establishment presided over by Grant.
+
+“Nun-no, sir,” stuttered the housekeeper. “It’s stupid of me. But I’m
+not so young as I was, an’ me heart jumps at little things.”
+
+Grant saw that she was recovering, though slowly. He thought it best
+not to make too much of the incident; but asked solicitously if he
+might give her some brandy.
+
+Mrs. Bates remarked that she was “not so bad as that,” rose valiantly,
+and went on with her work. Her employer, who had gone into the garden
+again, saw out of the tail of his eye that she vanished with a
+half-laden tray. In a couple of minutes the daughter appeared, and
+finished the slight task of clearing the table; meanwhile, Grant kept
+away from the small window. Being a young man who cultivated the habit
+of observation, he noticed that Minnie, too, cast scared glances at the
+window. When the girl had finally quitted the room, he laughed in a
+puzzled way.
+
+“Am I dreaming, or are there visions about?” he murmured.
+
+Urged, seemingly, by a sort of curiosity, he surveyed the room a second
+time through the same pane of glass. Being tall, he had to stoop
+slightly. Within, on the opposite side of the ledge, he saw the tiny
+brass candlestick with its inch of candle which he had used over-night
+while searching for a volume of Scott in the book-case lining the
+neighboring wall. Somehow, this simplest of domestic objects brought a
+thrill of recollection.
+
+“Oh, dash it all!” he growled good-humoredly, “I’m getting nervy. I
+must chuck this bad habit of working late, and use the blessed hours of
+daylight.”
+
+Yet, as he sauntered down the lawn toward the stream, he knew well that
+he would do nothing of the sort. He loved that time of peace between
+ten at night and one in the morning. His thoughts ran vagrom then.
+Fantasies took shape under his pen which, in the cold light of morning,
+looked unreal and nebulous, though he had the good sense to restrain
+criticism within strict limits, and corrected style rather than matter.
+He was a writer, an essayist with no slight leaven of the poet, and had
+learnt early that the everyday world held naught in common with the
+brooding of the soul.
+
+But he was no long-haired dreamer of impossible things. Erect and
+square-shouldered, he had passed through Sandhurst into the army, a
+profession abandoned because of its humdrum nature, when an
+unexpectedly “fat” legacy rendered him independent. He looked exactly
+what he was, a healthy, clean-minded young Englishman, with a physique
+that led to occasional bouts of fox-hunting and Alpine climbing, and a
+taste in literature that brought about the consumption of midnight oil.
+This latter is not a mere trope. Steynholme is far removed from such
+modern “conveniences” as gas and electricity.
+
+At present he had no more definite object in life than to watch the
+trout rising in the pool. He held the fishing rights over half a mile
+of a noted river, but, by force of the law of hospitality, as it were,
+the stretch of water bordering the lawn was a finny sanctuary. Once, he
+halted, and looked fixedly at a dormer window in a cottage just visible
+above the trees on the opposite slope. Such a highly presentable young
+man might well expect to find a dainty feminine form appearing just in
+that place, and eke return the greeting of a waved hand. But the window
+remained blank—windows refused to yield any information that
+morning—and he passed on.
+
+The lawn dipped gently to the water’s edge, until the close-clipped
+turf gave way to pebbles and sand. In that spot the river widened and
+deepened until its current was hardly perceptible in fine weather. When
+the sun was in the west the trees and roofs of Steynholme were so
+clearly reflected in the mirror of the pool that a photograph of the
+scene needed close scrutiny ere one could determine whether or not it
+was being held upside down. But the sun shone directly on the water
+now, so the shelving bottom was visible, and Grant’s quick eye was
+drawn to a rope trailing into the depths, and fastened to an iron
+staple driven firmly into the shingle.
+
+He was so surprised that he spoke aloud.
+
+“What in the world is that?” he almost gasped; a premonition of evil
+was so strong in him that he actually gazed in stupefaction at a blob
+of water and a quick-spreading ring where a fat trout rose lazily in
+midstream.
+
+Somehow, too, he resisted the first impulse of the active side of his
+temperament, and did not instantly tug at the rope.
+
+Instead, he shouted:—
+
+“Hi, Bates!”
+
+An answering hail came from behind a screen of laurels on the right of
+the house. There lay the stables, and Bates would surely be grooming
+the cob which supplied a connecting link between _The Hollies_ and the
+railway for the neighboring market-town.
+
+Bates came, a sturdy block of a man who might have been hewn out of a
+Sussex oak. His face, hands, and arms were the color of oak, and he
+moved with a stiffness that suggested wooden joints.
+
+Evidently, he expected an order for the dogcart, and stood stock still
+when he reached the lawn. But Grant, who had gathered his wits,
+summoned him with crooked forefinger, and Bates jerked slowly on.
+
+“What hev’ ye done to yer face, sir?” he inquired.
+
+Grant was surprised. He expected no such question.
+
+“So far as I know, I’ve not been making any great alteration in it,” he
+said.
+
+“But it’s all covered wi’ blood,” came the disturbing statement.
+
+A handkerchief soon gave evidence that Bates was not exaggerating.
+Miss—or is it Madam?—Dorothy Perkins can scratch as well as look sweet,
+and a thorn had opened a small vein in Grant’s cheek which bled to a
+surprising extent.
+
+“Oh, it is nothing,” he said. “I remember now—a rose shoot caught me as
+I went back into the dining-room a moment ago. I shouted for you to
+come and see _this._”
+
+Soon the two were examining the rope and the staple.
+
+“Now who put _that_ there?” said Bates, not asking a question but
+rather stating a thesis.
+
+“It was not here yesterday,” commented his master, accepting all that
+Bates’s words implied.
+
+“No, sir, that it wasn’t. I was a-cuttin’ the lawn till nigh bed-time,
+an’ it wasn’t there then.”
+
+Grant was himself again. He stooped and grabbed the rope.
+
+“Suppose we solve the mystery,” he said.
+
+“No need to dirty your hands, sir,” put in Bates. “Let I haul ’un in.”
+
+In a few seconds the oaken tint in his face grew many shades lighter.
+
+“Good Gawd!” he wheezed. At the end of the rope was the body of a
+woman.
+
+There are few more distressing objects than a drowned corpse. On that
+bright June morning a dreadful apparition lost little of its grim
+repulsiveness because the body was that of a young and good-looking
+woman.
+
+If one searched England it would be difficult to find two men of
+differing temperaments less likely to yield to the stress of even the
+most trying circumstance than Grant and Bates, yet, during some
+agonized moments the one, of tried courage and fine mettle, was equally
+horrified and shaken as the other, a gnarled and hard-grained rustic.
+It was he from whom speech might least be expected who first found his
+tongue. Bates, who had stooped, straightened himself slowly.
+
+“By gum!” he said, “this be a bad business, Mr. Grant. Who is she?
+She’s none of our Steynholme lasses.”
+
+Still Grant uttered no word. He just looked in horror at the poor husk
+of a woman who in life had undoubtedly been beautiful. She was well but
+quietly dressed, and her clothing showed no signs of violence. The
+all-night soaking in the river revealed some pitiful little feminine
+secrets, such as a touch of make-up on lips and cheeks, and the dark
+roots of abundant hair which had been treated chemically to lighten its
+color. The eyes were closed, and for that Grant was conscious of a deep
+thankfulness. Had those sightless eyes stared at him he felt he would
+have cried aloud in terror. The firm, well-molded lips were open, as
+though uttering a last protest against an untimely fate. Of course,
+both men were convinced that murder had been done. Not only were arms
+and body bound in a manner that was impossible of accomplishment by the
+dead woman herself, but an ugly wound on the smooth forehead seemed to
+indicate that she had been stunned or killed outright before being
+flung into the river.
+
+And then, the rope and the staple suggested an outlandish, maniacal
+disposal of the victim. Here was no effort at concealment, but rather a
+making sure, in most brutal and callous fashion, that early discovery
+must be unavoidable.
+
+The bucolic mind works in well-scored grooves. Receiving no assistance
+from his master, Bates pulled the body a little farther up on the strip
+of gravel so that it lay clear of the water.
+
+“I mum fetch t’ polis,” he said.
+
+The phrase, with its vivid significance, seemed to galvanize Grant into
+a species of comprehension.
+
+“Yes,” he agreed, speaking slowly, as though striving to measure the
+effect of each word. “Yes, go for the police, Bates. This foul crime
+must be inquired into, no matter who suffers. Go now. But first bring a
+rug from the stable. You understand? Your wife, or Minnie, must not be
+told till later. They must not see. Mrs. Bates is not so well to-day.”
+
+“Not so well! Her ate a rare good breakfast for a sick ’un!”
+
+Bates was recovering from the shock, and prepared once more to take an
+interest in the minor features of existence. Among these he counted
+ability to eat as a sure sign of continued well-being in man or beast.
+
+Grant, too, was slowly regaining poise.
+
+“I hardly know what I am saying,” he muttered. “At any rate, bring a
+rug. I’ll mount guard till you return with the policeman. There can be
+no doubt, I suppose, that this poor creature is dead.”
+
+“Dead as a stone,” said Bates with conviction. “Why, her’s bin in there
+hours,” and he nodded toward the water. “Besides, if I knows anythink
+of a crack on t’head, her wur outed before she went into t’river....
+But who i’ t’world can she be?”
+
+“If you don’t fetch that rug I’ll go for it myself,” said Grant,
+whereupon Bates made off.
+
+He was soon back again with a carriage rug, which Grant helped him to
+spread over the dripping body. Then he hastened to the village, taking
+a path that avoided the house.
+
+The lawn and river bank of _The Hollies_ could only be overlooked from
+the steep wooded cliff opposite, and none but an adventurous boy would
+ever think of climbing down that almost impassable rampart of rock,
+brushwood, and tree-roots. At any rate, when left alone with the
+ghastly evidence of a tragedy, Grant troubled only to satisfy himself
+that no one was watching from the house. Assured on that point, he
+lifted a corner of the rug, and, apparently, forced himself to
+scrutinize the dead woman’s face. He seemed to search therein for some
+reassuring token, but found none, because he shook his head, dropped
+the rug, and walked a few paces dejectedly.
+
+Then, hardly knowing what he was about, he relighted his pipe, but had
+hardly put it in his mouth before he knocked out the tobacco.
+
+Clearly, he was thinking hard, mapping out some line of conduct, and
+the outlook must have been dark indeed, judging by his somber and
+undecided aspect.
+
+More than once he looked up at the attic window of the cottage which
+had drawn his eyes before tragedy had come so swiftly to his very feet.
+But, if he hoped to see anyone, he was disappointed, though, in the
+event, it proved that his real fear was lest the person he half
+expected to see should look out.
+
+He was not disturbed in that way, however. Fish rose in the river;
+birds sang in the trees; a water-wagtail skipped nimbly from rock to
+rock in the shallows; honey-laden bees hummed past to the many hives in
+the postmaster’s garden. These were the normal sights and sounds of a
+June morning—that which was abnormal and almost grotesque in its horror
+lay hidden beneath the carriage rug.
+
+To and fro he walked in that trying vigil, carrying the empty pipe in
+one hand while, with the other, he dabbed the handkerchief at the cut
+on his face. He was aware of some singular change in the quality of the
+sunlight pouring down on lawn and river and trees. Five minutes earlier
+it had spread over the landscape a golden bloom of the tint of
+champagne; now it was sharp and cold, a clear, penetrating radiance in
+which colors were vivid and shadows black. He was in no mood to analyze
+emotions, or he might have understood that the fierce throbbing of his
+heart had literally thinned the blood in his veins and thus affected
+even his sight. He only knew that in this crystal atmosphere the major
+issues of life presented themselves with a new and crude force. At any
+rate, he made up his mind that the course suggested by truth and honor
+was the only one to follow, and that, in itself, was something gained.
+
+By the time Bates returned, accompanied by the village policeman, and
+two other men carrying a stretcher, Grant was calmer, more
+self-contained, than he had been since that hapless body was dragged
+from the depths. He was not irresponsive, therefore, to the aura of
+official importance which enveloped the policeman; he sensed a certain
+uneasiness in Bates; he even noted that the stretcher was part of the
+stock in trade of Hobbs, the local butcher, and ordinarily bore the
+carcase of a well-fed pig.
+
+These details were helpful. Naturally, Bates had explained his errand,
+and the law, in the person of the policeman, was prepared for all
+eventualities.
+
+“This is a bad business, Mr. Grant,” began the policeman, producing a
+note-book, and moistening the tip of a lead pencil with his tongue.
+Being a Sussex man, he used the same phrase as Bates. In fact, Grant
+was greeted by it a score of times that day.
+
+“Yes,” agreed Grant. “I had better tell you that I have recognized the
+poor lady. Her name is Adelaide Melhuish. Her residence is in the
+Regent’s Park district of London.”
+
+Robinson, the policeman, permitted himself to look surprised. He was,
+in fact, rather annoyed. Bates’s story had prepared him for a
+first-rate detective mystery. It was irritating to have one of its
+leading features cleared up so promptly.
+
+“Oh,” he said, drawing a line under the last entry in the note-book,
+and writing the date and hour in heavy characters beneath. “Married or
+single?”
+
+“Married, but separated from her husband when last I had news of her.”
+
+“And when was that, sir?”
+
+“Nearly three years ago.”
+
+“And you have not seen her since?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You didn’t see her last night?”
+
+Grant positively started, but he looked at the policeman squarely.
+
+“It is strange you should ask me that,” he said. “Last night, while
+searching for a book, I saw a face at the window. It was that window,”
+and four pairs of eyes followed his pointing finger. “The face, I now
+believe, was that of the dead woman. At the moment, as it vanished
+instantly, I persuaded myself that I was the victim of some trick of
+the imagination. Still, I opened the other window, looked out and
+listened, but heard or saw nothing or no one. As I say, I fancied I had
+imagined that which was not. Now I know I was wrong.”
+
+“About what o’clock would this be, Mr. Grant?”
+
+“Shortly before eleven. I came in at a quarter past ten, and began to
+work. After writing steadily for a little more than half an hour, I
+wanted to consult a book, and lighted a candle which I keep for that
+purpose. I found the book, and was about to blow out the candle when I
+saw the face.”
+
+Robinson wrote in his note-book:—
+
+“Called to _The Hollies_ to investigate case of supposed murder. Body
+of woman found in river. Mr. Grant, occupying _The Hollies_, says that
+woman’s name is Adelaide Melhuish”—at this point he paused to ascertain
+the spelling—“and he saw her face at a window of the house at 10.45
+P.M., last night.”
+
+“Well, sir, and what next?” he went on.
+
+“It seems to me that the next thing is to have the unfortunate lady
+removed to some more suitable place than the river bank,” said Grant,
+rather impatiently. “My story can wait, and so can Bates’s. He knows
+all that I know, and has probably told you already how we came to
+discover the body. You can see for yourself that she must have been
+murdered. It is an extraordinary, I may even say a phenomenal crime,
+which certainly cannot be investigated here and now. I advise you to
+have the body taken to the village mortuary, or such other place as
+serves local needs in that respect, and summon a doctor. Then, if you
+and an inspector will call here, I’ll give you all the information I
+possess, which is very little, I may add.”
+
+Robinson began solemnly to jot down a summary of Grant’s words, and
+thereby stirred the owner of _The Hollies_ to a fury which was
+repressed with difficulty. Realizing, however, the absolute folly of
+expressing any resentment, Grant turned, and, without meaning it,
+looked again in the direction of the cottage on the crest of the
+opposite bank. This time a girl was leaning out of the dormer window.
+She had shaded her eyes with a hand, because the sun was streaming into
+her face, but when she saw that Grant was looking her way she waved a
+handkerchief.
+
+He fluttered his own blood-stained handkerchief in brief
+acknowledgment, and wheeled about, only to find P. C. Robinson watching
+him furtively, having suspended his note-taking for the purpose.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter II.
+P. C. Robinson “Takes a Line”
+
+
+“It will help me a lot, sir,” he said, “if you tell me now what you
+know about this matter. If, as seems more than likely, murder has been
+done, I don’t want to lose a minute in starting my inquiries. In a case
+of this sort I find it best to take a line, and stick to it.”
+
+His tone was respectful but firm. Evidently, P. C.  Robinson was not
+one to be trifled with. Moreover, for a sleuth whose maximum
+achievement hitherto had been the successful prosecution of a poultry
+thief, it was significant that the unconscious irony of “a case of this
+sort” should have been lost on him.
+
+“Do you really insist on conducting your investigation while the body
+is lying here?” demanded Grant, deliberately turning his back on the
+girl in the distant cottage.
+
+“Not that, sir—not altogether—but I must really ask you to clear up one
+or two points now.”
+
+“For goodness’ sake, what are they?”
+
+“Well, sir, in the first place, how did you come to find the body?”
+
+“I walked out into the garden after finishing breakfast a few minutes
+ago, and noticed the rope attached to the staple, just as you see it
+now.”
+
+“Did you walk straight here?”
+
+“No. Not exactly. I was—er—curious about the face I saw, or thought I
+saw, last night, and looked into the room through the same window. By
+doing so I scared Mrs. Bates, who was clearing the table, and she
+screamed—”
+
+“Her would, too,” put in Bates. “Her’d take ’ee for Owd Ben’s ghost.”
+
+“You shut up, Bates,” said the policeman. “Don’t interrupt Mr. Grant.”
+
+Grant was conscious of an undercurrent of suspicion in the constable’s
+manner. He was wroth with the man, but recognized that he had to deal
+with narrow-minded self-importance, so contrived again to curb his
+temper.
+
+“I am not acquainted with old Ben or his ghost,” he said quietly. “I
+can only tell you that I went inside to reassure Mrs. Bates, and then
+strolled slowly to this very spot. Naturally, I could not miss the rope
+and the staple. To my mind, it was not intended that I or anyone else
+should miss them. I regarded them as so peculiar that I shouted for
+Bates. He came at once, and drew the body out of the water.”
+
+“And you recognized the dead woman as the one you saw last night?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“At about ten minutes to eleven?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Is it likely, sir, that any other person saw her in these grounds a
+bit earlier?”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“Well, sir, I can’t put it much plainer. Could anybody else have seen
+her here, say about 10.15?”
+
+Grant met the policeman’s inquiring glance squarely before he answered.
+
+“It is possible, of course,” he said, “but most unlikely.”
+
+“Were you alone here at that hour?”
+
+Again Grant sought and held that inquisitive gaze, held it until
+Robinson affected to consult his notes. There was a moment of tense
+silence. Then the reply came with an icy stubbornness that was not to
+be denied.
+
+“I decline absolutely to be cross-examined about my movements. If you
+are unable or unwilling to order the removal of the body, I’ll
+telegraph to the chief of police at Knolesworth, and ask him to act.
+Further, I shall request Dr. Foxton to examine the poor lady’s
+injuries. It strikes me as a monstrous proceeding that you should
+attempt to record my evidence at this moment, and I refuse to become a
+party to it.”
+
+“Now, then, Robinson, stop yer Sherlock Holmes work, an’ help me to
+lift this poor woman on to the stretcher,” said Bates gruffly.
+
+The policeman’s red face grew a shade deeper with annoyance, but he had
+the sense to avoid a scene. He was not popular in the village, and was
+well aware that the two rustics pressed into service as
+stretcher-bearers would joyfully retail the fact that he had been “set
+down a peg or two by Mr. Grant.”
+
+“I’ll do all that’s necessary in that way, sir,” he said stiffly. “I
+suppose you have no objection to my askin’ if you noticed any strange
+footprints on the ground hereabouts?”
+
+“That was the first thing I looked for, both here and outside the
+window—the latter, of course, for another reason. I found none. These
+stones would show no signs. The ground is so dry that even the five men
+now present leave no traces, but I remember seeing in the bed of the
+stream certain marks which, unfortunately, were obliterated when Bates
+hauled the body ashore. They were valueless, however—shapeless
+indentations in the mud and sand.”
+
+“Were they wide apart or close together, sir?”
+
+“Quite irregular. No one could judge by the length of the stride
+whether they were made by the feet of a man or a woman, if that is what
+you have in mind ... but, really—”
+
+Grant’s impatient motion was not to be misunderstood. Robinson stooped,
+removed the rug, and unfastened the rope, after noting carefully how it
+was tied, a point which he called on the others to observe as well.
+Then he and the villagers went away with their sad burden, the rug
+being requisitioned once more to hide that wan face from the vivid
+sunshine.
+
+Bates had a trick of grasping a handful of his short whiskers when
+puzzled; he did so now; it seemed to be an unconscious effort to pull
+his jaws apart in order to emit speech.
+
+“I’ve a sort of idee, sir,” he said slowly, “that Robinson saw Doris
+Martin on the lawn with ’ee last night.”
+
+Grant turned on his henchman in a sudden heat of anger.
+
+“Miss Martin’s name must be kept out of this matter,” he growled.
+
+But Sussex is not easily browbeaten when it thinks itself in the right.
+
+“All very well a-sayin’ that, sir, but a-doin’ of it is a bird of
+another color,” argued Bates firmly.
+
+“How did you know that Miss Martin was here?”
+
+“Bless your heart, sir, how comes it that us Steynholme folk know
+everythink about other folk’s business? Sometimes we know more’n they
+knows themselves. You’ve not walked a yard wi’ Doris that the women’s
+tittle-tattle hasn’t made it into a mile.”
+
+No man, even the wisest, likes to be told an unpalatable truth. For a
+few seconds, Grant was seriously annoyed with this village Solon, and
+nearly blurted out an angry command that he should hold his tongue.
+Luckily, since Bates was only trying to be helpful, he was content to
+say sarcastically:
+
+“Of course, if you are so well posted in my movements last night, you
+can assure the coroner and the Police that I did not strangle some
+strange woman, tie a rope around her, and throw her in the river.”
+
+“Me an’ my missis couldn’t help seein’ you an’ Doris a-lookin’ at the
+stars through a spyglass when us were goin’ to bed,” persisted Bates.
+“We heerd your voices quite plain. Once ’ee fixed the glass low down,
+an’ said, ‘That’s serious. It’s late to-night.’ An’ I tell ’ee
+straight, sir, I said to the missis:—‘It will be serious, an’ all, if
+Doris’s father catches her gallivantin’ in our garden wi’ Mr. Grant
+nigh on ten o’clock.’ Soon after that ’ee took Doris as far as the
+bridge. The window was open, an’ I heerd your footsteps on the road.
+You kem’ in, closed the window, an’ drew a chair up to the table. After
+that, I fell asleep.”
+
+Perturbed and anxious though he was, Grant could hardly fail to see
+that Bates meant well by him. The mental effort needed for such a long
+speech said as much. The allusion to Sirius, amusing at any other time,
+was now most valuable, because an astronomical almanac would give the
+hour at which that brilliant star became visible. Other considerations
+yielded at once, however, to the fear lest Robinson and his note-book
+were already busy at the post office. Without another word, he hurried
+away by the side-path through the evergreens, leaving Bates staring
+after him, and, with more whisker-pulling, examining the rope and
+staple, which, by the policeman’s order, were not to be disturbed.
+
+Grant reached the highroad just as Robinson and the men with the
+stretcher were crossing a stone bridge spanning the river about a
+hundred yards below _The Hollies_. A slight, youthful, and eminently
+attractive female figure, walking swiftly in the opposite direction,
+came in sight at the same time, and Grant almost groaned aloud when the
+newcomer stood stock still and looked at the mournful procession. He,
+be it remembered, was somewhat of an idealist and a poet; it grieved
+his spirit that those two women, the quick and the dead, should meet on
+the bridge. He took it as a portent, almost a menace, he knew not of
+what. He might have foreseen that unhappy eventuality, and prevented
+it, but his brain refused to work clearly that morning. A terrible and
+bizarre crime had bemused his faculties. He seemed to be in a state of
+waking nightmare.
+
+He was stung into impetuous action by seeing the policeman halt and
+exchange some words with the girl. He began to run, with the quite
+definite if equally mad intent of punching Robinson into reasonable
+behavior. He was saved from an act of unmitigated folly by the girl
+herself. She caught sight of him, apparently broke off her talk with
+the policeman abruptly, and, in her turn, took to her heels.
+
+Thus, on that strip of sun-baked road, with its easy gradient to the
+crown of the bridge, there was the curious spectacle offered by two men
+jogging along with a corpse on a stretcher, a young man and a young
+woman running towards each other, and a discomfited representative of
+the law, looking now one way and now the other, and evidently undecided
+whether to go on or return. Ultimately, it would seem, Robinson went
+with the stretcher-bearers, because Grant and the girl saw no more of
+him for the time.
+
+Grant had received several shocks since rising from the
+breakfast-table, but it was left for Doris Martin, the postmaster’s
+daughter, to administer not the least surprising one.
+
+Though almost breathless, and wide-eyed with horror, her opening words
+were very much to the point.
+
+“How awful!” she cried. “Why should any-one in Steynholme want to kill
+a great actress like Adelaide Melhuish?”
+
+Now, the name of the dead woman was literally the last thing Grant
+expected to hear from this girl’s lips, and the astounding fact
+momentarily banished all other worries.
+
+“You knew her?” he gasped.
+
+“No, not exactly. But I couldn’t avoid recognizing her when she asked
+for her letters, and sent a telegram.”
+
+“But—”
+
+“Oh, Robinson told me she was dead. I see now what is puzzling you.”
+
+“It is not quite that. I mean, why didn’t you tell me she was in
+Steynholme? Has she been staying here any length of time?”
+
+The girl’s pretty face crimsoned, and then grew pale.
+
+“I—had no idea—she was—a friend of yours, Mr. Grant,” she stammered.
+
+“She used to be a friend, but I have not set eyes on her during the
+past three years—until last night.”
+
+“Last night!”
+
+“After you had gone home. I was doing some work, and, having occasion
+to consult a book, lighted a candle, and put it in the small window
+near the bookcase. Then I fancied I saw a woman’s face, _her_ face,
+peering in, and was so obsessed by the notion that I went outside, but
+everything was so still that I persuaded myself I was mistaken.”
+
+“Oh, is that what it was?”
+
+Grant threw out his hands in a gesture that was eloquent of some
+feeling distinctly akin to despair.
+
+“You don’t usually speak in enigmas, Doris,” he said. “What in the
+world do you mean by saying:—‘Oh, is that what it was?’”
+
+The girl—she was only nineteen, and never before had aught of tragic
+mystery entered her sheltered life—seemed to recover her
+self-possession with a quickness and decision that were admirable.
+
+“There is no enigma,” she said calmly. “My room overlooks your lawn.
+Before retiring for the night I went to the window, just to have
+another peep at Sirius and its changing lights, so I could not help
+seeing you fling open the French windows, stand a little while on the
+step, and go in again.”
+
+“Ah, you saw that? Then I have one witness who will help to dispel that
+stupid policeman’s notion that I killed Miss Melhuish, and hid her body
+in the river at the foot of the lawn, hid it with such care that the
+first passerby must find it.”
+
+Every human being has three distinct personalities. Firstly, there is
+the man or woman as he or she really is; secondly, there is the much
+superior individual as assessed personally; thirdly, and perhaps the
+most important in the general scheme of things, there is the same
+individuality as viewed by others. For an instant, the somewhat
+idealized figure which John Menzies Grant offered to a pretty and
+intelligent but inexperienced girl was in danger of losing its
+impressiveness. But, since Grant was not only a good fellow but a
+gentleman, his next thought restored him to the pedestal from which,
+all unknowing, he had nearly been dethroned.
+
+“That is a nice thing to say,” he cried, with a short laugh of sheer
+vexation. “Here am I regarding you as a first-rate witness in my
+behalf, whereas my chief worry is to keep you out of this ugly business
+altogether. Forgive me, Doris! Never before have I been so bothered.
+Honestly, I imagined I hadn’t an enemy in the world, yet someone has
+tried deliberately to saddle me with suspicion in this affair. Not that
+I would give real heed to that consideration if it were not for the
+unhappy probability that, strive as I may, your name will crop up in
+connection with it. What sort of fellow is this police constable? Do
+you think he would keep his mouth shut if I paid him well?”
+
+Grant was certainly far from being in his normal state of mind, or he
+would have caught the tender gleam which lighted the girl’s eyes when
+she understood that his concern was for her, not for himself. As it
+was, several things had escaped him during that brief talk on the
+sunlit road.
+
+On her part, Doris Martin was now in full control of her emotions, and
+she undoubtedly took a saner view of a difficult situation.
+
+“Robinson is a vain man,” she said thoughtfully. “He will not let go
+the chance of notoriety given him by the murder of a well-known
+actress. Was she really murdered? Robinson said so when I met him on
+the bridge.”
+
+“I’m afraid he is justified in that belief, at any rate.”
+
+“Well, Mr. Grant, what have we to conceal? I was in your garden at a
+rather late hour, I admit, but one cannot watch the stars by day, and a
+big telescope with its tripod is not easily carried about. Of course,
+father will be vexed, because, as it happens, I did not tell him I was
+coming out. But that cannot be helped. As it happens, I can fix the
+time you opened your window almost to a minute, because the church
+clock had chimed the quarter just before you appeared.”
+
+Grant, however, was not to be soothed by this matter-of-fact reasoning.
+
+“I am vexed at the mere notion of your name, and possibly your
+portrait, appearing in the newspapers,” he protested. “Miss Melhuish
+was a celebrated actress. The press will make a rare commotion about
+her death. Look at the obvious questions that will be raised. What was
+she doing here? Why was she found in the river bordering the grounds of
+my house? Don’t you see? I had to decide pretty quickly whether or not
+I would admit any previous knowledge of her. I suppose I acted
+rightly?”
+
+“Why hide anything, Mr. Grant? Surely it is always best to tell the
+truth!”
+
+He looked into those candid blue eyes, and drew from their limpid
+depths an element of strength and fortitude.
+
+“By Jove, Doris, small wonder if a jaded man of the world, such as I
+was when I came to Steynholme, found new faith and inspiration in
+friendship with you,” he said gratefully. “But I am wool-gathering all
+the time this morning, it would seem. Won’t you come into the house? If
+we have to discuss a tragedy we may as well sit down to it.”
+
+“No,” she said, with the promptitude of one who had anticipated the
+invitation. “I must hurry home. There are accounts to be made up. And
+Robinson and others will be telegraphing to Knoleworth and London. I
+must attend to all that, because dad gets flustered if several messages
+are handed in at the same time.”
+
+“Come and have tea, then, about four o’clock. The ravens will have fled
+by then.”
+
+“The ravens?”
+
+“The police, you dear child, and the reporters, and the
+photographers—the flock of weird fowl which gathers from all points of
+the compass when the press gets hold of what is called ‘a first-rate
+story,’ By midday I shall be in the thick of it. But, thank goodness,
+they will know nothing to draw them your way until the inquest takes
+place, and not even then if _I_ can manage it.”
+
+“Don’t mind me, Mr. Grant. You must not keep anything back on my
+account. I’ll try and come at four. But I may be very busy in the
+office. By the way, you ought to know. Miss Melhuish came here on
+Sunday evening. She arrived by the train from London. I—happened to
+notice her as she passed in the Hare and Hounds’ bus. She took a room
+there, at the inn, I mean, and came to the post office twice yesterday.
+When I heard her name I recognized her at once from her photographs.
+And—one more thing—I guessed there was something wrong when I saw you,
+and Robinson, and Bates, and the other men standing near a body lying
+close to the river. That is why I came out. Now I really must go.
+Good-by!”
+
+She hastened away. Grant stood in the road and looked after her.
+Apparently she was conscious that he had not stirred, because, when she
+reached the bridge, she turned and waved a hand to him. She was
+exceedingly graceful in all her movements. She wore a simple white
+linen blouse and short white skirt that morning, with brown shoes and
+stockings which harmonized with the deeper tints of her Titian red
+hair. As she paused on the bridge for a second or two, silhouetted
+against the sky, she suggested to Grant’s troubled mind the Spirit of
+Summer.
+
+Returning to the house by way of the main gate, which gave on to the
+highway, he bethought him of Mrs. Bates and Minnie. They must be
+enlightened, and warned as to the certain influx of visitors. He
+resolved now to tackle a displeasing task boldly. Realizing that the
+worst possible policy lay in denying himself to the representatives of
+the press, who would simply ascertain the facts from other sources, and
+unconsciously adopt a critical vein with regard to himself, he
+determined to go to the other extreme, and receive all comers.
+
+Of course, there would be reservations in his story. That is what every
+man decides who faces a legal inquiry as a novice. It is a decision too
+often regretted in the light of after events.
+
+Meanwhile, P. C. Robinson was hard at work. In his own phrase, he “took
+a line,” and the trend of his thoughts was clearly demonstrated when a
+superintendent motored over from Knoleworth in response to a telegram.
+He told how the body had been found, and then went into details
+gathered in the interim.
+
+“Miss Melhuish hadn’t been in the village five minutes,” he said,
+“before she asked Mr. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds, where
+_The Hollies_ was, and how long Mr. Grant had lived in the village. She
+went for a walk in the direction of his house almost at once. Tomlin
+watched her until she crossed the bridge. That was on Sunday evening.”
+
+Superintendent Fowler allowed his placid features to show a flicker of
+surprise. In that rural district an actual, downright murder was almost
+unknown. Even a case of manslaughter, arising out of a drunken quarrel
+between laborers at fair-time, did not occur once in five years.
+
+“Oh, she came here on Sunday, did she?” he asked.
+
+“Yes, sir. Yesterday, too, she spoke of Mr. Grant to Hobbs, the
+butcher, and Siddle, the chemist.”
+
+The two were closeted in the sitting-room of Robinson’s cottage, which
+was situated on the main road near the bridge. It faced the short,
+steep hill overhanging the river. A triangular strip of turf formed the
+village green, and the houses of Steynholme clustered around this and a
+side road climbing the hill. From door and windows nearly every shop
+and residence in the village proper could be seen. In front of the Hare
+and Hounds had gathered a group of men, and it was easy to guess the
+topic they were discussing. The superintendent, who did not know any of
+them, had no difficulty in identifying Hobbs, who looked a butcher and
+was dressed like one, or Tomlin, who was either born an innkeeper or
+had been coached in the part by a stage expert. A thin, sharp-looking
+person, pallid and black-haired, wearing a morning coat and striped
+trousers, must surely be Siddle, while a fourth, the youngest there,
+and of rather sporting guise, was apparently a farmer of a
+horse-breeding turn.
+
+“Who is that fellow in the leggings?” inquired the superintendent
+irrelevantly. He was looking through the window, and Robinson
+considered that the question showed a lack of interest in his
+statement, though he dared not hint at such a thing.
+
+“He’s a Mr. Elkin, sir,” he said. “As I was saying—”
+
+“How does Mr. Elkin make a living?” broke in the other.
+
+“He breeds hacks and polo ponies,” said Robinson, rather shortly.
+
+“Ah, I thought so. Well, go on with your story.”
+
+Robinson was irritated, and justly so. His superior had put him off his
+“line.” He took it up again sharply, leaving out of court for the
+moment the various rills of evidence which, in his opinion, united into
+a swift-moving stream.
+
+“The fact is, sir,” he blurted out, “there is an uncommonly strong case
+against Mr. John Menzies Grant.”
+
+“Phew!” whistled the superintendent.
+
+“I think you’ll agree with me, sir, when you hear what I’ve gathered
+about him one way and another.”
+
+Robinson was sure of his audience now. Quite unconsciously, he had
+applied the chief canon of realism in art. He had conveyed his effect
+by one striking note. The rest of the picture was quite subsidiary to
+the bold splurge of color evoked by actually naming the man he
+suspected of murdering Adelaide Melhuish.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter III.
+The Gathering Clouds
+
+
+Thus, it befell that Grant was not worried by officialdom until long
+after his housekeeper and her daughter had recovered from the shock of
+learning that they were, in a sense, connected at first hand with a
+ghastly and sensational crime.
+
+Like Bates and their employer, neither Mrs. Bates nor Minnie had heard
+or seen anything overnight which suggested that a woman was being
+foully done to death in the grounds attached to the house. As it
+happened, Minnie’s bedroom, as well as that occupied by her parents,
+overlooked the lawn and river. Grant’s room lay in a gable which
+commanded the entrance. He had chosen it purposely because it faced the
+rising sun. The other members of the household, therefore, though in
+bed, had quite as good an opportunity as he, working in the dining-room
+beneath, of having their attention drawn to sounds disturbing the peace
+of the night in a quiet and secluded spot. Moreover, none of them was
+asleep. Minnie Bates, in particular, said that the “grandfather’s
+clock” in the hall struck twelve before she “could close an eye.”
+
+At last, just as Grant was rising from an almost untasted luncheon,
+Mrs. Bates, with a voice of scare, announced “the polis,” and P. C. 
+Robinson introduced Superintendent Fowler. This time Grant did not
+resent questions. He expected them, and had made up his mind to give
+full and detailed answers. Of course, the finding of the body was again
+described minutely. The superintendent, a man of experience, one whose
+manner was not fox-like and irritating like his subordinate’s, paid
+close attention to the face at the window.
+
+“There seems to be little room for doubt that Miss Melhuish did enter
+your grounds about a quarter to eleven last night,” he said
+thoughtfully. “You recognized her at once, you say?”
+
+“I imagined so. Until this horrible thing became known I had persuaded
+myself that the vision was a piece of sheer hallucination.”
+
+“Let us assume that the lady actually came here, and looked in.
+Evidently, her face was sufficiently familiar that you should know
+instantly who this unusual visitor was. I understand, though, that you
+had not the least notion she was staying in Steynholme?”
+
+“Not the least.”
+
+“How long ago is it since you last saw her?”
+
+“Nearly three years.”
+
+“You were very well acquainted with her, then, or you could not have
+glanced up from your table, seen someone staring at you through a
+window, and said to yourself, as one may express it:—‘That is Adelaide
+Melhuish’.”
+
+“We were so well acquainted that I asked the lady to be my wife.”
+
+“Ah,” said the superintendent.
+
+His placid, unemotional features, however, gave no clew to his
+opinions. Not so P. C. Robinson, who tried to look like a judge,
+whereas he really resembled a bull-terrier who has literally, not
+figuratively, smelt a rat.
+
+Despite his earlier good resolutions, Grant was horribly impatient of
+this inquisition. He admitted that the superintendent was carrying
+through an unpleasant duty as inoffensively as possible, but the
+attitude of the village policeman was irritating in the extreme.
+Nothing would have tended so effectively to relieve his surcharged
+feelings as to supply P. C. Robinson then and there with ample material
+for establishing a charge of assault and battery.
+
+“That is not a remarkable fact, if regarded apart from to-day’s
+tragedy,” he said, and there was more than a hint of soul-weariness in
+his voice. “Miss Melhuish was a very talented and attractive woman. I
+first met her as the outcome of a suggestion that one of my books
+should be dramatized, a character in the novel being deemed eminently
+suitable for her special rôle on the stage. The idea came to nothing.
+She was appearing in a successful play at the time, and was rehearsing
+its successor. Meanwhile, I—fell in love with her, I suppose, and she
+certainly encouraged me in the belief that she might accept me. I did
+eventually propose marriage. Then she told me she was married already.
+It was a painful disillusionment—at the time. I only saw her, to speak
+to, once again.”
+
+“Did she reveal her husband’s name?”
+
+“Yes—a Mr. Ingerman.”
+
+The superintendent looked grave. That was a professional trick of his.
+He had never before in his life heard of Mr. Ingerman, but encouraged
+the notion that this gentleman was thoroughly, and not quite favorably,
+known to him. Sometimes it happened that a witness, interpreting this
+sapient look by the light of his or her personal and intimate
+knowledge, would blurt out certain facts, good or bad as the case might
+be, concerning the person under discussion.
+
+But Grant remained obstinately silent as to the qualities of this
+doubtful Ingerman, so Mr. Fowler scribbled the name in a note-book, and
+was particular as to whether it ended in one “n” or two.
+
+Still, he carried other shots in his locker. In fact, Mr. Fowler, had
+he taken in youth to nicer legal subtleties than handcuffs and
+summonses, would have become a shrewd lawyer.
+
+“We’ll leave Mr. Ingerman for the moment,” he said, implying, of
+course, that on returning to him there might be revelations. “I gather
+that you and Miss Melhuish did not agree, shall I put it? as to the
+precise bearing of the marriage tie on your love affair?”
+
+“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow your meaning,” and Grant’s tone
+stiffened ominously, but his questioner was by no means abashed.
+
+“I have no great acquaintance with the stage or its ways, but I have
+always understood that divorce proceedings among theatrical folk were,
+shall we say? more popular than, in the ordinary walks of life,” said
+Mr. Fowler.
+
+Grant’s resentment vanished. The superintendent’s calm method, his
+interpolated apologies, as it were, for applying the probe, were
+beginning to interest him.
+
+“Your second effort is more successful, superintendent,” he said dryly.
+“Miss Melhuish did urge me to obtain her freedom. It was, she thought,
+only a matter of money with Mr. Ingerman, and she would be given
+material for a divorce.”
+
+“Ah,” murmured Fowler again, as though the discreditable implication
+fitted in exactly with the life history of a noted scoundrel in a
+written _dossier_ then lying in his office. “You objected, may I
+suggest, to that somewhat doubtful means of settling a difficulty?”
+
+“Something of the kind.”
+
+Assuredly, Grant did not feel disposed to lay bare his secret feelings
+before this persuasive superintendent and an absurdly conceited village
+constable. Love, to him, was an ideal, a blend of mortal passion and
+immortal fire. But the flame kindled on that secret altar had scorched
+and seared his soul in a wholly unforeseen way. The discovery that
+Adelaide Melhuish was another man’s wife had stunned him. It was not
+until the fire of sacrifice had died into parched ashes that its
+earlier banality became clear. He realized then that he had given his
+love to a phantom. By one of nature’s miracles a vain and selfish
+creature was gifted in the artistic portrayal of the finer emotions. He
+had worshiped the actress, the mimic, not the woman herself. At any
+rate, that was how he read the repellent notion that he should bargain
+with any man for the sale of a wife.
+
+“You might be a trifle more explicit, Mr. Grant,” said the
+superintendent, almost reproachfully.
+
+“In what direction? Surely a three-years-old love affair can have
+little practical bearing on Miss Melhuish’s death?”
+
+“What, then, may I ask, could bear on it more forcibly? The lady
+admittedly visits you, late at night, and is found dead in a river
+bordering the grounds of your house next morning, all the conditions
+pointing directly to murder. Moreover—it is no secret, as the truth
+must come out at the inquest—she had passed a good deal of her time
+while in Steynholme, unknown to you, in making inquiries concerning
+you, your habits, your surroundings, your friends. Surely, Mr. Grant,
+you must see that the history of your relations with this lady, though,
+if I may use the phrase, perfectly innocent, may possibly supply that
+which is at present lacking—a clew, shall I term it, to the motive
+which inspired the man, or woman, who killed her?”
+
+P. C.  Robinson was all an eye and an ear for this verbal
+fencing-match. It was not that he admired his superior’s skill, because
+such finesse was wholly beyond him, but his suspicious brain was
+storing up Grant’s admissions “to be used in evidence” against him
+subsequently. His own brief record of the conversation would have
+been:—“The prisoner, after being duly cautioned, said he kept company
+with the deceased about three years ago, but quarreled with her on
+hearing that she was a married woman.”
+
+The superintendent seldom indulged in so long a speech, but he was
+determined to force his adversary’s guard, and sought to win his
+confidence by describing the probable course to be pursued by the
+coroner’s inquest. But Grant, like the dead actress, had two sides to
+his nature. He was both an idealist and a stubborn fighter, and
+ideality had been shattered for many a day by that grewsome object
+hauled in that morning from the depths of the river.
+
+“I am willing to help in any shape or form, but can only repeat that
+Miss Melhuish and I parted as described. I should add that I have
+never, to my knowledge, met her husband.”
+
+“He may be dead.”
+
+“Possibly. You may know more about him than I.”
+
+“Even then, we have not traveled far as yet.”
+
+Fowler was puzzled, and did not hesitate to show it. He believed, not
+without reasonable cause, that this young man was concealing some
+element in the situation which might prove helpful in the quest for the
+murderer. He resolved to strike off along a new track.
+
+“I am informed,” he went on, speaking with a deliberateness meant to be
+impressive, “that you did entertain another lady as a visitor last
+night.”
+
+Grant allowed his glance to dwell on Robinson for an instant. Hitherto
+he had ignored the man. Now he surveyed him as if he were a viper.
+
+“It will be a peculiarly offensive thing if the personality of a
+helpless and unoffending girl is brought into this inquiry,” he cried.
+“‘Brought in’ is too mild—I ought to say ‘dragged in.’ As it happens,
+astronomy is one of my hobbies. Last evening, as the outcome of a chat
+on the subject, Doris Martin, daughter of the local postmaster, came
+here to view Sirius through an astronomical telescope. There is the
+instrument,” and he pointed through P. C.  Robinson to a telescope on a
+tripod in a corner of the room. The gesture was eloquent. The burly
+policeman might have been a sheet of glass. “As you see, it is a solid
+article, not easily lifted about. It weighs nearly a hundred-weight.”
+
+“Why is it so heavy?”
+
+The superintendent had a knack of putting seemingly irrelevant
+questions. Robinson had been disconcerted by it earlier in the day, but
+Grant seemed to treat the interruption as a sensible one.
+
+“For observation purposes an astronomical telescope is not of much use
+unless the movement of the earth is counteracted,” he said. “Usually,
+the dome of an observatory swings on a specially contrived axis, but
+that is a very expensive structure, so my telescope is governed by a
+clockwork attachment and moves on its own axis.”
+
+Mr. Fowler nodded. He was really a very well informed man for a country
+police-officer; he understood clearly.
+
+“Miss Martin came here about a quarter to ten,” continued Grant, “and
+left within three-quarters of an hour. She did not enter the house. She
+was watching Sirius while I explained the methods whereby the distance
+of any star from the earth is computed and its chemical analysis
+determined—”
+
+“Most instructive, I’m sure,” put in the superintendent.
+
+He smiled genially, so genially that Grant dismissed the notion that
+the other might, in vulgar parlance, be pulling his leg.
+
+“Well, that is the be-all and end-all of Miss Martin’s presence. It
+would be cruel, and unfair, if a girl of her age were forced into a
+distasteful prominence in connection with a crime with which she is no
+more related than with Sirius itself.”
+
+The older man shook his head in regretful dissent.
+
+“That is just where you and I differ,” he said. “That very point leads
+us back to your past friendship with the dead woman.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Surely you see, Mr. Grant, that Miss Melhuish might be, probably was,
+watching your star-gazing, especially as your pupil chanced to be,
+shall I say, a remarkably attractive young lady ... No, no,” for
+Grant’s anger was unmistakable—“It does no good to blaze out in
+protest. An unhappy combination of circumstances must be faced
+candidly. Here are you and a pretty girl together in a garden at a
+rather late hour, and a woman whom you once wanted to marry spying on
+you, in all likelihood. I’ve met a few coroner’s juries in my time, and
+not one of them but would deem the coincidence strange, to put it
+mildly.”
+
+“What in Heaven’s name are you driving at?”
+
+“You must not impute motives, sir. I am seeking them, not supplying
+them.”
+
+“But what am I to say?”
+
+“Perhaps you will now tell me just how Miss Melhuish and you parted.”
+
+The fencers were coming to close quarters. Even P. C. Robinson had to
+admit that his “boss” had cornered the suspect rather cleverly.
+
+Grant realized that there was no room for squeamishness in this affair.
+If he did not speak out now, his motives might be woefully
+misunderstood.
+
+“We parted in wrath and tears,” he said sadly. “Miss Melhuish could
+not, or did not, appreciate my scruples. She professed to be in love
+with me. She even went so far as to threaten suicide. I—hardly believed
+in her sincerity, but thought it advisable to temporize, and asked for
+a few days’ delay before we came to a final decision. We met again, as
+I have said, and discussed matters in calmer mood. Ultimately, she
+professed agreement with my point of view, and we parted, ostensibly to
+remain good friends, but really to separate for ever.”
+
+“Thank you. That’s better. What _was_ your point of view, Mr. Grant?”
+
+“Surely I have made it clear. I could not regard my wife as
+purchasable. The proposed compact was, I believe, illegal. But that
+consideration did not sway me. I had been dreaming, and thought I was
+roaming in an enchanted garden. I awoke, and found myself in a morass.”
+
+The superintendent nodded again. Singularly enough, Grant’s somewhat
+high-flown simile appeared to satisfy his craving for light.
+
+“Do you mind telling me—is there another woman?” he demanded, with one
+of those rapid transitions of topic in which he excelled.
+
+“No,” said Grant.
+
+“You see what I am aiming at. Let us suppose that Miss Melhuish never,
+in her own mind, abandoned the hope that some day the tangle would
+straighten itself. Women are constituted that way. If her husband is
+now dead, and she became free, she might wish to renew the old ties,
+but, being proud, would want to ascertain first whether or not any
+other woman had come into your life.”
+
+“I follow perfectly,” said Grant, with some bitterness. “She would be
+consumed with jealousy because my companion in the garden last night
+happened to be a charming girl of nineteen.”
+
+“It is possible.”
+
+“So she went off and got someone to kill her, and tie her body with a
+rope, and arrange a dramatic setting whereby it would be patent to the
+meanest intelligence that I was the criminal?”
+
+Mr. Fowler smiled, and looked fixedly at P. C.  Robinson.
+
+“No, no,” he said, quite good-humoredly. “That would be carrying
+realism to extremes. Still, I am convinced, Mr. Grant, that this
+mystery is bound up in some way with your romance of three years ago.
+At present, I admit, I am working in the dark.”
+
+He rose. Apparently, the interview was at an end. But, while pocketing
+his note-book, he said suddenly:—
+
+“The inquest will open at three o’clock tomorrow. You will be present,
+of course, Mr. Grant?”
+
+“I suppose it is necessary.”
+
+“Oh, yes. You found the body, you know. Besides, you may be the only
+person who can give evidence of identity. In fact, you and the doctor
+will be the only witnesses called.”
+
+“Dr. Foxton?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Has he made a post-mortem?”
+
+“He is doing so now. You see, there is clear indication that this
+unfortunate lady was struck a heavy blow, perhaps killed, before she
+was put in the river.”
+
+“Good Heavens! Somehow, I was so stunned that I never thought of
+looking for signs of any injury of that sort.”
+
+Grant’s horror-stricken air was so spontaneous that it probably
+justified the severe test of that unexpected disclosure. He was so
+unnerved by it that the two policemen had gone before he could frame
+another question.
+
+Once they were in the open road, and well away from _The Hollies_,
+Robinson ventured to open his mouth.
+
+“He’s a clever one is Mr. Grant,” he said meaningly. “You handled him a
+bit of all right, sir, but he didn’t tell you everything he knew, not
+by long chalks.”
+
+The superintendent walked a few yards in silence. Even when he spoke,
+his gaze was introspective, and seemed to ignore his companion.
+
+“I’m inclined to agree with you, Robinson,” he said, speaking very
+slowly. “We have a big case in our hands, a very big case. We must
+tread warily. You, in particular, mixing with the village folk, should
+listen to all but say nothing. Don’t depend on your memory. Write down
+what you hear and see. People’s actual words, and the exact time of an
+occurrence, often have an extraordinarily illuminating effect when
+weighed subsequently. But don’t let Mr. Grant think you suspect him.
+There is no occasion for that—yet.”
+
+Mr. Fowler could be either blunt or cryptic in speech at will. In one
+mood he was the straightforward, outspoken official; in another the
+potential lawyer. P. C.  Robinson, though unable to describe his
+chief’s erratic qualities, was unpleasantly aware of them. He was not
+quite sure, for instance, whether the superintendent was encouraging or
+warning him, but, being a dogged person, resolved to “take his own
+line,” and stick to it.
+
+Grant passed a distressful day. Work was not to be thought of, and
+reading was frankly impossible. His mind dwelt constantly on the
+tragedy which had come so swiftly and completely into his ordered life.
+He could not wholly discard the nebulous theory suggested by
+Superintendent Fowler, but the more he surveyed it the less reasonable
+it seemed. The one outstanding fact in a chaos of doubt was that
+someone had deliberately done Adelaide Melhuish to death. The murderer
+had been actuated by a motive. What was that motive? Surely, in a place
+like Steynholme no man could come and go without being seen, and the
+murderer must be a stranger to the district, because it was ridiculous
+to imagine that he was one of the residents.
+
+Yet that was exactly what a dunderheaded policeman believed. P. C.
+Robinson had revealed himself by many a covert glance and prick-eared
+movement. Grant squirmed uneasily at the crass conceit, as there was no
+denying that circumstances tended towards a certain doubt, if no more,
+in regard to his own association with the crime.
+
+The admission called for a fierce struggle with his pride, but he
+forced himself to think the problem out in all its bearings, and the
+folly of adopting the legendary policy of the chased ostrich became
+manifest. What, then, should he do? He thought, at first, of invoking
+the aid of a barrister friend, who could watch the inquest in his
+behalf.
+
+Nevertheless, he shrank from that step, which, to his super-sensitive
+nature, implied the need of legal protection, and he fiercely resented
+the mere notion of such a thing. But something must be done. Once the
+murderer was laid by the heels his own troubles would vanish, and the
+storm raised by the unhappy fate of Adelaide Melhuish would subside
+into a sad memory.
+
+He was wrestling with indecision when a newspaper reporter called.
+Grant received the journalist promptly, and told him all the salient
+facts, suppressing only the one-time prospect of a marriage between
+himself and the famous actress.
+
+The reporter went with him to the river, and scrutinized the marks, now
+rapidly becoming obliterated, of the body having been drawn ashore.
+
+“The rope and iron staple, I understand, were taken from the premises
+of a man who lets boats for hire on the dam quarter of a mile away,” he
+said casually.
+
+Grant was astounded at his own failure to make any inquiry whatsoever
+concerning this vital matter. He laughed grimly.
+
+“You can imagine the state of my mind,” he said, “when I assure you
+that, until this moment, it never occurred to me even to ask where
+these articles came from or what had become of them.”
+
+“I can sympathize with you,” said the journalist. “A brutal murder
+seems horribly out of place in this environment. It is a mysterious
+business altogether. I wonder if Scotland Yard will take it up.”
+
+Grant surprised him by clapping him on the back.
+
+“By Jove, my friend, the very thing! Of course, such an investigation
+requires bigger brains than our local police are endowed with. Scotland
+Yard _must_ take it up. I’ll wire there at once. If necessary, I’ll pay
+all expenses.”
+
+The newspaper man had his doubts. The “Yard,” he said, acted in the
+provinces only if appealed to by the authorities directly concerned.
+But Grant was not to be stayed by a trifle like that. He hurried to the
+post office, hoping that Doris Martin might walk back with him.
+
+The girl and her father were busy behind the counter when he entered.
+He noticed that Doris was rather pale. She was about to attend to him,
+but Mr. Martin intervened. It struck Grant that the postmaster was
+purposely preventing his daughter from speaking to him.
+
+For some inexplicable reason, he felt miserably tongue-tied, and was
+content to write a message to the Chief Commissioner of Police, London,
+asking that a skilled detective should be sent forthwith to Steynholme.
+
+Mr. Martin read it gravely, stated the cost, and procured the requisite
+stamps. In the event, Grant quitted the place without exchanging a word
+with Doris, while her father, usually a chatty man, said not a syllable
+beyond what was barely needed.
+
+As he passed down the hill and by the side of the Green he was aware of
+being covertly watched by many eyes. He saw P. C.  Robinson peering
+from behind a curtained window. Siddle, the chemist, came to the shop
+door, and looked after him. Hobbs, the butcher, ceased sharpening a
+knife and gazed out. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds Inn,
+surveyed him from the “snug.”
+
+These things were not gracious. Indeed, they were positively maddening.
+He went home, gave an emphatic order that no one, except Miss Martin,
+if she called, was to be admitted and savagely buried himself in a
+treatise on earth-tides.
+
+But that day of events had not finished for him yet. He had, perforce,
+eaten a good meal, and was thinking of going to the post office in
+order to clear up an undoubted misapprehension in Mr. Martin’s mind,
+when Minnie Bates came with a card.
+
+“If you please, sir,” said the girl, “this gentleman is very pressing.
+He says he’s sure you’ll give him an interview when you see his name.”
+
+So Grant looked, and read:—
+
+Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman
+
+_Prince’s Chambers, London, W._
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IV.
+A Cabal
+
+
+Grant stared again at the card. A tiny silver bell seemed to tinkle a
+sort of warning in a recess of his brain. The name was not engraved in
+copper-plate, but printed in heavy type. Somehow, it looked ominous.
+His first impression was to bid Minnie send the man away. He distrusted
+any first impression. It was the excuse of mediocrity, a sign of
+weakness. Moreover, why shouldn’t he meet Isidor G. Ingerman?
+
+“Show him in,” he said, almost gruffly, thus silencing shy intuition,
+as it were. He threw the card on the table.
+
+Mr. Ingerman entered. He did not offer any conventional greeting, but
+nodded, or bowed. Grant could not be sure which form of salutation was
+intended, because the visitor promptly sat down, uninvited.
+
+Minnie hesitated at the door. Her master’s callers were usually
+cheerful Bohemians, who chatted at sight. Then she caught Grant’s eye,
+and went out, banging the door in sheer nervousness.
+
+Still Mr. Ingerman did not speak. If this was a pose on his part, he
+erred. Grant had passed through a trying day, but he owned the muscles
+and nerves of an Alpine climber, and had often stared calmly down a
+wall of rock and ice which he had just conquered, when the least slip
+would have meant being dashed to pieces two thousand feet below.
+
+There was some advantage, too, in this species of stage wait. It
+enabled him to take the measure of Adelaide Melhuish’s husband, if,
+indeed, the visitor was really the man he professed to be.
+
+At first sight, Isidor G. Ingerman was not a prepossessing person.
+Indeed, it would be safe to assume that if, by some trick of fortune,
+he and not Grant were the tenant of _The Hollies_, P. C.  Robinson
+would have haled him to the village lock-up that very morning. It was
+not that he was villainous-looking, but rather that he looked capable
+of villainy. He was a tall, slender, rather stooping man, with a
+decidedly well-molded, if hawk-like, face. His aspect might be
+described as saturnine. Possibly, when he smiled, this morose
+expression would vanish, and then he might even win a favorable
+opinion. He had brilliant black eyes, close set, and an abundant crop
+of black hair, turning gray, which, in itself, lent an air of
+distinction. His lips were thin, his chin slightly prominent. He was
+well dressed, and managed a hat, stick, and gloves with ease.
+Altogether, he reminded Grant of a certain notable actor who is
+invariably cast for the rôle of a gentlemanly scoundrel, but who, in
+private life, is a most excellent fellow and good citizen. Oddly
+enough, Grant recognized in him, too, the type of man who would
+certainly have appealed to Adelaide Melhuish in her earlier and
+impressionable years.
+
+Meanwhile, the visitor, finding that the clear-eyed young man seated in
+an easy chair (from which he had not risen) could seemingly regard him
+with blank indifference during the next hour, thought fit to say
+something.
+
+“Is my name familiar to you, Mr. Grant?” he inquired.
+
+The voice was astonishingly soft and pleasant, and the accent agreeably
+refined. Evidently, there were surprising points about Mr. Ingerman.
+Long afterwards, Grant learned, by chance, that the man had been an
+actor before branching off into that mysterious cosmopolitan profession
+known as “a financier.”
+
+“No,” said Grant. “I have heard it very few times. Once, about three
+years ago, and today, when I mentioned it to the police.”
+
+The other man’s sallow cheeks grew a shade more sallow. Grant supposed
+that this slight change of color indicated annoyance. Of course, the
+association of ideas in that curt answer was intolerably rude. But
+Grant had been tried beyond endurance that day. He was in a mood to be
+brusque with an archbishop.
+
+“We can disregard your confidences, or explanations, to the police,”
+said Ingerman smoothly. “Three years ago, I suppose, my wife spoke of
+me?”
+
+“If you mean Miss Adelaide Melhuish—yes.”
+
+“I do mean her. To be exact, I mean the lady who was murdered outside
+this house last night.”
+
+Grant realized instantly that Isidor G. Ingerman was a foeman worthy of
+even a novelist’s skill in repartee. Thus far, he, Grant, had been
+merely uncivil, using a bludgeon for wit, whereas the visitor was
+making play with a finely-tempered rapier.
+
+“Now that you have established your identity, Mr. Ingerman, perhaps you
+will tell me why you are here,” he said.
+
+“I have come to Steynholme to inquire into my wife’s death.”
+
+“A most laudable purpose. I was given to understand, however, that at
+one time you took little interest in her living. I have not seen Mrs.
+Ingerman for three years—until last night, that is—so there is a
+chance, of course, that husband and wife may have adjusted their
+differences. Is that so?”
+
+“Until last night!” repeated Ingerman, almost in a startled tone. “You
+admit that?”
+
+Grant turned and pointed.
+
+“I saw, or fancied I saw, her face at that window,” he said. “She
+looked in on me about ten minutes to eleven. I was hard at work, but
+the vision, as it seemed then, was so weird and unexpected, that I went
+straight out and searched for her. Perhaps ‘searched’ is not quite the
+right word. To be exact, I opened the French window, stood there, and
+listened. Then I persuaded myself that I was imagining a vain thing,
+and came in.”
+
+“What was she doing here?”
+
+“I don’t know.”
+
+“She arrived in Steynholme on Sunday evening, I am told.”
+
+“I heard that, too.”
+
+“You imply that you did not meet her?”
+
+“No need to imply anything, Mr. Ingerman. I did not meet her. Beyond
+the fanciful notion that I had seen her ghost last night, the first I
+knew of her presence in the village was when I recognized her dead body
+this morning.”
+
+“Strange as it may sound, I am inclined to believe you.”
+
+Grant said nothing. He wanted to get up and pitch Ingerman into the
+road.
+
+“But who else will take that charitable view?” purred the other, in
+that suave voice which so ill accorded with his thin lips and slightly
+hooked nose.
+
+“I really don’t care,” was the weary answer.
+
+“Not at the moment, perhaps. You have had a trying day, no doubt. My
+visit at its close cannot be helpful. But—”
+
+“I am feeling rather tired mentally,” interrupted Grant, “so you will
+oblige me by not raising too many points at once. Why should you
+imagine that conversation with you in particular should add to my
+supposed distress?”
+
+“Doesn’t it?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Why, then, may I ask, do you so obviously resent my questions? Who has
+so much right to put them as I?”
+
+Grant found that he must bestir himself. Thus far, the honors lay with
+this rather sinister-looking yet quiet-mannered visitor.
+
+“I am sorry if anything I have said lends color to that belief,” he
+answered. “Candidly, I began by assuming that you forfeited any legal
+right years ago to interfere in behalf of Miss Melhuish, living or
+dead. Let us, at least, be candid with each other. Miss Melhuish
+herself told me that you and she had separated by mutual consent.”
+
+“Allow me to emulate your candor. The actual fact is that you weaned my
+wife’s affections from me.”
+
+“That is a downright lie,” said Grant coolly.
+
+Ingerman’s peculiar temperament permitted him to treat this grave
+insult far more lightly than Grant’s harmless, if irritating, reference
+to the police.
+
+“Let us see just what ‘a lie’ signifies,” he said, almost judicially.
+“If a lady deserts her husband, and there is good reason to suspect
+that she is, in popular phrase, ‘carrying on’ with another man, how can
+the husband be lying if he charges that man with being the cause of the
+domestic upheaval?”
+
+“In this instance a hypothetical case is not called for. Three years
+ago, Mr. Ingerman, you had parted from your wife. Your name was never
+mentioned. Apparently, none in my circle had even heard of you. Miss
+Melhuish had won repute as a celebrated actress. I met her, in a sense,
+professionally. We became friends. I fancied I was in love with her. I
+proposed marriage. Then, and not until then, did the ghost of
+Mr.”—Grant bent forward, and consulted the card—“Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman
+intrude.”
+
+“So marriage was out of the question?”
+
+“If you expect an answer—yes.”
+
+Ingerman rested the handle of his stick against his lips.
+
+“That isn’t how the situation was represented to me at the time,” he
+said thoughtfully.
+
+Grant was still sore with the recollection of the way in which the
+superintendent of police had forced him to confess the pitiful scheme
+whereby a woman in love had sought to gain her ends. He refused to
+sully her memory a second time that day, even to gain the upper hand in
+this troublesome controversy.
+
+“I neither know nor care what representations may have been made to
+you,” he retorted. “I merely tell you the literal truth.”
+
+“Possibly. Possibly. It was not I who used the word ‘lie,’ remember.
+But if you are ungracious enough to refuse to withdraw the offensive
+phrase, let it pass. We are not in France. This deadly business will be
+fought out in the law courts. I am here to-night of my own initiative.
+I thought it only fair and reasonable that you and I should meet before
+we are brought face to face at a coroner’s inquest, and, it may be, in
+an Assize Court.... No, no, Mr. Grant. Pray do not put the worst
+construction on my words. _Someone_ murdered my wife. If the police
+show intelligence and reasonable skill, _someone_ will be tried for the
+crime. You and I will certainly be witnesses. That is what I meant to
+convey. The doubt in my mind was this—whether to be actively hostile or
+passively friendly to the man who, next to me, was interested in the
+poor woman now lying dead in a wretched stable of this village.”
+
+The almost diabolical cleverness of this long speech, delivered without
+heat and with singularly adroit stress on various passages, was
+revealed by its effect on Grant. He was at once infuriated and puzzled.
+Ingerman was playing him as a fisherman humors a well-hooked salmon.
+The simile actually occurred to him, and he resolved to precipitate
+matters by coming straightway to the landing-net.
+
+“Is your friendship purchasable?” he inquired, making the rush without
+further preamble.
+
+“My wife was, I was led to believe,” came the calm retort.
+
+Grant threw scruples to the wind now. Adelaide Mulhuish was being
+defamed, not by him, but by her husband.
+
+“We are at cross purposes,” he said, weighing each word. “Your wife,
+who knew your character fairly well, I am convinced, thought that you
+were open to receive a cash consideration for your connivance in a
+divorce.”
+
+“She had told me plainly that she would never live with me again. I was
+too fair-minded a man to place obstacles in the way when she wished to
+regain her freedom.”
+
+“So it was true, then. What was the price? One thousand—two? I am not a
+millionaire.”
+
+“Nor am I. As a mere matter of pounds, shillings, and pence, it was a
+serious matter for me when my wife’s earnings ceased to come into the
+common stock.”
+
+“My first, if rather vague, estimate of you was the correct one. You
+are a good bit of a scoundrel, and, if I guess rightly, a would-be
+blackmailer.”
+
+“You are talking at random, Mr. Grant. The levying of blackmail
+connotes that the person bled desires that some discreditable, or
+dangerous, fact should be concealed.”
+
+“Such is not my position.”
+
+“I—I wonder.”
+
+“I can relieve you of any oppressive doubt. I informed the police some
+few hours ago that you have appeared already in a similar role.”
+
+“Oh, you did, did you?” snarled Ingerman, suddenly abandoning his pose,
+and gazing at Grant with a curiously snakelike glint in his black eyes.
+
+“Yes. It interested them, I fancied.”
+
+Grant was sure of his man now, and rather relieved that the battle of
+wits was turning in his favor.
+
+“So you have begun already to scheme your defense?”
+
+“Hadn’t you better go?” was the contemptuous retort.
+
+“You refuse to answer any further questions?”
+
+“I refuse to buy your proffered friendship—whatever that may mean.”
+
+“Have I offered to sell it?”
+
+“I gathered as much.”
+
+Ingerman rose. He was still master of himself, though his lanky body
+was taut with rage. He spoke calmly and with remarkable restraint.
+
+“Go through what I have said, and discover, if you can, the slightest
+hint of any suggested condonation of your offenses, whether avowed or
+merely suspected. I shall prove beyond dispute that you came between me
+and my wife. Don’t hug the delusion that your three years’ limit will
+save you. It will not. I wish you well of your attempt to prove that I
+was a consenting party to divorce proceedings. I came here to look you
+over. I have done so, and have arrived at a very definite opinion. I,
+also, have been interviewed by the police, and any unfavorable views
+they may have formed concerning me as the outcome of your_ ex parte_
+statements are more than counteracted by the ugly facts of a ghastly
+murder. You were here shortly before eleven o’clock last night. My wife
+was here, too, and alive. This morning she was found dead, by you. At
+eleven o’clock last night I was playing bridge with three city men in
+my flat. When the news of the murder reached me to-day my first
+thought, after the shock of it had passed, was:—‘That fellow, Grant,
+may be innocently involved in a terrible crime, and I may figure as the
+chief witness against him.’ I am not speaking idly, as you will learn
+to your cost. Yet, when I come on an errand of mercy, you have the
+impudence to charge me with blackmail. You are in for a great
+awakening. Be sure of that!”
+
+And Isidor G. Ingerman walked out, leaving Grant uncomfortably aware
+that he had not seen the last of an implacable and bitter enemy.
+
+It was something new and very disturbing for a writer to find himself
+in the predicament of a man with an absolutely clear conscience yet
+perilously near the meshes of the criminal law. He had often analyzed
+such a situation in his books, but fiction diverged so radically from
+hard fact that the sensation was profoundly disconcerting, to say the
+least.
+
+He did not go to the post office. He was not equal to any more verbal
+fire-works that evening. So he lit a pipe, and reviewed Ingerman’s
+well-rounded periods very carefully, even taking the precaution to jot
+down exact phrases. He analyzed them, and saw that they were capable of
+two readings. Of course, it could not be otherwise. The plausible
+rascal must have conned them over until this essential was secured.
+Grant even went so far as to give them a grudging professional tribute.
+They held a canker of doubt, too, which it was difficult to dissect.
+Their veiled threats were perplexing. While their effect, as apart from
+literal significance, was fresh in his mind, he made a few notes of
+different interpretations.
+
+He went to bed rather early, but could not sleep until the small hours.
+Probably his rest, such as it was, would have been even more disturbed
+had he been able to accompany Ingerman to the Hare and Hounds Inn.
+
+A small but select company had gathered in the bar parlor. The two
+hours between eight and ten were the most important of the day to the
+landlord, Mr. Tomlin. It was then that he imparted and received the
+tit-bits of local gossip garnered earlier, the process involving a good
+deal of play with shining beer-handles and attractively labeled
+bottles.
+
+But this was a special occasion. Never before had there been a
+Steynholme murder before the symposium. Hitherto, such a grewsome topic
+was supplied, for the most part, by faraway London. To-night the
+eeriness and dramatic intensity of a notable crime lay at the very
+doors of the village.
+
+So Tomlin was more portentous than usual; Hobbs, the butcher, more
+assertive, Elkin, the “sporty” breeder of polo ponies, more inclined to
+“lay odds” on any conceivable subject, and Siddle, the chemist, a
+reserved man at the best, even less disposed to voice a definite
+opinion.
+
+Elkin was about twenty-five years of age, Siddle looked younger than
+his probable thirty-five years, while the others were on the stout and
+prosperous line of fifty.
+
+They were discussing the murder, of course, when Ingerman entered, and
+ordered a whiskey and soda. Instantly there was dead silence. Looks and
+furtive winks were exchanged. There had been talk of a detective being
+employed. Perhaps this was he. Mr. Tomlin knew the stranger’s name, as
+he had taken a room, but that was the extent of the available
+information.
+
+“A fine evenin’, sir,” said Tomlin, drawing a cork noisily. “Looks as
+though we were in for a spell o’ settled weather.”
+
+“Yes,” agreed Ingerman, summing up the conclave at a glance. “Somehow,
+such a lovely night ill accords with the cause of my visit to
+Steynholme.”
+
+“In-deed, sir?”
+
+“Well, you and these other gentlemen may judge for yourselves. It will
+be no secret tomorrow. I am the husband of the lady who was found in
+the river outside Mr. Grant’s residence this morning.”
+
+Sensation, as the descriptive reporters put it. Mr. Tomlin was dumbly
+but unanimously elected chairman of the meeting, and was vaguely aware
+of his responsibilities. He drew himself a fresh glass of bitter.
+
+“You don’t tell me, sir!” he gasped. “Well, the idee! The pore lady’s
+letters were addressed to Miss Adelaide Melhuish. Perhaps you don’t
+know, sir, that she stayed here!”
+
+“Oh, yes. I was told that by the local police-constable. Have I, by any
+chance, been given her room?”
+
+“No, sir. Not likely. It’s locked, and the police have the key till the
+inquest is done with.”
+
+“As for the name,” explained Ingerman, in his suave voice, “that was a
+mere stage pseudonym, an adopted name. My wife was a famous actress,
+and there is a sort of tacit agreement that a lady in the theatrical
+profession shall be known to the public as ‘Miss’ rather than ‘Mrs.’”
+
+“Well, there!” wheezed Tomlin. “Who’d ever ha’ thought it?”
+
+The landlord was not quite rising to the occasion. He was, in fact,
+stunned by these repeated shocks. So Hobbs took charge.
+
+“It’s a sad errand you’re on, sir,” he said. “Death comes to all of us,
+man an’ beast alike, but it’s a terrible thing when a lady like Miss—
+Mrs. ——”
+
+“Ingerman is my name, but my wife will certainly be alluded to by the
+press as Miss Melhuish.”
+
+“When a lady like Miss Melhuish is knocked on the ’ead like a—”
+
+Mr. Hobbs hesitated again. He also felt that the situation was rather
+beyond him.
+
+“But my wife was flung into the river and drowned,” said Ingerman
+sadly.
+
+“No, sir. She was killed fust. It was a brutal business, so I’m told.”
+
+“Do you mean that she was struck, her skull battered?” came the demand,
+in an awed and soul-thrilling whisper.
+
+“Yes, sir. An’ the wust thing is, none of us can guess who could ha’
+done it.”
+
+“Lay yer five quid to one, Hobbs, that the police cop the scoundrel
+afore this day fortnight,” cried Elkin noisily.
+
+Then Mr. Siddle put in a mild word.
+
+“Gentlemen,” he said, “let me remind you that we four will probably be
+jurors at the inquest.”
+
+That was a sobering thought. Elkin subsided, and Hobbs looked
+critically at the remains of a gill of beer.
+
+Ingerman took stock of the chemist. He might easily induce the others
+to believe that Grant was the real criminal, but the quiet man in the
+black morning-coat and striped cloth trousers was of finer metal. He
+knew instantly that if he could persuade this one “probable juror” of
+Grant’s guilt, the remainder would follow his lead like a flock of
+sheep.
+
+But there was no need to hurry. Next day’s inquest would be a mere
+formality. The real struggle would begin a week or a fortnight later.
+
+“You have said a very wise thing, sir,” he murmured appreciatively.
+“Even my feelings must be kept under better control. But this is no
+ordinary murder. Before it is cleared up there will be astounding
+revelations. Mark the word—astounding.”
+
+Hobbs, whose heavy cheeks were of a brick-red tint, almost startled the
+conclave by a sudden outburst which gave him an apoplectic appearance.
+
+“You’re too kind’earted, Siddle,” he cried. “Wot’s the use of talkin’
+rubbish. We all know where the body was found. We all know that Doris
+Martin an’ Mr. Grant were a’sweet-’eartin’ in the garden—”
+
+“Look here, Hobbs, just keep Doris Martin’s name out of it!” shouted
+Elkin, smiting the table with his fist till the glasses danced.
+
+“Gentlemen!” protested Siddle gently.
+
+“It’s all dashed fine, but I’m not—” blustered Elkin. He yielded to
+Ingerman’s outstretched hand.
+
+“I seem to have brought discord into a friendly gathering,” came the
+mournful comment. “Such was far from being my intent. Landlord, the
+round is on me, with cigars. Now, let us talk of anything but this
+horror. If I forget myself again, pull me up short, and fine me another
+round.”
+
+Siddle half rose, but thought better of it. Evidently, he meant to use
+his influence to stop foolish chatter.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter V.
+The Seeds of Mischief
+
+
+Ingerman was a shrewder judge of human nature than the village chemist.
+As well try to stem the flowing tide as stop tongues from wagging when
+such a theme offered.
+
+Tomlin created a momentary diversion by clattering in the bar. After
+this professional interlude, Ingerman ignored his own compact.
+
+“I’m sure you local residents will be interested, at least, in hearing
+something of my wife’s career,” he said. “There never was a more
+lovable and gracious woman, and no couple could be more united than she
+and I till some three years ago. Then came a break. She was independent
+of me, of course. She was a celebrity, I a mere nobody, best known, if
+at all, as ‘Miss Melhuish’s husband.’ Nevertheless, we were devoted to
+each other until, to her and my lasting misfortune, a certain author
+wrote a book which, when dramatized, contained a part for which my
+wife’s stage presence and talents seemed to be peculiarly suited.”
+
+Siddle stirred uneasily, but the others were still as partridges in
+stubble. Ingerman did not intend to alarm the shy bird of the covey,
+however.
+
+“I name no names,” he said solemnly. “Nor am I telling you anything
+that will not be thoroughly exposed before the coroner and elsewhere.
+From that unhappy period dated our estrangement. My wife fell under a
+fatal influence which lasted, practically unchecked, until the day, if
+not the very hour, of her death. Do I blame her? No—a thousand times
+no! You see me, a plain man, considerably her senior. _I_ had not the
+gift of writing impassioned love passages in which she could display
+her artistic genius. When I came home from the City, tired after the
+day’s work, _she_ was just beginning hers. You know what London
+fashionable life is—the theater, a supper, a dance, some great lady’s
+‘reception,’ and the rest of it. Ah, me! The stage, and literature, and
+the arts generally are not for poor fellows moiling in a City office.
+You gentlemen, I take it, are all happily married—”
+
+“I’m not,” said Elkin, “but I’ll lay you long odds I will be soon.”
+
+For some reason, this remark produced a certain uneasiness among his
+friends. Tomlin stared at the ash of one of the cigars “stood” by this
+talkative Londoner; Hobbs, whose glass had reached a low level again,
+examined the dregs almost fiercely; and Siddle seemed to be about to
+say something, but, with his usual restraint, kept silent. Then
+Ingerman made a very shrewd guess, and wondered who Doris Martin was,
+and what Hobbs’s cryptic allusion had meant.
+
+“Good luck to you, sir,” he said, “but—take no offense—don’t marry an
+actress. There’s an old adage, ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’ I
+would go farther, and interpolate the word ‘should.’ If Adelaide
+Melhuish had never met me, but had married the man who could write her
+plays, this tragedy in real life would never have been.”
+
+“D—n him,” muttered Elkin fiercely. “He’s done for now, anyhow. He’ll
+turn no more girls’ heads for a bit.”
+
+“An’ five minutes since you yapped at me like a vicious fox-terrier for
+’intin’ much the same thing,” chortled Hobbs.
+
+Siddle stood up.
+
+“You ain’t goin’, Mr. Siddle?” went on the butcher. “It’s ’ardly ’arf
+past nine.”
+
+“I have some accounts to get out. It’s near the half year, you know,”
+and Siddle vanished unobtrusively.
+
+Hobbs shook his head, and gazed at Elkin as though the latter was a
+refractory bullock.
+
+“Siddle’s a fair-minded chap,” he said. “He can’t stand ’earin’ any of
+us ’angin’ a man without a fair trial.”
+
+Ingerman had marked the chemist for more subtle treatment when an
+opportunity arose, or could be made. At present, he was not sorry such
+a restraining influence was removed. The next half hour should prove a
+golden one if well utilized. He was right. Before the inn was cleared,
+what between Elkin’s savage comments and the other men’s thinly-veiled
+allusions, he knew all that Steynholme could tell with regard to Grant
+and Doris Martin.
+
+Grant’s first thought next morning was of the girl who had been thrust
+so prominently into his life by the death of another woman. That was,
+perhaps, the strangest outcome of the tragedy. Doris was easily the
+prettiest and most intelligent girl in the village, a rare combination
+in itself, even among young ladies of much higher social position than
+a postmaster’s daughter. But her father was a self-educated man, whose
+life had been given to books, whose only hobby was the culture and
+study of bees. He had often refused promotion, solely because his
+duties at Steynholme were light, and permitted of many free hours. In
+his only child he found a quick pupil and a sympathetic helper. Of her
+own accord she took to poetry and music. In effect, had Doris Martin
+attended the best of boarding-schools and training colleges, she would
+have received a smattering of French and a fair knowledge of the piano
+or violin, whereas, after more humble tuition, it might fairly be said
+of her that few girls of her age had read so many books and assimilated
+their contents so thoroughly. From her mother she inherited her good
+looks and a small yearly income, just sufficient to maintain a better
+wardrobe than her father’s salary would permit.
+
+Grant, newly settled in Steynholme, found the postmaster and his
+daughter intellectually on a par with himself, and this claim could
+certainly not be made on behalf of the local “society” element. The
+three became excellent friends. Naturally, the young people spent a
+good deal of time together. But there had been no love-making—not a
+hint or whisper of it!
+
+And now, by cruel chance, their names were linked by scandal in its
+most menacing form, since there was no gainsaying the fact that Doris’s
+star-gazing on that fatal Monday night was indissolubly bound up with
+the death of Adelaide Melhuish.
+
+For the first time, then, the notion peeped up in Grant’s mind that the
+whirligig of existence might see Doris his wife. But the conceit
+resembled the Gorgon’s teeth, which, when sown in the ground, sprang
+forth as armed men. The very accident which revealed a not unpleasing
+possibility had established a grave obstacle in the way of its ultimate
+realization. Already there was a cloud between him and the Martins,
+father and daughter. To what a tempest might not that cloud develop
+when the questionings and innuendoes of the inquest established an aura
+of suspicion and intrigue around a perfectly innocent meeting in the
+garden of _The Hollies_!
+
+Grant ate his breakfast in wrath. In wrath, too, he glanced through the
+morning newspapers, and saw his own name figuring large in the “story”
+of the “alleged” murder. The reporters had missed nothing. They had
+even got hold of the “peculiar coincidence” of his (Grant’s) glimpse of
+a face at the window. His play was recalled, and Adelaide Melhuish’s
+success in the title-rôle. Then Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman was introduced.
+He was described as “a man fairly well known in the City.” That was
+all. The press could say nothing as yet of marital disagreements, nor
+was any hint concerning Doris Martin allowed to appear. But these
+journalistic fire-works were only held in reserve. “Dramatic and
+sensational developments” were promised, and police activity in “an
+unexpected direction” fore-shadowed.
+
+All of which, of course, was mere journalistic paraphrasing of
+circumstances already known to the writers, and none the less galling
+to Grant on that account.
+
+And there was no answer from the Commissioner of Police at Scotland
+Yard. True, the overnight telegram might have reached the Department
+after office hours. Grant, like most members of the general public,
+held the vague belief that Government officials do very little work.
+Still, one might reasonably expect better things from the institution
+which was supposed to safeguard law-abiding citizens.
+
+Calm analysis of Ingerman’s nebulous threats had revealed a hostile
+force not to be despised. Possibly, the man was already in league with
+that narrow-minded village constable, so every passing hour made more
+urgent the need of a trained intelligence being brought to bear on the
+mystery of Adelaide Melhuish’s killing. Grant racked his brains to
+discover who could possibly have a motive for committing the crime.
+Naturally, his thoughts flew to Ingerman. Surely that sinister-looking
+person should be forced to give an account of himself instead of, as
+was probable, being allowed to instill further nonsense into the
+suspicious mind of P. C.  Robinson.
+
+There were two morning deliveries of London letters in Steynholme, one
+at eight and another at half past ten. Grant waited until the postman
+had left a publisher’s circular (the only letter for _The Hollies_ by
+the second mail). Then, in a fever of impatience, he jammed on a hat
+and went out. He would wait no longer. He would telegraph Scotland Yard
+again, and, incidentally, demand an audience at the post office.
+
+No sooner had he entered the highroad than he saw P. C.  Robinson on
+guard. That important person was standing on the bridge, apparently
+taking the air. He was nibbling the chin-strap of his helmet; both
+thumbs were locked in his belt. From that strategic position three
+roads came under observation.
+
+It was a fine morning, and Grant’s sense of humor was not proof against
+this open espionage. He smiled, and determined to take a rise out of
+“Sherlock,” as Bates had christened the policeman.
+
+The bridge lay a hundred yards to the left. The road was straight until
+it curved around the house and its shrubberies, so the view was blocked
+on that side. Grant filled and lighted a pipe with a deliberateness
+meant to be provoking, glancing several times doubtfully at P. C. 
+Robinson, who, of course, was grandly unaware of his presence. Then he
+strolled off to the right, and, when hidden, took to his heels for a
+hundred yards sprint. Turning into a winding bridle-path tucked between
+hedges of thorn and hazels, he walked to a point where it crossed a
+patch of furze. At a little distance a hand-bridge spanned the river,
+and gave access to the eastern end of the village by a steep climb of
+the wooded cliff. The path, in fact, was a short cut to that part of
+Steynholme.
+
+He sat on a hump of rock, and waited. It was a boyish trick, but very
+successful. Within three minutes, at the utmost, P. C.  Robinson
+hurried past, using a stalking, stealthy stride which was distinctly
+ludicrous.
+
+The eyes of the two men met, but Grant alone was prepared.
+
+“Hello, Robinson!” he cried cheerfully. “What’s the rush? Surely our
+rural peace has not been disturbed again?”
+
+Robinson knew he had been “sold,” but rose to the occasion.
+
+“Excuse me, Mr. Grant,” he puffed. “Can’t wait now. Have an
+appointment. I’ll see you later.”
+
+Honor demanded that he should not relax that swift pace. Unhappily, the
+path up the cliff was visible throughout from Grant’s rock, so, on
+reaching the summit, Robinson was a-boil in more ways than one.
+Moreover, peeping through the first screen of trees that offered, he
+had the mortification of seeing the man who had befooled him go back
+the way he came.
+
+Purple-faced with heat and anger, the policeman forgot his
+surroundings, and glowered at Grant with real fury. So he heard no one
+approaching along the main road until he was hailed a second time with,
+“Hello, Robinson!”
+
+He turned sharply. This was Mr. Elkin.
+
+“Good morning!” he said. “Have you seen the superintendent?”
+
+“What? Mr. Fowler? No. Is _he_ here so early?”
+
+“I must have missed him.”
+
+“Well, you’ll hardly find him on Bush Walk,” which was the name of the
+path.
+
+“You never can tell,” came the dark answer.
+
+At any rate, the policeman elected to abandon his self-imposed vigil,
+and the two walked together into the village.
+
+“My! You look as though you’d run a mile,” commented Elkin.
+
+“This murder has kept me busy,” growled the other, frankly mopping his
+forehead.
+
+“Ay, that’s so. And it isn’t done with yet, by a long way. Pity you
+weren’t in the Hare and Hounds last night. You’d have heard something.
+There’s a chap staying there, name of Ingerman—”
+
+“I’ve met him. The dead woman’s husband.”
+
+“Oh, perhaps you’ve got his yarn already?”
+
+“It all depends what he said to you.”
+
+“Well, he hinted things. Unless I’m greatly mistaken, you’ll soon be
+making an arrest.”
+
+“I believe I could put my hand on the murderer this very minute,” said
+Robinson vindictively.
+
+Elkin laughed, somewhat half-heartedly.
+
+“Lay you fifty to one against the time,” he said. “I’m the only one
+near enough for that limit, you know.”
+
+The policeman realized that he had allowed annoyance to shake his wits.
+He looked at Elkin rather sharply, and noticed that the horse-breeder
+seemed to be nervous and ill.
+
+“I didn’t quite mean that I could grab my man this minute,” he said,
+“but, if I can guess him, it amounts to nearly the same thing. What
+have you been doing to yourself, Mr. Elkin? You look peeky to-day.”
+
+“Too much whiskey and tobacco. I’ll call at Siddle’s for a
+‘pick-me-up.’ Am I wanted for the jury?”
+
+“Yes. I left a notice at your place last evening.”
+
+“I didn’t get it.”
+
+“Been away?”
+
+“No. Fact is, I went home late, and didn’t bother about letters this
+morning. What time is the inquest?”
+
+“Three o’clock, in the club-room of the Hare and Hounds.”
+
+“Will that fellow, Grant, be there?”
+
+“Rather. Dr. Foxton warned him yesterday.”
+
+“Good! What about Doris Martin? Will she be a witness?”
+
+“Not to-day.”
+
+They were entering the village, and could see down the long, wide slope
+of the hill. Grant had just come into sight at its foot.
+
+Both men scowled at the distant figure, but neither passed any comment.
+They parted, the policeman walking straight on, Elkin bearing to the
+left. The chemist’s shop stood exactly opposite the post office, so
+Elkin, arriving first, was aware of his unconscious rival’s
+destination.
+
+He had not answered Mr. Siddle’s greeting, but gazed moodily through a
+barricade of specifics piled in the window. Then he swore.
+
+“What’s wrong now?” inquired the chemist quietly.
+
+“That Grant. Got a nerve, hasn’t he?”
+
+“I can’t say, unless you explain.”
+
+“He’s just gone into the post office.”
+
+“Why shouldn’t he? He wants stamps, may be; plenty of ’em, I should
+imagine.”
+
+“Oh, you’re a fish, Siddle. You aren’t crazy about a girl, like I am.
+The sooner Grant’s in jail the better I’ll be pleased.”
+
+“If you take my advice, which you won’t, I know, you will not utter
+that sort of remark publicly.”
+
+“Can’t help it. Bet you a fiver I’m engaged to Doris Martin within a
+week.”
+
+Mr. Siddle took thought.
+
+“Why so quickly?” he asked, after a pause.
+
+“I’ll catch her on the hop, of course. If she’s engaged to me it’ll
+help her a lot when this case comes into court.”
+
+“I cannot believe that Doris would accept any man for such a reason.”
+
+“I’m not ‘any man.’ She knows I’m after her. Will you take my bet, even
+money?”
+
+“No. I don’t bet.”
+
+“Well, you needn’t put a damper on me. In fact, you can’t. Have you
+that last prescription of Dr. Foxton’s handy? My liver wants a tonic.”
+
+The chemist thumbed a dog-eared volume, read an entry carefully, and
+retired to a dispensing counter in the rear of the shop.
+
+“Shall I send it?” came his voice.
+
+“No. I’ll wait. Give me a dose now, if you don’t mind.”
+
+For some reason, Fred Elkin was not himself that day. He was moody, and
+fretful as a sick colt. But he had diagnosed his ailment and its cause
+accurately; a discreet doctor was probably aware of his failings, and
+had considered them in the “mixture.”
+
+The post office was not busy when Grant entered. A young man, a
+stranger, was seated at the telegraphist’s desk, tapping a new
+instrument. The G. P. O., forewarned, had lent an expert to deal with
+press messages.
+
+Mr. Martin, sorting some documents, came forward when he saw Grant. His
+kindly, somewhat pre-occupied face was long as a fiddle.
+
+“Good morning, Mr. Martin,” said Grant.
+
+“Good morning. What can I do for you?” was the stiff reply. Grant was
+in no mind to be rebuffed, however.
+
+“I must have a word with you in private,” he said.
+
+“I’m sorry—but my time is quite full.”
+
+“I’m sorry, too, but the matter is urgent.”
+
+The click of the sounder became less businesslike. There was an element
+in the tone of each voice that drew the London telegraphist’s
+attention. Martin, usually the mildest-mannered man in Sussex, was
+obviously ill at ease. But he simply could not hold out against Grant’s
+compelling gaze.
+
+“Come into the back room,” he said nervously. “Call me if I’m needed,”
+he added, nodding to his assistant.
+
+Grant did not hesitate an instant when the postmaster reached the “back
+parlor” through another door. The open window, draped in clematis, gave
+a delightful glimpse of _The Hollies_. A window-box of mignonette
+filled the air with its delicate perfume. Grant hoped that Doris would
+be there, but the only signs of her recent presence were a hat and an
+open book on the table.
+
+“Now, Mr. Martin,” he said gravely, “you and I should have a serious
+talk. It is idle to deny that gossip is spreading broadcast certain
+malicious and absurd rumors which closely concern Doris and myself. To
+me these things are of slight consequence. To a girl of your daughter’s
+age they are poisonous. If you, her father, know the whole truth, you
+can regulate your actions so as to defeat the scandalmongers. That is
+why I am here to-day. That is why I came here yesterday, but your
+attitude took me aback, and I was idiot enough to go without a word of
+explanation. I was too shaken then to see my clear course, and follow
+it regardless of personal feelings. This morning I am master of myself,
+and I insist that you listen now while I tell you exactly what occurred
+on Monday night.”
+
+“Surely—these matters—are—for the authorities,” stammered the older
+man.
+
+“What? Your daughter’s good name?”
+
+Mr. Martin reddened. His agitation was pitiful.
+
+“That is hardly in question, sir,” he said brokenly.
+
+“I am speaking of the tongue of slander. Heaven help and direct me! I
+would suffer death rather than see Doris subjected to the leers and
+innuendoes of every lout in the village.”
+
+Grant’s earnestness could hardly fail to impress his friend. But Martin
+had either made up his mind or been warned not to discuss the murder,
+and adhered loyally to that line of conduct. He retreated toward the
+door leading to the post office proper.
+
+“It is too late to interfere now,” he said.
+
+“What on earth do you mean?” demanded Grant, yielding to a gust of
+anger.
+
+“The whole—of the circumstances—are being inquired into by the police,”
+came the hesitating answer.
+
+“Has that prying scoundrel, Robinson, dared to cross-examine Doris?”
+
+“He came here, of course, but Scotland Yard has taken up the inquiry.”
+
+“A detective—here?”
+
+“Yes. He is with Doris in the garden at this moment.”
+
+Grant knew the topography of the house. Without asking permission, he
+tore through yet a third door leading to a kitchen and scullery, nearly
+upsetting a tiny maid who had her ear or eye to the key-hole, and raced
+into the garden in which the postmaster kept his bees.
+
+Doris, standing with her hands behind her back, was looking at The
+Hollies, and deep in conversation with an alert and natty little man
+who was evidently absorbed in what she was saying.
+
+Grant, in a whirl of fury, was only conscious that Doris’s companion
+was slight, almost diminutive, of frame, very erect, and dressed in a
+well-fitting blue serge suit, neat brown boots and straw hat, when the
+two heard his footsteps.
+
+Doris was flustered. Her Romney face held a look of scare.
+
+“Oh, here is Mr. Grant!” she said, striving vainly to speak with
+composure.
+
+The little man pierced Grant with an extraordinarily penetrating glance
+from very bright and deeply-recessed black eyes.
+
+“Ah, Mr. Grant, is it!” he chirped pleasantly. “Good morning! So
+_you’re_ the villain of the piece, are you?”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VI.
+Scotland Yard Takes a Hand
+
+
+It was a singular greeting, to say the least, and the person who
+uttered it was quite as remarkable as his queer method of expressing
+himself seemed to indicate.
+
+Grant, though in a fume of hot anger, had the good sense to choke back
+the first impetuous reprimand trembling on his lips. In fact, wrath
+quickly subsided into blank incredulity. He saw before him, not the
+conventional detective who might be described as a superior
+Robinson—not even the sinewy, sharp-eyed, and well-spoken type of man
+whom he had once heard giving evidence in a famous jewel-robbery
+case—but rather one whom he would have expected to meet in the bar of a
+certain well-known restaurant in Maiden Lane, a corner of old London
+where literally all the world’s a stage, and all the men and women
+merely players.
+
+During his theatrical experiences he had come across scores of such
+men, dapper little fellows, wizened of face yet curiously youthful in
+manner; but they, each and all, were labeled “low comedian.” Certainly,
+a rare intelligence gleamed from this man’s eyes, but that is an
+attribute not often lacking in humorists who command high salaries
+because of their facility in laughter-making. This man, too, had the
+wide, thin-lipped, mobile mouth of the actor. His ivory-white, wrinkled
+forehead and cheeks, the bluish tint on jaws and chin, his voice, his
+perky air, the very tilt of his straw hat, were eloquent of the
+footlights. Even his opening words, bizarre and cheerfully impertinent,
+smacked of “comic relief.”
+
+“I figure prominently in this particular ‘piece,’” snapped Grant. “May
+I ask your name, sir?”
+
+“A wise precaution with suspicious characters,” rejoined the other,
+smiling. Grant was suddenly reminded of a Japanese grinning at a joke,
+but he bent over a card which the stranger had whisked out of a
+waistcoat pocket. He read:
+
+Mr. Charles F. Furneaux,
+
+_Criminal Investigation Department_,
+
+New Scotland Yard, S.W.
+
+He could not control himself. He gazed at Mr. Charles F. Furneaux with
+a surprise that was not altogether flattering.
+
+“Did the Commissioner of Police send _you_ in response to my telegram?”
+he said.
+
+“That is what lawyers call a leading question,” came the prompt retort.
+“And I hate lawyers. They darken understanding, and set honest men at
+loggerheads.”
+
+“But it happens to be very much to the point at this moment.”
+
+“Well, Mr. Grant, if you really press for an answer, it is ‘Yes’ and
+‘No.’ The Commissioner received a certain telegram, but he may have
+acted on other grounds. Even Commissioners can be creatures of impulse,
+or expediency, just as the situation demands.
+
+“You are here, at any rate.”
+
+“That is what legal jargon terms an admitted fact.”
+
+“Then you had better begin by assuming that I am no villain.”
+
+“It is assumed. It couldn’t well be otherwise after the excellent
+character you have been given by this young lady.”
+
+“She, at least, will speak well of me, I do believe,” said Grant, with
+a strange bitterness, for his heart was sore because of the seeming
+defection of his friend, the postmaster. “What I actually had in mind
+was the stupidity of the local policeman, who is convinced that I am
+both a criminal and a fool.”
+
+“The two are often synonymous,” said Furneaux dryly. “But I acquitted
+you on both counts, Mr. Grant, on hearing, and even seeing, how you
+spent Monday evening.”
+
+Grant, who had cooled down considerably, found a hint of badinage in
+this comment.
+
+“You have evidently been told that Miss Martin and I were star-gazing
+in the garden of my house,” he said. “It happens to be true.”
+
+“Oh, yes. There was a very fine cluster of small stars in Canis Major,
+south of Sirius, that night.”
+
+“You know something about the constellations, then?” was the astonished
+query.
+
+“Enough for the purposes of Scotland Yard,” smirked Furneaux, who had
+checked P. C.  Robinson’s one-sided story by referring to Whitaker’s
+Almanack. “It may relieve your mind if I tell you that I have never
+seen a real live astronomer in the dock. Venus and Mars are often in
+trouble, but their devoted observers seldom, if ever.”
+
+Grant warmed to this strange species of detective, though, if pressed
+for an instant decision, he would vastly have preferred that one of
+more orthodox style had been intrusted with an inquiry so vital to his
+own happiness and good repute. Eager, however, to pour forth his
+worries into any official ear, he brought back the talk to a definite
+channel.
+
+“Will you come to my place?” he asked. “I have much to say. Let me
+assure you now, in Miss Martin’s presence, that she is no more
+concerned in this ghastly business than any other young lady in the
+village.”
+
+“But she is interested. And _you_ are. And I am. Why not discuss
+matters here, for the present, I mean? We have a glorious view of your
+house and grounds. We can see without being seen. None can overhear. I
+advise both of you to go thoroughly into this matter here and now.”
+
+Furneaux spoke emphatically. Even Doris put in a timid plea.
+
+“Perhaps that would be the best thing to do,” she said. “Mr. Furneaux
+has been most sympathetic. I am sure he understands things already in a
+way that is quite wonderful to me.”
+
+The very sound of her voice was comforting. Grant might have argued
+with the detective, but could not resist Doris. Without further demur
+he went through the whole story, giving precise details of events on
+the Monday night. Then the recital widened out into a history of his
+relations with Adelaide Melhuish. He omitted nothing. Doris gasped when
+she heard Superintendent Fowler’s version of the view a coroner’s jury
+might take of her presence in the garden of _The Hollies_ at a late
+hour. But Grant did not spare her. He reasoned that she ought to be
+prepared for an ordeal which could not be avoided. He was governed by
+the astute belief that his very outspokenness in this respect would
+weaken the inferences which the police might otherwise draw from it.
+
+Furneaux uttered never a word. He was a first-rate listener, though his
+behavior was most undetective-like, since he hardly looked at Grant or
+the girl, but seemed to devote his attention almost exclusively to the
+scenic panorama in front.
+
+However, when Grant came to the somewhat strenuous passage-at-arms of
+the previous night between Ingerman and himself, the little man broke
+in at once.
+
+“Isidor G. Ingerman?” he cried. “Is he a tall, lanky, cadaverous,
+rather crooked person, with black hair turning gray, and an absurdly
+melodious voice?”
+
+“You have described him without an unnecessary word,” said Grant.
+
+Furneaux clicked his tongue in a peculiar fashion.
+
+“Go on!” he said. “It’s a regular romance—quite in your line, Mr.
+Grant, of course, but none the less enthralling because, as you so
+happily phrased Miss Martin’s lesson in astronomy, it happens to be
+true.”
+
+Grant was scrupulously fair to Ingerman. He admitted the “financier’s”
+adroitness of speech, and made clear the fact that if the visit had the
+levying of blackmail for its object such a possible outcome was only
+hinted at vaguely. Being a novelist, one whose temperament sought for
+sunshine rather than gloom in life, he wound up in lighter vein. The
+ruse which tricked P. C.  Robinson into a breathless scamper of nearly
+a mile on a hot day in June was described with gusto. Doris, who knew
+the village constable well, laughed outright, while Furneaux cackled
+shrilly. None who might be watching the little group in that delightful
+garden, with its scent of old-world flowers and drone of bees, could
+have guessed that a grewsome tragedy formed their major theme.
+
+The girl was the first to realize that even harmless merriment was in
+ill accord with the presence of death, for the body of Adelaide
+Melhuish lay within forty yards of the place where they stood.
+
+“May I leave you now?” she inquired. “Father may be wanting help in the
+office.”
+
+“I shan’t detain you more than a few seconds,” said Furneaux briskly.
+“On Monday evening you two young people parted at half past ten. How do
+you fix the time?”
+
+Doris answered without hesitation:
+
+“The large window of Mr. Grant’s study was open, and we both heard a
+clock in the hall chime the half-hour. I said, ‘Goodness me, is that
+half past ten?’ and started for home at once. Mr. Grant came with me as
+far as the bridge. When I reached my room, in exactly five minutes
+after leaving _The Hollies_, I stood at the open window—that
+window”—and she pointed to a dormer casement above the
+sitting-room—“and looked out. It was a particularly fine night, mild,
+but not very clear, as a slight mist often rises from the river after a
+hot day in summer. I may have been there about ten minutes, no longer,
+when I saw the study window of _The Hollies_ thrown open, and Mr.
+Grant’s figure was silhouetted by the lamp behind him. He seemed to be
+listening for something, so I, who must have heard any unusual sound,
+listened too. There was nothing. I could hear the ripple of the river
+beneath the bridge, so everything was very still. After a minute, or
+two, perhaps—no longer—Mr. Grant went in, and closed the window. Then I
+went to bed.”
+
+“Did Mr. Grant draw any blind or curtains?”
+
+“There are muslin curtains attached to each side of the window. One
+cannot see into the room from a distance.”
+
+Furneaux measured an imaginary line drawn from Doris’s bedroom to the
+edge of the cliff, and prolonged it.
+
+“Nor can you see the river or foot of the lawn from your room,” he
+commented.
+
+“No. In winter I can just make out the edge of the lawn. When the trees
+are in leaf, all the lower part is hidden.”
+
+“You had actually retired to rest about eleven, I suppose?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“So if Mr. Grant came out again you would not know?” Doris blushed
+furiously, but her reply was unfaltering.
+
+“I would have known during the next half-hour, at least,” she said. “An
+inclined mirror hangs in my room. I use it sometimes for adjusting a
+hat. The square of light from Mr. Grant’s room is reflected in it, and
+any sudden increase in the illumination caused by opening the window or
+pulling the curtains aside would certainly have caught my eye.”
+
+“You have an unshakable witness in Miss Martin,” said Furneaux,
+stabbing a finger at Grant. “Now, I’ll hurry off. You and I, Mr. Grant,
+meet at Philippi, otherwise known as the crowner’s quest.”
+
+Any benevolent intent he may have had in leaving these young people
+together was, however, frustrated by Doris, whose composure seemed to
+have fled since her statement about the mirror. She resolutely
+accompanied the detective, and Grant had to follow. All three passed
+into the post office, Doris using the private door. Mr. Martin looked
+up from his desk when they appeared, and requested his daughter to
+check a bundle of postal orders. The pretext was painfully obvious, but
+Grant was not so wishful now to clear up matters with Doris’s father,
+as the girl herself might be trusted to pass on an accurate account of
+the affair from beginning to end.
+
+He was about to reach the street quick on Furneaux’s heels when the
+little man turned suddenly.
+
+“By the way, don’t you want a shilling’s worth of stamps?” he said.
+
+Grant smiled comprehension, and went back to the counter, where Doris
+herself served him. She did not try to avoid his glance, but rather met
+it with a baffling serenity oddly at variance with her momentary loss
+of self-possession in the garden.
+
+When he entered the street the detective had vanished.
+
+He walked down the hill at a rapid pace, disregarding the eyes peeping
+at him through open doorways, over narrow window-curtains, and covertly
+staring when people passed in the roadway. The sensitive side of his
+temperament shrank from this thinly-veiled hostility. He was by way of
+being popular in Steynholme, yet not a soul spoke to him. Before he
+reached the bridge, the other side of him, the man of action, of cool
+resource in an emergency, rose in rebellion against the league of silly
+clodhoppers. Back he strode to the post office and dashed off a
+telegram. It ran:
+
+“Walter Hart, Savage Club, Adelphi, London. Come here and help to lay a
+ghost.”
+
+He signed it in full, name and address. Doris was gone, but her father
+received it, and read the text in a bewildered way.
+
+“I find myself deserted by my Steynholme friends so I am trying to
+import one stanch one,” said Grant, almost vindictively.
+
+Martin murmured the cost, and Grant stormed out again. This time,
+passing the Hare and Hounds, he looked at door and windows. He caught a
+face scowling at him over a brown wire blind bearing the words “Wines
+and Spirits” on it in letters of dull gold. It was a commonplace type
+of face, small-featured, ginger-moustached, and crowned by a billy-cock
+hat set at a rakish angle. Its most marked characteristic was the
+positive hatred which glowed in the sharp, pale-blue eyes. Grant
+wondered who this highly censorious young man might be. At any rate, he
+meant to ascertain whether or not the critic was susceptible of satire
+at his own expense. He walked up to the window, elevated his eyebrows
+at the frowning person within, pretended to read the words on the
+screen, looked again at the man inside, and shook his head gravely in
+the manner of one who has accurately determined cause and effect.
+
+Fred Elkin was quick-witted enough to appreciate Grant’s unspoken
+comment. He was also unmannerly enough to put out his tongue. Then
+Grant laughed, and turned on his heel.
+
+Mr. Siddle, quietly observant of recent comings and goings, was
+standing at the door of the shop, and missed no item of this dumb show.
+He raised both hands in silent condemnation of Elkin’s childishness,
+whereupon the horse-dealer jerked a thumb toward Grant’s retreating
+figure, and went through a rapid pantomime of the hanging process. His
+crony disapproved again, and went in. Now, both those men were on the
+jury panel, so, to all appearance, Grant would be judged by at least
+one deadly enemy, whose animosity might or might not be fairly balanced
+by the chemist’s impartial mind.
+
+The tenant of _The Hollies_ actually dreaded the loneliness of his
+dwelling now, though it was that very quality which had drawn him to
+Steynholme a year earlier. Work or reading was equally out of the
+question that day. He sought the industrious Bates, who was trenching
+celery in the kitchen garden.
+
+“Have ’ee made out owt about un, sir?” inquired that hardy individual,
+pausing to spit on the handle of his spade.
+
+“No,” said Grant. “The thing is a greater mystery than ever.”
+
+“I’m thinkin’ her mun ha’ bin killed by a loony,” announced Bates.
+
+“Something of the kind, no doubt. But why are the little less dangerous
+loonies of Steynholme united in the belief that I am the guilty one?”
+
+“Ax me another,” growled Bates.
+
+“Who is spreading this rumor? Robinson?”
+
+“’E dussen’t, sir. ’E looks fierce, but ’e’ll ’old ’is tongue. T’super
+will see to that.”
+
+“Someone is talking. That is quite certain.”
+
+“There’s a chap in the ’Are an’ ’Ounds—kem ’ere last night.”
+
+“Ingerman?”
+
+“Ay, sir, that’s the name. ’E’s makin’ a song of it, I hear.”
+
+“Anybody else?”
+
+“Fred Elkin is gassin’ about. Do ’ee know un? Breeds ’osses at Mount
+Farm, a mile that-a-way,” and Bates pointed to the west.
+
+Grant hazarded a guess, and described the face of condemnation seen at
+the inn. Bates nodded.
+
+“That’s un,” he said. Then he drove the spade into the rich loam. “They
+do say,” he added, apparently as an after-thought, “as Fred Elkin is
+mighty sweet on Doris, but her’ll ’ave nowt to do wi’ un.”
+
+Grant whistled softly. This explanation threw light on a dark place.
+
+“The plot thickens,” he said. “Mr. Elkin becomes more interesting than
+he looks. Are there other disappointed swains in the offing?”
+
+“What’s that, sir?”
+
+“Has Miss Martin any other suitors?”
+
+“Lots of ’em ’ud be after her like wasps round a plum-tree if she’d
+give ’em ’alf a chance. But _you_ put a stopper on ’em.”
+
+Bates was blunt of speech, though a philosopher withal.
+
+“Elkin is my only serious rival, then?” laughed Grant, passing off as a
+joke a thrust which was shrewder than the gardener knew.
+
+“’E ’as plenty of brass, but I reckon nowt on ’im,” was the
+contemptuous answer.
+
+“Well, he is not a likely person to kill a woman he had never before
+seen. Miss Martin will marry whom she chooses, no doubt. The present
+problem is to find out who murdered Miss Melhuish. Now, had _I_ been
+the victim you would be thinking hard, Bates.”
+
+“I tell ’ee, sir, it wur a loony.”
+
+Nor was Bates to be moved from that opinion. He held to it, through
+thick and thin, for many days.
+
+Grant wandered into the front garden. His eyes rose involuntarily to
+the distant post office, and he noticed at once that the dormer window
+was closed. Yet Doris shared his own love of fresh air, and that window
+had always been open till that very hour. Somehow, this simple thing
+seemed to shut him out of her life. He walked to the river, and gazed
+at the spot where the body was drawn ashore. In the absence of rain the
+water ran clear as gin, and the marks made by the feet of Adelaide
+Melhuish’s murderer were still perceptible. If only those misshapen
+blotches could reveal their secret! If only some Heaven-sent ray of
+intuition would enable him to put the police on the track of the
+criminal! Theoretically, a novelist and essayist should be a first-rate
+detective, yet, brought face to face with an actual felony, here was
+one who perforce remained blind and dumb.
+
+Yet he was not blameworthy for failing to solve a mystery which was
+rapidly establishing a record for bewildering elements. Wherein he did
+err most lamentably was in his reading of a woman’s heart.
+
+No answering telegram came from his friend in London. The day wore
+slowly till it was time to attend the inquest. He found a crowd
+gathered in front of the Hare and Hounds. Superintendent Fowler was
+there, and quite a number of policemen, whose presence was explained
+when a buzz of excitement heralded Grant’s arrival. He decided not to
+stand this sort of persecution a moment longer.
+
+Before the superintendent could interfere, he leaped on to a set of
+stone mounting-steps which stood opposite the door. Instantly, seeing
+that he was about to speak, the angry murmuring of the mob was hushed.
+He looked into a hundred stolid faces, and stretched out his right
+hand.
+
+“I cannot help feeling,” he said, in slow, incisive accents which
+carried far, “that a set of peculiar circumstances has led you
+Steynholme folk to suspect me of being responsible, in some way, for
+the death of the lady whose body was found in the river near my house.
+Now, I want to tell you that I am not only an innocent but a
+much-maligned man. The law of the land will establish both facts in due
+season. But I want to warn some of you, too, I shall not trouble to
+issue writs for libel. If any blackguard among you dares to insult me
+openly, I shall smash his face.”
+
+He knew when to stop. Superintendent Fowler’s nudge was not called for,
+as the orator simply met the scrutiny of all those eyes without another
+word.
+
+Curiously enough, the sense of justice is inherent in every haphazard
+gathering of the public. Grant’s soldierly bearing, his calm defiance
+of hostile opinion, the outspoken threat which he so plainly meant, won
+instant favor. Someone shouted, “Hear, hear!” and the crowd applauded.
+From that moment he had little to complain of in the attitude of the
+community as a whole. There were subtle and dangerous enemies to be
+fought and conquered, but Steynholme looked on, keen to learn of any
+new sensation, of course, but placidly content that the final verdict
+should be left in the hands of the authorities.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VII.
+“Alarums and Excursions”
+
+
+The inquest was surprisingly tame after the stirring events which had
+led up to it. Indeed, save for two incidents, the proceedings were
+almost dull.
+
+The coroner, a Knoleworth solicitor named Belcher, prided himself on
+conducting this _cause célèbre_ with as little ostentation as he would
+have displayed over an ordinary inquiry. Messrs. Siddle, Elkin, Tomlin
+and Hobbs, with eight other local tradesmen and farmers, formed the
+jurors, and the chemist was promptly elected foreman; no witnesses were
+ordered out of court; the formalities of “swearing in” the jury and
+“viewing” the body were carried through rapidly. Almost before Grant
+had time to assimilate these details Superintendent Fowler, who
+marshalled the evidence, called his name. The coroner’s officer
+tendered him a well-thumbed Bible, while the coroner himself
+administered the oath.
+
+Grant eyed the somewhat soiled volume, and opened it before putting it
+to his lips. The action probably did not please the jury. Elkin nudged
+Tomlin, and sniggered at the rest of his colleagues, as much as to say:
+“What did I tell you? The cheek of him!”
+
+Elkin, by the way, looked ill. When his interest flagged for an instant
+his haggard aspect became more noticeable.
+
+Ingerman was there, of course. Furneaux sat beside Mr. Fowler. A
+stranger, whom Grant did not recognize, proved to be the County Chief
+Constable. There was a strong muster of police, and the representatives
+of the press completely monopolized the scanty accommodation for the
+public. To Grant’s relief, Doris Martin was not in attendance.
+
+He told the simple facts of the finding of Adelaide Melhuish’s corpse.
+A harmless question by the coroner evoked the first “scene” which set
+the reporters’ pencils busy.
+
+“Did you recognize the body!” inquired Mr. Belcher.
+
+“I did.”
+
+“Then you can give the jury her name?”
+
+Before Grant could answer, Ingerman sprang up, his sallow face livid
+with passion.
+
+“I protest, sir, against this man being permitted to identify my wife,”
+he said.
+
+He was either deeply moved, or proved himself an excellent actor. His
+flute-like voice vibrated with an intense emotion. Thus might Mark
+Antony have spoken when vowing that Brutus was an honorable man.
+
+“Who are you?” demanded the coroner sharply.
+
+“Isidor George Ingerman, husband of the deceased lady,” came the
+clear-toned reply.
+
+“Well, sit down, sir, and do not interrupt the court again,” said the
+coroner.
+
+“I demand, sir, that you note my protest.”
+
+“Sit down! Were you any other person I would have you removed. As it
+is, I am prepared to regard your feelings to the extent of explaining
+that the witness is not identifying the body but relating a fact within
+his own knowledge.”
+
+Ingerman bowed, and resumed his seat.
+
+For some reason, Grant stared blankly at Furneaux. The latter did not
+meet his glance, but put a finger on those thin lips. It might, or
+might not, be a warning to repress any retort he had in mind. At any
+rate, obeying a nod from the coroner, he merely said:
+
+“She was a well-known actress, Miss Adelaide Melhuish.”
+
+Mr. Belcher’s pen hesitated a little. Then it scratched on.
+Undoubtedly, he was himself exercising the restraint he meant to impose
+on others.
+
+“You are quite sure?” he said, after a pause.
+
+“Quite.”
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Grant. Wait here until you sign your deposition. Of
+course, you are aware that this inquiry will stand adjourned, and the
+whole matter will be gone into fully at a later date.”
+
+“So I have been informed, sir.”
+
+Ingerman was the next witness. _He_, like a good democrat, kissed the
+cover of the Bible. The coroner began by giving him some advice.
+
+“This is a purely formal inquiry, to permit of a death certificate
+being issued. You will oblige me, therefore, by answering my questions
+without introducing any extraneous subject.”
+
+Ingerman adhered to these instructions. Having already shot a
+carefully-prepared bolt, he meant avoiding any further conflict with
+the authorities. His evidence was brief and to the point. The deceased
+was his wife. They were married at a London registrar’s office on a
+given date, six years ago. His wife acted under her maiden name. There
+was no family.
+
+The court was well lighted by four long windows in the eastern wall,
+which each witness faced, so Grant was free to study his avowed enemy
+at leisure. He thought he made out a crafty underlook in Ingerman which
+he had failed to detect the previous night. That slow, smooth voice
+seemed to weigh each syllable. Such a man would never blurt out an
+unconsidered admission. He was a foe to be reckoned with. The subtle
+malignancy of that well-timed outburst was proof positive in that
+respect.
+
+The jury, apparently, attached much weight to his words. On some faces
+there was an expectancy which merged into marked disappointment when
+his evidence came to an end. The foreman alone displayed the judicial
+attitude warranted by the oath he had taken. Somehow, Grant had faith
+in Mr. Siddle. The man looked intellectual. When spoken to in his shop
+his manner was invariably reserved. But that was his general repute in
+Steynholme—a quiet, uninterfering person, who had come to the village a
+young man, yet had never really entered into its life. For instance, he
+neither held nor would accept any public office. At first, people
+wondered how he contrived to eke out a living, but this puzzle was
+solved by his admitted possession of a small annuity.
+
+Dr. Foxton, general practitioner, who held undisputed sway in the
+district, told how he had conducted an autopsy on the body of the
+deceased. He found a deep, incised wound on the back of the skull, a
+wound which would have caused death in any event. The instrument used
+must have been a heavy and blunt one. Miss Melhuish was dead or dying
+when thrown into the river. The body was well nourished, and the vital
+organs sound. Undoubtedly she had been murdered.
+
+Bates followed, and evoked a snigger by the outspokenness of blunt
+Sussex.
+
+“I hauled ’um in,” he said, “an’ knew it wur a dead ’un by the feel of
+the rope.”
+
+The coroner was not curious. He merely wished to put on record the time
+and manner in which Mr. Grant summoned assistance.
+
+Then P. C. Robinson entered the box, and contrived to bring about the
+second “incident.”
+
+He told how, “from information received,” he went to _The Hollies_, and
+found Mr. Grant standing near the river with a dead body at his feet.
+
+“One side of Mr. Grant’s face was covered with blood,” he went on.
+
+If the policeman was minded to create a sensation, he certainly
+succeeded. A slight hum ran through the court, and then all present
+seemed to restrain their breathing lest a word of the evidence should
+be lost. The mention of “blood” in a murder case was a more adroit
+dodge than Robinson himself guessed, perhaps. Few of his hearers
+troubled to reflect that a smudge of fresh gore on Grant’s cheek could
+hardly have any bearing on the death of a woman whose body had
+admittedly lain all night in the river. It sufficed that Robinson had
+introduced a touch of the right color into the inquiry. Even the
+coroner was worried.
+
+“Well!” he said testily.
+
+“I took down his statement, sir,” said the witness, well knowing that
+he had wiped off Grant’s morning score in the matter of Bush Walk.
+
+“Never mind his statement. That must await the adjourned hearing. What
+did you do with the body?”
+
+“Took it to the stable of the Hare and Hounds, sir.”
+
+“Where it was viewed recently by the jury?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“It is the body identified by Mr. Ingerman as that of his wife?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“That will do.... Superintendent Fowler, will this day week at ten
+o’clock suit you?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said the superintendent.
+
+“Then the inquest stands adjourned until that day and hour. Gentlemen
+of the jury, you must be here punctually.”
+
+“Can’t we ask any questions?” cried Elkin, in an injured tone.
+
+“No. You cannot,” snapped the coroner emphatically.
+
+After a few formalities, which included the reading and signing of the
+depositions, the courthouse emptied. The whole thing was over in half
+an hour. Grant, determined to have a word with the representative of
+Scotland Yard, went openly to Furneaux, and asked him to come to The
+Hollies and join him in a cup of tea.
+
+“No,” was the curt answer. “I’m busy. I’ll see you later.”
+
+It was difficult to reconcile the detective’s present stand-off manner
+with his earlier camaradie, to say nothing of the seemingly friendly
+hint conveyed by the signal to pass no comment on Ingerman’s
+interruption.
+
+Rather sick at heart, Grant went out into the sunshine. He was
+snap-shotted a dozen times by press photographers. One man, backing
+impudently in front of him in order to secure a sharp focus, tripped
+over the raised edge of a cartway into a yard, and sat down violently.
+
+The onlookers laughed, but Grant helped the photographer to rise.
+
+“If you want a really good picture of the Steynholme murderer, come to
+my place, and I’ll give you one,” he said.
+
+The pressman was grateful, because Grant’s action had tended to
+mitigate his discomfiture.
+
+“No one but a fool thinks of you as a murderer, Mr. Grant,” he said.
+“What I really want is a portrait of ‘the celebrated’ author in whose
+grounds the body was found.”
+
+“Come along, then, and I’ll pose for you.”
+
+The photographer was surprised, but joyfully accepted the gifts the
+gods gave. He could not guess that his host was pining for human
+companionship. He could not fathom Grant’s disappointment, on reaching
+_The Hollies_, at finding no telegram from a trusted friend, Walter
+Hart. And he was equally unconscious of the immense service he rendered
+by compelling his host to talk and act naturally. He enlightened Grant,
+too, in the matter of inquests.
+
+“Next week there will be a gathering of lawyers,” he said. “The police
+will be represented, probably by the Treasury, if the case is thought
+sufficiently important. That chap, Ingerman, too, will employ a
+solicitor, I expect, judging from his attitude to-day. In fact, any one
+whose interests are affected ought to secure legal assistance. One
+never knows how these inquiries twist and turn.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Grant, smiling at the journalist’s tact. “I’ll order
+tea to be got ready while you’re taking your pictures. By the way, what
+sort of detective is Mr. Charles F. Furneaux?”
+
+“A pocket marvel,” was the enthusiastic answer. “Haven’t you heard of
+him before? Well, you wouldn’t, unless you followed famous cases
+professionally. He seldom appears in the courts—generally manages to
+wriggle out of giving direct evidence. But I’ve never known him to
+fail. He either hangs his man or drives him to suicide. If I committed
+a crime, and was told that Furneaux was after me, I’d own up and save
+trouble, because I wouldn’t have the ghost of a chance of winning
+clear.”
+
+“He strikes one as too flippant for a detective.”
+
+“Yes. Lots of people have thought that, and they’re either disappearing
+in quicklime beneath some corridor of a prison, or doing time at
+Portland. I wonder if Winter also is coming down on this job.”
+
+“Who is ‘Winter’?”
+
+“The Chief Inspector at the ‘Yard.’ A big, cheerful-looking fellow—from
+his appearance might be a gentleman-farmer and J. P., with a taste for
+horses and greyhounds. He and Furneaux are called the Big ’Un and the
+Little ’Un, and each is most unlike the average detective. But Heaven
+help any wrong-doer they set out to trail! They’ll get him, as sure as
+God made little apples.”
+
+“Then the sooner Mr. Winter visits Steynholme the better I shall be
+pleased. This tragedy is becoming a perfect nightmare. You heard that
+fat-headed policeman speak of my face being covered with blood. He did
+it purposely. I made a fool of him this morning, so he paid me out, the
+literal truth being that a branch of that Dorothy Perkins rose there
+caught my cheek as I entered this room on Tuesday morning—before I
+discovered the body—and broke the skin. I suppose the cut is visible
+still? I saw it to-day while shaving.”
+
+“Yes,” said the other, chortling over the “copy” his colleagues were
+missing. “The mark is there right enough. Queer how inanimate objects
+like a rose-tree can make mischief. I remember a case in which a
+chestnut in a man’s pocket sent him to penal servitude. There was
+absolutely no evidence against him, except a possible motive, until
+that chestnut was found and proved to be one of a particular species,
+grown only in a certain locality.”
+
+“How fortunate that the Dorothy Perkins is popular!” laughed Grant.
+“Will your paper publish photographs of the principals in this affair?”
+
+“I expect so. I’ve a fine collection—the jury, all in a row—and you,
+making that speech to the mob.”
+
+“Oh! Will that appear?”
+
+“By Jove, yes, sir. It was wired off before the inquest opened.”
+
+Grant reddened slightly. His own impetuous action had blurted out to
+the whole world that which Steynholme was only thinking. No wonder
+Furneaux had warned him to go slow. Perhaps the little man was annoyed
+because of his challenge to the village crowd? Well, be it so. He
+meant, and would live up to, every word of it!
+
+The afternoon dragged after the pressman’s departure. What Grant really
+hungered for was a heart-to-heart talk between Doris Martin and
+himself. But, short of a foolish attempt to carry the post office by
+storm, he saw no means of realizing his desire. He must, perforce,
+await the less troubled hours of the morrow or next day. Doris would
+surely give her father an exact account of the conversation between
+Grant, Furneaux, and herself that morning, and that greatly perplexed
+man could hardly fail to see how unjust was the tittle-tattle of the
+village.
+
+So, avoiding Mrs. Bates, whose fell intent it was to ask him what he
+wanted for dinner, he struck off along the road to Knoleworth, walked
+eight miles in two hours, and reached _The Hollies_ about seven
+o’clock, rather inclined for a meal and much more contented with life.
+
+Minnie announced that a gentleman “who brought a bag” had been awaiting
+him since half-past five, and was now asleep on the lawn! A glance at
+the aforesaid bag, still reposing in the entrance hall, sent Grant
+quickly into the garden. A long, broad-shouldered person was stretched
+on a wicker chair, and evidently enjoying a nap. A huge meerschaum pipe
+and tobacco pouch lay on the grass. The newcomer’s face was covered by
+a broad-brimmed, decidedly weather-beaten slouch hat, which, legend had
+it, was purchased originally in South America in the early nineties,
+and had won fame as the only one of its kind ever worn in the Strand.
+
+“Hullo! Wally! Glad to see you!” shouted Grant joyously.
+
+The sleeper stirred.
+
+“No, not another drop!” he muttered. “You fellows must have heads of
+triple brass and stomachs of leather!”
+
+“Get up, you rascal, or I’ll spill you out of the chair!” said Grant.
+
+A lazy hand removed the hat, and a pair of peculiarly big and bright
+eyes gazed up into his.
+
+“Oh, it’s you, is it?” drawled a quiet voice. “Why the blazes did you
+send for me? And, having sent, why wake me out of the best sleep I’ve
+had for a week?”
+
+“But why didn’t you let me know you were coming? I would have met the
+train.”
+
+“I did. Here’s the telegram. That pink-cheeked maid of yours nearly had
+a fit when I opened it to show her that I was expected.”
+
+“You wired from Victoria, I suppose?”
+
+“Would you have preferred Charing Cross, or the Temple? Isn’t Victoria
+respectable?”
+
+Grant laughed as they shook hands. Hart was the most casual adventurer
+in existence. His specialty was revolutions. Wherever the flag of
+rebellion was raised against a government, thither went Walter Hart
+post-haste by train, steamer, or on horseback. He had been sentenced to
+death five times, and decorated by successful Jack Cades twice as
+often.
+
+“I’m a sort of outlaw. That’s why I sought your help,” explained Grant.
+
+“I know all about you, Jack,” said Hart slowly, picking up the pipe and
+filling it from the pouch. The meerschaum was carved to represent the
+head of a grinning negro, and was now ebon black from use.
+
+“I felt like a pint of Sussex ale after a hot journey in the train, so
+hied me to the village inn, where several obliging gentlemen told me
+your real name. Two of them, Ingerman and Elkin, apparently make a
+hobby of enlightening strangers as to your right place in society.”
+
+“I must interview Elkin.”
+
+“Not worth while, my boy. Ingerman is the crafty one. I thought I might
+be doing you more harm than good, or I would have given him a thick ear
+this afternoon ... Oh, by the way, what time is it?”
+
+“Seven o’clock.”
+
+“A little fellow named Furneaux is coming here to dinner at
+seven-thirty. Said he would drop in by the back door, and mutter ‘Hush!
+I’m Hawkshaw, the detective.’ He resembles a cock-sparrow, so I asked
+him why he didn’t fly in through an attic window. He took my point at
+once, and remarked that he wanted none of my lip, or he would ask me
+officially what became of Don Ramon de Santander’s big pink pearl. It’s
+a queer yarn. There was a bust-up in Guatemala—”
+
+“Look here, Wally,” broke in Grant anxiously. “Are you serious? Did
+Furneaux really say he was coming here?”
+
+“He did, and more—he expressed a partiality for a chicken roasted on a
+spit. You have a spit in your kitchen, he says, and a pair of chickens
+in your larder.”
+
+“How did you contrive to meet him?”
+
+“You’re a poor guesser, Jack. _He_ met _me_. ‘That you, Mr. Hart?’ he
+said. ‘Mr. Grant’s house is the first on the right across the bridge.
+Tell him’—and the rest of it.”
+
+“Have you warned Mrs. Bates?”
+
+“Mrs. Bates being?”
+
+“My housekeeper.”
+
+“No, sir. If she’s anything like your housemaid, I’m glad I didn’t, or
+I should have been chucked into the road. I had the deuce of a job to
+reach the lawn. Had I ordered dinner I might now have been in the
+village lockup.”
+
+Grant hurried away, and placated Mrs. Bates after a stormy interlude.
+Precisely at 7.30 p. m. Minnie came and said that “Mr. Hawkshaw” had
+arrived.
+
+“Bring him out here,” said Grant. “Fetch some sherry and glasses, and
+give us five minutes’ notice before dinner is served.”
+
+“Please, sir,” tittered Minnie, “the gentleman prefers to stay indoors.
+He said his complexion won’t stand the glare.”
+
+“Very well,” smiled Grant, rising. “Put the sherry and bitters on the
+sideboard.”
+
+“Say,” murmured Hart, “is this chap really a detective?”
+
+“Yes. He stands high at Scotland Yard.”
+
+“Never more than five feet four, I’ll swear. But I wouldn’t have missed
+this for a pension. I have a revolver in my hip pocket, of course. One
+would feel lonely without it, even in England. But I hope you can stage
+a few knives and daggers, and a red light. I can cut masks out of a
+strip of black velvet. That girl will have a piece stowed away
+somewhere.”
+
+The two entered the dining-room study, where the table was now laid for
+dinner. Furneaux was seated on the edge of a chair in the darkest
+corner. His eyes gleamed at them strangely.
+
+“Can you trust Bates?” he said to Grant.
+
+It was a wholly unexpected question, and Grant answered sharply:
+
+“Of course, I can.”
+
+“Tell him to make sure that no one trespasses on your lawn between now
+and ten o’clock. Close that window, draw the blind and curtains, and
+block that small window, the one through which you saw the ghost.”
+
+“Ye gods!” cackled Hart ecstatically.
+
+“Why all these precautions?” demanded Grant, rather amused now.
+
+“I’m supposed to be on the very verge of arresting you, and it would
+weaken the faith of my allies if I were seen drinking your wines and
+eating your chicken.”
+
+“By the way, how did you know I had chickens in store, and a spit on
+which to roast them?”
+
+“I looked you over at five-thirty this morning, having traveled from
+London by the mail train. I must lecture you on your inefficient
+window-catches, Mr. Grant. Several self-respecting burglars of my
+acquaintance would give your house the go-by as being too easy. And,
+one other matter. I suggest that any man who mentions the Steynholme
+murder again before the coffee arrives shall be fined a sovereign for
+each offense, such fine, or fines, to form a fund for the relief of his
+hearers. _Cré nom d’un pipe_! Three intelligent men can surely discuss
+more interesting topics while they eat!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VIII.
+An Interrupted Symposium
+
+
+“Have a cigarette,” said Grant to Furneaux, when the blinds were drawn,
+a lamp lighted, and the sherry dispensed.
+
+“Thank you.”
+
+The self-invited guest took one. He sniffed it, broke the paper
+wrapping, and crumbled some of the tobacco between finger and thumb.
+
+“Ah, those Greeks!” he said sadly. “They simply can’t go straight. This
+brand of Turk used to be made of a tobacco grown on a slope above
+Salonica. A strip of sun-baked soil built up a reputation which is now
+being bartered for filthy lucre by the use of Egyptian ‘fillings.’”
+
+“You’re a connoisseur, Mr. Hawknose—try these,” said Hart, proffering a
+case, from which the detective drew a cigarette, throwing the other one
+aside.
+
+“Why ‘Hawknose’?” he inquired.
+
+“A blend. First syllable of Hawkshaw and second of Furneaux—the latter
+Anglicized, of course.”
+
+“And vulgarized.”
+
+“You prefer Furshaw, perhaps?”
+
+“Either effort is feeble for a man who can write about South America,
+and be lucid. Do you smoke this stuff, may I ask?” While talking, he
+had smelt and destroyed the second cigarette.
+
+“If it’s a fair question, what the devil do _you_ smoke?” cried Hart.
+
+“Nothing. I’m a non-smoker. My profession demands a clear intellect,
+not a brain atrophied by nicotine.”
+
+“Piffle! Carlyle and Bismarck were smokers.”
+
+“Who reads Carlyle now-a-days? And what modern German pays heed to
+Bismarck’s dogmas? Look at that pipe of yours. It was once a pure ivory
+white. Now it is black—soiled by tobacco juice. Your lungs are slowly
+emulating it, and your wits will cloud in time. Read Tolstoi, Mr. Hart.
+He will teach you how nicotine deadens the conscience.”
+
+“At last I know why I smoke like a Thames tug,” laughed Hart, “but I’m
+blest if I can understand why _you_ make such a study of the vile
+weed.”
+
+“Most criminals are addicted to the habit. I classify them by their
+brand of tobacco. For instance, a clever forger would never descend to
+thick twist, while a swell mobsman would turn with horror from a
+woodbine.”
+
+Minnie entered, and nodded, whereupon Grant led the others upstairs to
+wash. From the bathroom he looked out over a darkening landscape.
+Doris’s dormer window was open. She was leaning on the sill, but he
+could not tell whether or not her eyes were turned his way. Her
+attitude was pensive, disconsolate, curiously forlorn for a girl
+normally high-spirited. He was on the point of signaling to her when he
+remembered Furneaux’s presence. There was something impish, almost
+diabolically clever, in that little man’s characteristics which induced
+wariness.
+
+The dinner was a marvel, considering the short notice given to the
+cook. Luckily, Mrs. Bates, a loyal soul, had resolved to tempt her
+employer’s appetite that evening. Village gossip had it that the police
+were about to arrest him, and she was determined he should enjoy at
+least one good meal before being haled to prison. Hence, the materials
+were present. The rest was a matter of quantities, and Sussex seldom
+stints itself in that respect.
+
+The chatter round the table was light and amusing. The three were well
+matched conversationally. Furneaux evidently held the opinion once
+expressed by a notable Walrus—that the time had come
+
+_To talk of many things:
+Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
+Of cabbages—and kings._
+
+
+He was in excellent form, and the others played up to him. Hart’s slow
+drawl was ever trenchant and witty, and Grant forgot his woes in
+congenial company. As for the mercurial detective himself, it might be
+said of him as of the school-master of Auburn:
+
+_And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,
+That one small head could carry all he knew._
+
+
+It was he who dropped them with a bounce from the realm of fancy to the
+unpleasing region of ugly fact. No sooner had Minnie cleared the table,
+and brought in the coffee, than he whisked around on Grant as though
+hitherto he had been only awaiting an opportunity of scarifying him.
+
+“Now,” he said, propping an elbow on the table, and supporting his chin
+on a clenched fist, “the embargo is off the Steynholme affair. _You_
+didn’t kill Adelaide Melhuish, Mr. Grant. Who did?”
+
+“I wish I could tell you,” was the emphatic answer.
+
+“Do you suspect anybody? You needn’t fear the libel law in confiding
+your secret thought to me, and I assume that Mr. Hart is
+trustworthy—where his friends are concerned?”
+
+“Why that unkind differentiating clause, my pocket Vidocq?” put in
+Hart.
+
+“Because two Kings and a baker’s dozen of Presidents have, at various
+times, sent most unflattering reports to this country about you.”
+
+“I must have annoyed ’em most damnably.”
+
+“You had. I congratulate you, but Heaven only knows where I may convoy
+you some day on an extradition warrant....Proceed, Mr. Grant.”
+
+“I assure you, on my honor, that the only reasonable suggestion I can
+make is that put forward by my gardener to-day,” said Grant. “He thinks
+that the murder must have been committed by a lunatic. I can offer no
+other hypothesis.”
+
+“Your gardener may be right. But what lunatic, barring yourself and the
+horse-coper, Elkin, is in love with Doris Martin?”
+
+Like Elkin the previous night, Grant struck the table till things
+rattled.
+
+“Keep her name out of it,” he cried fiercely. “You are a man of the
+world, not a suspicious idiot of the Robinson type. You heard to-day
+the full and true explanation of her presence here on Monday night. It
+was a sheer accident. Why harp on Doris Martin rather than any member
+of the Bates family?”
+
+“Who, may I ask, is Doris Martin?” put in Hart.
+
+“The Steynholme postmaster’s daughter,” said Furneaux. “A remarkably
+pretty and intelligent girl. If her father was a peer she would be the
+belle of a London season. As it is, her good looks seem to have put a
+maggot in more than one nut in this village.”
+
+Hart waved the negro’s head in the air.
+
+“The lunatic theory for mine,” he declared. “If one woman’s lovely face
+could bring a thousand ships to Ilion, why should not another’s drive
+men to madness in Steynholme?”
+
+“Well phrased, sir,” cackled Furneaux delightedly. “I’ll wangle that in
+on a respected colleague of mine, who is a whale at deducing a
+proposition from given premises, but cannot induce a general fact from
+particular instances to save his life ... Now, stifle your romantic
+frenzy, Mr. Grant, and listen to me. If you were minded to instruct me
+in the art of writing good English, I would sit at your feet an
+attentive disciple. When I, Furneaux, of the ‘Yard,’ lay down a first
+principle in the investigation of crime, I expect deference on your
+part. I tell you unhesitatingly that if Doris Martin didn’t exist,
+Adelaide Melhuish would be alive now. That, as a thesis, is nearly as
+certain a thing as that the sun will rise to-morrow. I go farther, and
+hazard the guess, not the fixed belief, though my guesses are usually
+borne out by events, that if Doris Martin had not been in this garden
+at half past ten on Monday night, Adelaide Melhuish would not have been
+killed some twenty minutes later. It is useless for you to fume and
+rage in vain effort to disprove either of these presumptive facts. You
+are simply beating the air. This mystery centers in and around the
+postmaster’s daughter. Come, now, you are a reasonable person. Admit
+the cold, hard truth, and then give play to your fancy.”
+
+“Sir,” said Hart, brandishing his pipe again, “I suggest that you and
+I, here and now, form a mutual admiration society.”
+
+“It is a cruel and bitter thing that an innocent girl should be dragged
+into association with a foul crime,” said Grant stubbornly. “I am not
+disputing the force of your acumen, Mr. Furneaux. My only desire is to
+shield the good name of a very charming young lady.”
+
+“What’s done can’t be undone,” countered the detective, well knowing
+that Grant confessed himself beaten.
+
+“But what is all the bother about? You heard from Miss Martin’s own
+lips absolutely the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Put her in
+the witness-box, and what more can she tell you?”
+
+“I am not worrying about her appearance in the witness-box,” said
+Furneaux dryly. “Long before that stage is reached I shall be hunting a
+star burglar, or, perhaps, looking into the Foreign Office _dossier_ of
+our worthy friend here, as to-day’s papers hint at trouble in
+Venezuela. No, sir. The county police will get all the credit. P. C. 
+Robinson will be swanking about then, telling the yokels what _he_ did.
+I, with Olympic nod, say, ‘There’s your man!’ and the handcuffs’
+brigade do the rest. So far as I can foresee, Miss Martin’s name may be
+spared any undue prominence in this inquiry. I go even farther, and
+promise that anything I can do in that way shall be done.”
+
+“That is very kind and considerate of you,” said Grant gratefully.
+
+“Don’t halloo till you’re out of the wood.” said Furneaux, sitting back
+suddenly and nursing his left knee with clasped hands. “I can’t control
+other people’s actions, you know. What I insist on to-night is that you
+shall envisage this affair in its proper light. We have a long way to
+travel before counsel rises with his smug ‘May it please you, me lud,
+and gentlemen of the jury.’ But, having persuaded you to agree that,
+willy nilly, Miss Doris is the hub of our little universe for the hour,
+I now swear you and this fire-eater in as assistants. There must be no
+more speeches, no punching of heads, very little love-making, and that
+by order—”
+
+“Has the postmaster’s daughter a delectable sister, O Liliputian cop?”
+demanded Hart.
+
+“No. Two of ’em would have caused a riot long since. Mr. Grant will do
+all, and more than all, necessary in that direction.”
+
+Grant leaned forward. He spoke very earnestly.
+
+“I want you to believe me when I tell you,” he said, “that I never gave
+serious thought to the notion of marrying Miss Martin until such a
+possibility was suggested last night by that swab, Ingerman.”
+
+“Ah, Ingerman! You kept a record of what he said, I gather?”
+
+“Yes, here it is.”
+
+Grant rose, and went to a writing-desk with nests of drawers which
+stood against the wall on the left of the door. He never used it for
+its primary purpose. When the table was laid for meals, Minnie or her
+mother had orders to remove all papers and books to the top of the
+desk. The house contained no other living-room of size. The hall was
+spacious; a smoking den next the dining-room had degenerated into a
+receptacle of guns, fishing-rods, golf-clubs, Alpenstocks, skis and
+other such sporting accessories. The remainder of the ground-floor
+accommodation was given up to the Bateses.
+
+Unlocking a drawer, Grant produced a notebook, which he handed to
+Furneaux. The detective laid it on the table. He was sitting with his
+back to the large window. Hart faced him. Grant’s chair was between the
+two.
+
+“By the way, as you’re on your feet, Mr. Grant,” said Furneaux, “you
+might just show me exactly where you were standing when you saw the
+face at the window.”
+
+“For the love of Mike, what’s this?” gurgled Hart. “‘The face at the
+window’; ‘the postmaster’s daughter.’ How many more catchy cross-heads
+will you bring into the story?”
+
+“Poor Adelaide Melhuish undoubtedly came here on Monday night and
+looked in at me while I was at work,” said Grant sadly. “You know the
+history of my calf love three years ago, Wally.”
+
+“Shall I ever forget it? You bored me stiff about it. Then, when the
+crash came, you walked me off my legs in the Upper Engadine. Ugh! That
+night on the Forno glacier. It gives me a chill to think of it now.
+Furneaux, pass the port. Your name is wrongly spelt. It should be
+_fourneau_, not Furneaux. A little oven. Hot stuff. Got me?”
+
+“My _dear_ Hart, you flatter me,” retorted the detective instantly.
+
+“How long am I to pose here?” snapped Grant.
+
+“Sorry,” said Furneaux. “These interruptions are banal. Is that where
+you were?”
+
+“Yes. I had my hand outstretched for a book. It’s dark in this corner.
+When I want to find a book I light a candle, which is always placed on
+the ledge of the window for the purpose. The blind was not drawn that
+night. It seldom is. I had the book in my hand, and had found the
+required passage when I chanced to look at the window and saw _her_
+face.”
+
+“Do you mind reconstructing the scene. This lamp was on the table, I
+suppose?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, pull up the blind, light your candle, and find the book. Act the
+whole incident, in fact.”
+
+Grant obeyed. He held the candlestick until he had picked out the
+particular volume; then he placed it in the recess of the window, and
+searched through the pages of the book.
+
+Furneaux bent forward so as to watch the rehearsal and catch the effect
+of the light externally. The hour was not so late as when Adelaide
+Melhuish, or her ghost, gazed in through one of those narrow panes, but
+the night was dark enough to lend the necessary _vraisemblance_. Hart,
+deeply interested, looked on with rapt, eager eyes. For a full minute
+the tableau remained thus. Then, with a rapidity born of many a close
+’scape in wild lands, Hart drew a revolver from a hip pocket, and fired
+at the window.
+
+He alone was in a position to see through all parts of it. Grant was
+still thumbing a small brown volume in the manner of one who knew that
+a certain passage would be found therein but was ignorant of its exact
+place in the text. Furneaux, intent on his every movement, had only a
+side-long view of the window, which, it will be remembered, formed a
+tiny rectangle in a thick wall.
+
+The revolver was a heavy-caliber weapon, and the explosion blew out the
+lamp. The flame of the candle flickered, owing either to the passage of
+the bullet or the disturbance of the air. But it burnt steadily again
+within the fifth part of a second, and they all saw a starred hole in
+the center pane of glass of the second tier from the bottom.
+
+“What fool’s game are you playing?” shrilled Furneaux, nevertheless
+active as a wildcat in his spring to the French window, there to snatch
+at the blind and turn the knob which controlled a lever bolt.
+
+“Laying another ghost—one with whiskers,” said Hart coolly. “I got him,
+too, I think.”
+
+“You must be mad, mad!” shrieked the detective, tearing open the
+window, and vanishing.
+
+“For Heaven’s sake, Wally, no more shooting!” cried Grant, running
+after Furneaux.
+
+Minnie and her mother appeared at the dining-room door. Finding the
+place in semi-obscurity, and reeking with gunpowder, they screamed
+loudly.
+
+“You Steynholme folk are all on the jump,” said Hart. “Cheer up, fair
+dames! Thunder relieves the atmosphere, you know, and one live
+cartridge is often more effective than an ocean of talk.”
+
+“Bub-bub-but who’s shot, sir?” gasped Minnie.
+
+“A ghost, a most scoundrelly apparition, with fearsome eyes, offensive
+whiskers, and a hat which is a base copy of mine.”
+
+“Owd Ben!” sighed Mrs. Bates, collapsing straightway in a faint.
+
+Luckily, Minnie caught her mother and broke her fall, because the
+housekeeper was large and solid, and might have been seriously injured
+otherwise. Hart was distressed by this development, but, being
+eminently a ready person in an emergency, he rose to the occasion by
+extracting the empty case from the revolver, and holding it to the poor
+woman’s nostrils, while supporting her with an arm and a knee.
+
+“This is far more effective than burnt brown paper, Minnie,” he said.
+“Now, don’t get excited, but mix some brandy and water, and we’ll have
+your mother telling us who Owd Ben is, or was, before Hawk-eye comes
+back to disturb us. Judging by the noises I hear, he’s busy outside.”
+
+“That’s father!” shrieked Minnie hysterically.
+
+“Good Lord! Has your father—”
+
+For an instant, Hart was nearly alarmed, but Grant’s voice came
+authoritatively:
+
+“It’s all right, Bates. Let go, I tell you!”
+
+“Phew!” said Hart. “I was on the point of confusing your respected dad
+with Owd Ben ... That’s it, ma! Sniff hard! As a cook you’re worth your
+weight in gold, which is some cook.”
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux, seeing that no dead body was stretched on the
+strip of grass beneath the window, dashed into the shrubbery to the
+right, and was clutched in a mighty embrace by an older but much more
+powerful man in Bates, who had hurried from the front of the house on
+hearing the pistol-shot. Most fortunately, the gardener, deeming his
+vigil a needless one, had not armed himself with a stick, or the
+consequences might have been grave. As it was, no one except Hart had
+been vouchsafed sight or sound of the latest specter, which, however,
+had left a very convincing souvenir of its visit in the shape of a soft
+felt hat with two bullet holes through the crown.
+
+Furneaux, quivering with silent wrath, soon abandoned the search when
+this _pièce de conviction_ was found at the root of the Dorothy Perkins
+rose-tree. Seeing the lamp relighted, he peremptorily bade Grant and
+Bates come in with him. He closed the window, adjusted the blind again,
+and poured generous measures of port wine into two glasses. Handing one
+to Bates, he took the other himself.
+
+“Friend,” he said, “some men have fame thrust upon them, but you have
+achieved it. To-night you pierced the heel of Achilles. Here’s to you!”
+
+“I dunno wot ’ee’s saying mister, but ‘good health’,” said Bates,
+swigging the wine with gusto.
+
+“Now, for your master’s sake, not a word to a soul about this hubbub.”
+
+“Right you are, sir! But that there pryin’ Robinson wur on t’ bridge
+five minutes since. And, by gum, here he is!”
+
+A determined knock and ring came at the front door. Minnie, helped by
+Hart, had just escorted Mrs. Bates to the kitchen.
+
+“Let _me_ go!” said Furneaux, darting out into the hall. He opened the
+door, and thrust his face into the police-constable’s, startling the
+latter considerably. Before Robinson could utter a syllable, the
+detective hissed a question.
+
+“Did anyone cross the bridge after that shot was fired?”
+
+“Nun—No, sir,” stuttered the other.
+
+“You saw no one running along the road?”
+
+“Saw nothing, sir.”
+
+“Very well. Glad to find you’re on the job. Don’t let on you met me
+here. Good-night!”
+
+Mighty is Scotland Yard with the provincial police. Robinson was back
+on his self-imposed beat before he well realized that he knew neither
+why nor by whom nor by what sort of weapon the commotion had been
+created. But he was quite sure the noise came from the garden front of
+Mr. Grant’s house.
+
+“That little hop-o’-me-thumb thinks he’s smart, dam smart,” he communed
+angrily, “but I’ve taken a line of me own, an’ I’ll stick to it, though
+the Yard sends down twenty men!”
+
+He heard footsteps coming down a paved footpath which ran like a white
+riband through the cobble-beaded width of the high-street, and withdrew
+swiftly to the shelter of a disused tannery adjoining the village end
+of the bridge. A cloaked female figure sped past. Though the night was
+rather dark for June, he had no difficulty in recognizing Doris
+Martin’s graceful movements. No other girl in Steynholme walked like
+her. She was slim enough to dispense with tight corsets, and tall
+enough to wear low-heeled shoes, nor did she need to pinch her toes in
+order to gain the semblance of small feet.
+
+After her went Robinson, keyed to exultation by this outcome of his
+watchfulness. She was going to _The Hollies_, of course. The road led
+to Knoleworth, and no young woman of her age in the village would dream
+of taking a lonely walk in the country at ten o’clock at night.
+
+For a man of his height and somewhat ponderous build, the policeman
+followed with real stealth. Thus, when she turned in at the gate, he
+was there by the time she had reached the front door. He heard her pull
+the bell. Curiously enough, to his thinking, Furneaux again appeared.
+
+“Is Mr. Grant at home?” he heard Doris say.
+
+“Yes. Will you come in?” replied the detective.
+
+“Is he—is all well here?”
+
+“Quite, I assure you. But _do_ come in. I’ll escort you home. I’m going
+to the inn in five minutes.”
+
+Doris, after hesitating a little, entered.
+
+Robinson crept on tiptoe over a stretch of gravel, and took to the
+shrubbery. It was high time, he thought, that the local constabulary
+learnt what was going on in that abode of mystery.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IX.
+How Whom the Cap Fits—
+
+
+Several minutes had elapsed between the two unexpected visits. During
+those minutes a somewhat acrimonious discussion broke out in the
+dining-room. Bates went to reassure his wife, and Hart sauntered back
+from the kitchen. He was received by Furneaux and Grant more in sorrow
+than in anger, a pose on their part which he blandly disregarded. He
+helped himself to the remains of the decanter of port.
+
+“The next point of vital interest in the narrative is to establish, by
+such evidence as is available, who Owd Ben is, or was,” he said. “I
+presume, since he had attained local celebrity as a ghost, he has
+passed over, as the spiritists say.”
+
+“Sit down!” cried Furneaux savagely.
+
+Hart sat down, and began filling that portentous pipe.
+
+“You fellows merely ran into each other outside, I take it,” he said,
+apparently by way of a chatty remark. “The crack of the pistol-shot and
+the supposed resurrection of Owd Ben threw Mrs. Bates temporarily off
+her balance, so I helped in reviving her. Between such a cook and such
+a ghost, who would hesitate?”
+
+When Furneaux was really irritated, he swore in French.
+
+_“Nom d’un bon petit homme gris!”_ he almost squealed, “why did you
+whip out that infernal revolver? You spoiled everything, everything!
+Have you no sense in that picturesque head of yours? Your skull is big
+enough to hold brains, not soap-bubbles.”
+
+“Did your French father marry a Jap?” inquired Hart, with sudden
+interest.
+
+“And now you’re insulting my mother,” yelped the detective.
+
+“Not I. You know nothing about the finest race of little women in the
+world, or you would not even imagine such rubbish.”
+
+“But why, why, didn’t you tell me that you saw someone outside?”
+
+“You wouldn’t have believed me. The goblin was disappearing. I had to
+shoot quick.”
+
+“Why shoot at all?”
+
+“Sir, there are certain manifestations I object to on principle. What
+self-respecting ghost ever wore whiskers?”
+
+“This was no ghost. You shot the man’s hat off.”
+
+“Then what the blazes are you growling at? Had I, in blood-curdling
+whisper, told you that once again there was a face at the window, you
+would have scoffed at me. The ill-looking scamp caught my eye after his
+first glance at Grant. He was mizzling when I fired. You would have sat
+there and argued about hypnosis, with our worthy author’s skilled
+support. And there would have been no hat! I do an admirable bit of
+trick shooting, yet I am only reviled for my dexterity. Really, Charles
+François!”
+
+“Ah! You remember, at last,” and the detective smiled sourly.
+
+“_Parfaitement_! as they say in Paris, where you and I met once, though
+’twas in a crowd. But _I_ didn’t steal the blessed pearl. I believe it
+was that blatant patriot, Domengo Suarez.”
+
+“You’ve got _some_ brains, then. Why not use them? Don’t you see what a
+fix we three would have found ourselves in had you shot the man?”
+
+“But, consider, Carlo mio! A spook with whiskers! What court would find
+me guilty? Let me produce the authentic record of Owd Ben, and I have
+no doubt but that the Lord Chief Justice himself would have potted his
+representative. He’d be bound to confess it.”
+
+Furneaux was cooling down.
+
+“You’ve shaken my confidence,” he said. “Unless I have your promise
+that you will never do such a thing again while in my company, I shall
+ban you from this inquiry with bell, book, and candle.”
+
+“Very well. It’s a bargain. Now let us ponder Exhibit A.”
+
+He stretched a long arm over the table, and took the hat.
+
+“Put it on!” commanded the detective.
+
+Hart did so, and scowled frightfully. Furneaux bent forward and
+squinted.
+
+“Notice the line of those bullet-holes,” he said to Grant.
+
+“Any man wearing that hat must have had his scalp ploughed up,” said
+Grant instantly.
+
+“Well, we know that nothing of the kind happened. Why?”
+
+“It was perched on top of a wig,” drawled Hart.
+
+Furneaux was slightly disappointed—there was no denying it. Being a
+vain little person, he liked to show off in a minor matter such as
+this.
+
+“Yes,” he admitted, “and what’s the corollary?”
+
+“That the wearer is probably a clean-shaven person with thin hair, a
+daring scoundrel who is well posted in the leading characteristics of
+Owd Ben. Charles le Petit, time is now ripe for details of that hairy
+goblin.”
+
+“Where did you dig him up from, anyhow?” said the detective testily.
+
+“Mrs. Bates recognized him from my vivid description.”
+
+“Her husband can tell us the story,” put in Grant. “I’ll fetch him.”
+
+He had not moved ere the front door bell rang a second time.
+
+“Here is Owd Ben himself, I expect,” said Hart.
+
+“If it’s that Robinson—” growled Furneaux vexedly, hastening to
+forestall Minnie.
+
+But it was Doris Martin, and very pretty she looked as she entered the
+room, her high color being the joint outcome of a rapid walk and a very
+natural embarrassment at finding the frankly admiring eyes of a
+stranger fixed on her.
+
+“I don’t quite know why I’m here,” she said, with a nervous laugh,
+addressing Grant directly. “You will think I am always gazing in the
+direction of _The Hollies_, but my room commands this house so fully
+that I cannot help seeing or hearing anything unusual. A few minutes
+ago I heard what I thought was a muffled gunshot. I looked out, and saw
+your window thrown open, though the light was dim, and only a candle
+was showing in the smaller window. I was alarmed, so came to inquire
+what had happened. You’ll pardon me, I’m sure.”
+
+“Say you don’t, Jack, I implore you, and let me apologize for you,”
+pleaded Hart.
+
+“Doris, this is my good friend, Wally Hart,” smiled Grant. “Won’t you
+sit down? We have an exciting story for you.”
+
+“Father will be horribly anxious if he knows I have gone out.”
+
+Nevertheless, there was sufficient spice of Mother Eve in Doris that
+she should take the proffered chair.
+
+“Sorry to interrupt,” broke in Furneaux. “Did you meet P. C. Robinson!”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You came by way of the bridge?”
+
+“There is no other way, unless one makes a detour by Bush Walk.”
+
+The detective whirled round on Grant.
+
+“What room is over this one?”
+
+“Minnie’s.”
+
+“She’s in the kitchen, with her mother. See that she doesn’t come
+upstairs while I’m absent. You three keep on talking.”
+
+“Thanks,” said Hart.
+
+Doris, more self-possessed now, read the meaning of the quip promptly.
+
+“Mr. Grant has often spoken of you,” she said. “You talk, and we’ll
+listen.”
+
+“Not so, divinity,” came the retort. “I may be a parrot, but I don’t
+want my neck wrung when you’ve gone.”
+
+“Don’t encourage him, Doris,” said Grant, “or you’ll be here till
+midnight.”
+
+“If that’s the best you can do, you had better leave the recital to
+me,” laughed Hart.
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had stolen noiselessly to the bedroom overhead. The
+casement window was open—he had noted that fact while in the garden. He
+peeped out, and was just in time to see Robinson emulating a Sioux
+Indian on the war-path. The policeman removed his helmet, and was about
+to peer cautiously through the small window. The detective’s blood ran
+cold. What if Hart discovered yet another ghost?
+
+“Robinson—go home!” he said, in sepulchral tones.
+
+The constable positively jumped. He gaped on all sides in real terror.
+He, too, had heard hair-raising tales of Owd Ben.
+
+“Go home!” hissed Furneaux, leaning out.
+
+Then the other looked up.
+
+“Oh, it’s you, sir!” he gasped, sighing with relief.
+
+“Man, you’ve had the closest shave of your life! There’s a fellow below
+there who shoots at sight.”
+
+“But I’m on duty, sir.”
+
+“You’ll be in Kingdom Come if you gaze in at that window. Be off!”
+
+“I—”
+
+“Robinson, you and I will quarrel if you don’t do as I bid you. And
+that would be a pity, because I want to inform Mr. Fowler that he has a
+particularly smart man in Steynholme.”
+
+“Very well, sir, if _you’re_ satisfied, I _must_ be.”
+
+And away went the eavesdropper, crushed, still tingling with that fear
+of the supernatural latent in every heart, but far from convinced.
+
+Furneaux tripped downstairs. The routing of Robinson had put him into a
+real good humor. He found the three in the dining-room gazing
+spell-bound at the felt hat.
+
+“Now, young lady, you’re coming with me,” he said, grinning amiably.
+“The Sussex constabulary is quelled for the hour.”
+
+“But, Mr. Furneaux, I recognize that hat!” said Doris, and it was
+notable that even Hart remained silent.
+
+The detective looked at her strangely, but put no question.
+
+“I am almost sure it belongs to our local Amateur Dramatic Society,”
+went on the girl. “It was worn by Mr. Elkin last November. He played a
+burlesque of Svengali. I was Trilby, and caught a horrid cold from
+walking about without shoes or stockings.”
+
+“Don’t tell me any more,” was Furneaux’s surprising comment. “I’ll do
+the rest. But let me remark, Miss Martin, that I experienced great
+difficulty, not so long ago, in persuading friend Grant that you were
+the only important witness this case has provided thus far. Playing in
+a burlesque, were you? We’ve been similarly engaged to-night. The farce
+must stop now. It makes way for grim tragedy. Not one word of
+to-night’s events to anyone, please.... Are you ready?”
+
+Doris stood up. Hart thrust the negro’s head at the detective.
+
+“Fouché,” he said, “do you honestly mean slinging your hook without
+making any inquiry as to Owd Ben?”
+
+“Oh, the ghost!” said Doris eagerly. “The Bateses would think of him,
+of course. An old farmer named Ben Robson used to live in this house
+about the time of Napoleon. He was suspected by the authorities to be
+an agent of the smugglers, and the story goes that his own daughter
+quarreled with him and betrayed him. He narrowly escaped hanging, owing
+to his age, I believe, and was sentenced to a long term of
+imprisonment. At last he was released, being then a very old man, and
+he came straight here and strangled his daughter. It is quite a
+terrible story. He was found dead by her side. Then people remembered
+that she had spoken of someone scaring her by looking in through that
+small window some nights previously. Naturally, a ghost was soon
+manufactured. I really wonder why the man who rebuilt and renamed the
+place in the middle of last century didn’t have the window removed
+altogether.”
+
+“Glad I began the work of demolition tonight,” said Hart, and, for
+once, his tone was serious.
+
+“Why did you never tell me that scrap of history, Doris?” inquired
+Grant.
+
+“You liked the place so much that father and I agreed not to mar your
+enthusiasm by recalling an unpleasant legend,” she said frankly. “Not
+that what I’ve related isn’t true. The record appears in a Sussex
+Miscellany of those years.... Oh, my goodness, can it be eleven
+o’clock!”
+
+The hall clock had no doubt on the point. Furneaux pocketed the written
+notes regarding Ingerman, and grabbed the hat off the table. Grant, for
+some reason, was aware that the detective repressed an obvious
+reference to the last occasion on which the girl had heard that same
+clock announce the hour.
+
+Furneaux would allow no other escort. He and Doris made off
+immediately.
+
+When they were gone, Hart stared fixedly at an empty decanter.
+
+“My dim recollection of your port, Jack, is that it was a wine of many
+virtues and few vices,” he mused aloud.
+
+Grant took the hint, and went to a cellar. Returning, he found his
+crony poring over the book which, singularly enough, figured
+prominently on each occasion when the specter-producing window was
+markedly in evidence. Hart glanced up at his host, and nodded
+cheerfully at a dust-laden bottle.
+
+“What is there in ‘The Talisman’ which needed so much research?” he
+asked.
+
+“Some lines by Sir David Lindsay, quoted by Scott,” was the answer.
+
+“Are these they?” And Hart read:
+
+_One thing is certain in our Northern land;
+Allow that birth, or valor, wealth, or wit,
+Give each precedence to their possessor,
+Envy, that follows on such eminence,
+As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck’s trace,
+Shall pull them down each one._
+
+
+“Yes,” said Grant.
+
+“Love isn’t mentioned. The fair Doris will be true. You’re in luck, my
+boy. But somebody is out for your blood, and here is clear warning. Gee
+whizz! If I remain in Steynholme a week I shall become an occultist.
+What is a lyme-hound?”
+
+“‘Lyme,’ or ‘leam,’ is the old-time word for ‘leash.’”
+
+“Good!” said Hart. “That will appeal to Furneaux. Have him in to dinner
+every day, Jack. He’s a tonic!”
+
+Furneaux, for some reason known only to himself, did not accompany
+Doris to the post office. Once they were across the bridge, and the
+broad village street, more green than roadway, was seen to be empty, he
+tapped her on the shoulder and said pleasantly:
+
+“Run away home now, little girl. Sleep well, and don’t worry. The
+tangle will right itself in time.”
+
+“Poor Mr. Grant is suffering,” she ventured to murmur.
+
+“And a good thing, too. It will steady him. Hurry, please. I’ll wait
+here till you are behind a locked door.”
+
+“No one in Steynholme will hurt me,” she said.
+
+“You never can tell. I’m not taking any chances to-night, however.”
+
+So Doris sped swiftly up the hill. Arrived at her house, she waved a
+hand to the detective, who flourished his straw hat in response. A fine
+June night in England is never really dark, so the two could not only
+see each other but, when Doris disappeared, Furneaux, turning sharply
+on his heel, was able to make out the sudden straightening of a pucker
+in the blind of a ground-floor room in P. C.  Robinson’s abode.
+
+The detective walked straight there, and tapped lightly on the window.
+Robinson, after an affected delay, came to the door.
+
+“Who’s there?” he demanded.
+
+“As if you didn’t know,” laughed Furneaux.
+
+Robinson turned a key, and looked out.
+
+“Oh, it’s you, sir?” he cried.
+
+“You’ll get tired of saying that before I quit Steynholme,” said the
+detective. “May I come in? No, don’t show a light here. Let’s chat in
+the back kitchen.”
+
+“I was just going to have a bite of supper, sir,” began Robinson
+apologetically. “It’s laid in the kitchen. On’y bread and cheese an’ a
+glass of beer. Will you join me?”
+
+“With pleasure, if I hadn’t stuffed myself at Grant’s place. Nice
+fellow, Grant. Pity you and he don’t seem to get on together. Of
+course, we policemen cannot allow friendship to interfere with duty,
+but, between you and me, Robinson—strictly in confidence—Grant had no
+more to do with the actual murder of Miss Melhuish than either of us
+two.”
+
+Robinson had turned up a lamp, and hospitably installed Furneaux in his
+own easy-chair.
+
+“The ‘actual murder,’ you said, sir?” he repeated.
+
+“Yes. It was his presence at _The Hollies_ which brought an infatuated
+woman there, and thus directly led to her death. That is all. Grant is
+telling the truth. I assure you, Robinson, I never allow myself to
+break bread with a man whom I may have to convict. So, I’ll change my
+mind, and take a snack of your bread and cheese.”
+
+The village constable, by no means a fool, grinned at the implied
+tribute. What he did not appreciate so readily was the fact that his
+somewhat massive form was being twiddled round the detective’s little
+finger.
+
+“Right you are, sir,” he cried cheerily. “But, if Mr. Grant didn’t kill
+Miss Melhuish, who did!”
+
+“In all probability, the man who wore that hat,” chirped Furneaux,
+taking a nondescript bundle from a coat pocket, and throwing it on the
+table.
+
+Robinson started. This June night was full of weird surprises. He set
+down a jug of beer with a bang—his intent being to fill two glasses
+already in position, from which circumstance even the least observant
+visitor might deduce a Mrs. Robinson, _en negligé_, hastily flown
+upstairs.
+
+He examined the hat as though it were a new form of bomb.
+
+“By gum!” he muttered. “Are these bullet-holes?”
+
+“They are.”
+
+“An’ is this what someone fired at?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“But how in thunder—”
+
+He checked himself in time. He did not want to admit that he had been
+watching the only recognized road to Grant’s house all the evening.
+
+“Quite so!” chortled Furneaux, with admirable misunderstanding. “You’re
+quick on the trigger, Robinson—almost as quick as that friend of
+Grant’s who arrived by the 5.30 from London. You perceive at once that
+no ordinary head could have worn that hat without having its hair
+combed by the same bullet. It was stuck on to a thick wig. Now, tell me
+the man, or woman, in Steynholme, who wears a wig and a hat like that,
+and you and I will guess who killed Miss Melhuish.”
+
+Robinson suspected that, as he himself would have put it, his leg was
+being pulled rather violently. Furneaux read his face like a printed
+page. Chewing, much against his will, a mouthful of bread and cheese,
+he mumbled in solemn, broken tones:
+
+“Think—Robinson. Don’t—answer—offhand. Has—anybody—ever worn—such
+things—in a play?”
+
+Then the policeman was convinced, galvanized by memory, as it were.
+
+“By gum!” he cried again. “Fred Elkin—in a charity performance last
+winter.”
+
+Furneaux choked with excitement.
+
+“A horsey-looking chap, on to-day’s jury,” he gurgled.
+
+“That’s him!”
+
+“The scoundrel!”
+
+“No wonder he looked ill.”
+
+“No wonder, indeed. How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes
+ill deeds done!”
+
+“But, sir—”
+
+Robinson was flabbergasted. He could only murmur “Fred Elkin!” in a
+dazed way.
+
+“Have a drink,” said Furneaux sympathetically. “I’ll wet my whistle,
+too. Only half a glass, please. Now, we mustn’t jump to conclusions.
+This Elkin looks a villain, but may not be one. That is to say, his
+villainy may be confined to dealings in nags. But you see, Robinson,
+what a queer turn this affair is taking. We must get rid of
+preconceived notions. Superintendent Fowler and you and I will go into
+this matter thoroughly to-morrow. Meanwhile, breathe not a syllable to
+a living soul. If I were you, I’d let Mr. Grant understand that we
+regard him as rather outside the scope of our inquiry. This beer is
+very good for a country village. You know a good thing when you see it,
+I expect. Pity I don’t smoke, or I’d join you in a pipe. I must get a
+move on, now, or that fat landlord will be locking me out. Good night!
+Yes. I’ll take the hat. _Good_ night!”
+
+While walking up the hill Furneaux fanned himself with the straw hat.
+
+“One small bit of my brain is evidently a hereditary bequest from a
+good-natured ass!” he communed. “Here am I, Furneaux, plagued beyond
+endurance by a first-class murder case, and I must go and busy myself
+with the love affair of a postmaster’s daughter and a feather-headed
+novelist!”
+
+When Tomlin admitted him to the Hare and Hounds, he buttonholed the
+landlord, who, at that hour, was usually somewhat obfuscated.
+
+“Sir,” said the detective gravely, “I am told that you Steynholme folk
+indulge occasionally in such frivolities as amateur theatricals?”
+
+“Once in a way, sir. Once in a way. Afore I lock up the bar, will you—”
+
+“Not to-night. I’ve mixed port and beer already, and I’m only a little
+fellow. Now you, Mr. Tomlin, can mix anything, I fancy?”
+
+“I’ve tried a few combinations in me time, sir.”
+
+“But, about these theatrical performances—is there any scenery,
+costumes, ‘props’ as actors call them?”
+
+“Yes, sir. They’re stored in the loft over the club-room—the room where
+the inquest wur held.”
+
+“What, _here_?”
+
+Furneaux’s shrill cry scared Mr. Tomlin.
+
+“Y-yes, sir,” he stuttered.
+
+“Is that my candle?” said the detective tragically. “I’m tired, dead
+beat. To-night, Mr. Tomlin, you are privileged to see the temporary
+wreck of a noble mind. God wot, ’tis a harrowing spectacle.”
+
+Furneaux skipped nimbly upstairs. Tomlin proceeded to lock up.
+
+“It’s good for trade,” he mumbled, “but I’ll be glad when these ’ere
+Lunnon gents clears out. They worry me, they do. Fair gemme a turn, ’e
+did. A tec’, indeed! He’s nothin’ but a play-hactor hisself!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter X.
+The Case Against Grant
+
+
+Next morning, after a long conference with Superintendent Fowler, from
+which, to his great chagrin, P. C. Robinson was excluded, Furneaux went
+to the post office, dispatched an apparently meaningless telegram to a
+code address, and exchanged a few orthodox remarks with Doris and her
+father about the continued fine weather. While he was yet at the
+counter, Ingerman crossed the road and entered the chemist’s shop.
+
+“Let me see,” said the detective musingly, “by committing a slight
+trespass on your left-hand neighbor’s garden, can I reach the yard of
+the inn?”
+
+“What the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve over,” smiled Doris.
+“Mrs. Jefferson went to Knoleworth early to-day, and took her maid. By
+shopping at the stores there, they save their fares, and have a day out
+each week.”
+
+“May I go that way, then?” he said. “Suppose you send that goggle-eyed
+skivvy of yours on an errand.”
+
+This was done, and Furneaux made the desired transit.
+
+Now, Tomlin, to whom the comings and goings of all and sundry formed
+the staple of the day’s gossip, had seen the detective go out, but
+could “take his sollum davy” that the queer little man had not
+returned. He, too, had watched Ingerman going to Siddle’s. Ten minutes
+later Elkin came down the hill, and headed for the same rendezvous.
+Five minutes more, and Hobbs, the butcher, joined the others. Tomlin
+was seething with curiosity, but there were some casual customers in
+the “snug,” so he could not abandon his post.
+
+Soon, however, Ingerman led Elkin and Hobbs to the inn. Evidently, the
+“financier” had been making some small purchases. He was in high
+spirits. Ordering appetizers before the mid-day meal, he announced that
+he was returning to London that afternoon, but would be in Steynholme
+again for the adjourned inquest.
+
+“No matter how my business suffers, I mean to see this affair through,”
+he vowed. “You gentlemen can pretty well guess my private convictions.
+You were good enough to give me your friendship, so I spoke as openly
+as one dares when no charge has actually been laid against any
+particular person.”
+
+“Ay,” said Elkin, with whom sunshine seemed to disagree, because he
+looked miserably ill. “We know what you mean, Mr. Ingerman. If the
+police were half sharp they’d have nabbed their man before this ... Did
+you put any water in this gin, Tomlin?”
+
+“Water?” wheezed Tomlin indignantly. _“Water?”_
+
+“Well, no offense. I can’t taste anything. I believe I could swallow
+dope and not feel it on my tongue.”
+
+“You do look bad, an’ no mistake, Fred,” agreed Hobbs. “Are you vettin’
+yerself? Don’t. Every man to his trade, sez I. Give Dr. Foxton a call.”
+
+“I’m taking his medicine regular. Perhaps I need a change.”
+
+“’Ave a week-end in Lunnon,” said Hobbs, with a broad wink.
+
+“Change of medicine, I mean. I’m not leaving Steynholme till things
+make a move. My next trip to London will be my honeymoon.”
+
+“You look like a honeymooner, I don’t think,” guffawed Hobbs.
+
+“You wouldn’t laugh if I told _you_ what you really look like,” cried
+Elkin angrily. “Bet you a level fiver I’m married this year. Now, put
+up or shut up!”
+
+Furneaux peeped in, through a door, always open, which led to the
+stairs.
+
+“Can I have my account, Mr. Tomlin?” he said. “I’m going to town by the
+next train.”
+
+“You don’t mean to say, Mr. Furneaux, that you are abandoning the case
+so soon?” broke in Ingerman.
+
+“Did I say that?” inquired the detective meekly.
+
+“No. One can’t help drawing inferences occasionally.”
+
+“Great mistake. Look at our worthy landlord. He’s been drawing
+inferences as well as corks, and he’s beat to the world.”
+
+Tomlin was, indeed, gazing at his smaller guest open-mouthed.
+
+“S’elp me!” he gurgled. “I could ha’ sworn—”
+
+“Bad habit,” and Furneaux crooked a waggish forefinger at him. “Even
+the wisest among us may err. Last night, for instance, I blundered. I
+really fancied I had a clew to the Steynholme murderer. And where do
+you think it ended? In the loft of your club-room, Mr. Tomlin. In a box
+of old clothes at that. Silly, isn’t it?”
+
+“Wot! Them amatoor play-hactin’ things?”
+
+“Exactly.”
+
+Elkin grunted, though intending to laugh.
+
+“Not so sharp for a London ’tec, I must say,” he cried. “Why, those
+props have been there since before Christmas.”
+
+“Yes. I know now,” was the downcast reply. “Twelve hours ago I thought
+differently. Didn’t I, Mr. Tomlin?”
+
+Tomlin tried hard to look knowing.
+
+“Oh, is that wot you wur drivin’ at?” he said. “Dang me, mister, I
+could soon ha’ put you right ’ad you tole me.”
+
+“Well, well. Can’t be helped. I may do better in London. What do _you_
+say, Mr. Ingerman? The City is the real mint of money and crime. Who
+knows but that a stroll through Cornhill may have some bearing on the
+Steynholme mystery?”
+
+“May be you’d get a bit nearer if you took a stroll along the
+Knoleworth Road, and not so very far, either,” guffawed Elkin.
+
+“Who knows?” repeated Furneaux sadly. “Good-day, gentlemen. Some of
+this merry party will meet again, of course, if not here, at the
+Assizes. Don’t forget my bill. Mr. Tomlin. By the way, one egg at
+breakfast had seen vicissitudes. It shouldn’t be rated too highly.”
+
+“I’m traveling by your train,” cried Ingerman.
+
+“So I understood,” said Furneaux over his shoulder.
+
+There was silence for a moment after he had gone. Ingerman looked
+thoughtful, even puzzled. He was casting back in his mind to discover
+just how and when the detective “understood” that his departure was
+imminent, since he himself had only arrived at a decision after leaving
+the chemist’s.
+
+“That chap is no good,” announced Elkin. “I’ll back old Robinson
+against him any day.”
+
+“Sh-s-sh! He may ’ear you,” muttered the landlord.
+
+“Don’t care if he does. Cornhill! What the blazes has Cornhill to do
+with the murder at _The Hollies_?”
+
+Ingerman appreciated the value of that concluding phrase. Elkin had
+used it once before in Siddle’s shop, and was quietly reproved by the
+chemist for his outspokenness.
+
+Ingerman, however, did not inform the company that his office lay in an
+alley off Cornhill. He elected to rub in Elkin’s words.
+
+“Mr. Siddle seemed to object to _The Hollies_ being mentioned as the
+scene of the crime,” he said. “I wonder why?”
+
+“Because he’s an old molly-coddle,” snapped the horse-dealer. “Thinks
+everyone is like himself, a regular slow-coach.”
+
+Tomlin closed the door into the passage, closed it for the first time
+in living memory, whereat Furneaux, on the landing above, grinned
+sardonically, and ran downstairs.
+
+“Wot’s this about them amatoor clo’es?” he inquired portentously. “Oo
+’as the key of that box?”
+
+“_I_ have,” said Elkin. “I locked it after the last performance, and,
+unless you’ve been up to any monkey tricks, Tomlin, the duds are there
+yet.”
+
+“You’re bitin’ me ’ead off all the mornin’, Fred,” protested the
+aggrieved landlord. “Fust, the gin was wrong, an’ now I’m supposed to
+’ave rummidged yur box. Wot for?”
+
+Furneaux popped in.
+
+“My bill ready?” he squeaked.
+
+“No, sir. The train—”
+
+“Leaves at two, but I’m driving to Knoleworth with Superintendent
+Fowler.”
+
+The door closed behind him. Tomlin shook his head.
+
+“Box! Jack-in-the-box, I reckon,” he said darkly, turning to a
+dog-eared ledger.
+
+Neither at Knoleworth nor Victoria did Ingerman catch sight of the
+detective, though he was anxious either to make the journey in the
+company of the representative of Scotland Yard or arrange an early
+appointment with him. True, he was not inclined to place the
+strange-mannered little man on the same high plane as that suggested by
+certain London journalists to whom he had spoken. But he wanted to win
+the confidence of “the Yard” in connection with this case, and the
+belief that he was being avoided was nettling. He found consolation, of
+a sort, in the illustrated papers. One especially contained two pages
+of local pictures. “Mr. Grant addressing the crowd,” with full text,
+was very effective, while there were admirable studies of _The Hollies_
+and the “scene of the tragedy.” His own portrait was not flattering.
+The sun had etched his Mephistophelian features rather sharply, whereas
+Grant looked a very fine fellow.
+
+Ingerman would have been more than surprised were he privileged to
+overhear a conversation which began and ended before he reached his
+flat in North Kensington.
+
+Furneaux, who had jumped into the fore part of the train at Knoleworth,
+and was out in a jiffy at Victoria, handed his bag to a station
+detective, and turned into Vauxhall Bridge Road, one of the quietest of
+London’s main thoroughfares. There he met a big man, dressed in tweeds,
+whose manifest concern at the moment seemed to center in a rather bad
+wrapping of a very good cigar.
+
+“Ah! How goes it, Charles?” cried the big man heartily, affecting to be
+aware of Furneaux’s presence when the latter had walked nearly a
+hundred yards down a comparatively deserted street.
+
+“What’s wrong with the toofa?” inquired Furneaux testily.
+
+“My own carelessness. Stupid things, bands on cigars.... Well, what’s
+the rush?”
+
+“There’s a train to Steynholme at five o’clock. I want you to take
+hold. I must have help. Like your cigar, this case has come unstuck.”
+
+Mr. James Leander Winter, Chief Inspector under the Criminal
+Investigation Department, whistled softly.
+
+“Tut, tut!” he said. “One can never trust the newspapers. Reading this
+morning’s particulars, it looked dead easy.”
+
+“Tell me how it struck you. Sometimes the uninformed brain is
+vouchsafed a gleam of unconscious genius.”
+
+Winter appeared to be devoting his mind to circumventing the vagaries
+of a fragile tobacco-leaf. He was a man of powerful build, over forty,
+heavy but active, deep-chested, round-headed, with bulging blue eyes
+which radiated kindliness and strength of character. The press
+photographer described him accurately to Grant. The average Londoner
+would have taken him for a county gentleman on a visit to the
+Agricultural Show at Islington, with a morning at Tattersall’s as a
+variant. Yet, Sam Weller’s extensive and peculiar knowledge of London
+compared with his as a freshman’s with a don’s of a university. It
+would be hard to assess, in coin of the realm, the value of the
+political and social secrets stowed away in that big head.
+
+“First, I must put a question or two,” he said, smiling at a baby which
+cooed at him from the shaded depths of a passing perambulator. “Is
+there another woman?”
+
+“Yes, the postmaster’s daughter, Doris Martin.”
+
+“Shy, pretty little bird, of course?”
+
+“Everything that is good and beautiful.”
+
+“Is Grant a Lothario?”
+
+“Excellent chap. Quarter of an hour before the murder he was giving
+Doris a lesson in astronomy in the garden of _The Hollies_.”
+
+“Never heard it called _that_ before.”
+
+“This time the statement happens to be strictly accurate.”
+
+“Honest Injun?”
+
+“I’m sure of it. If anything, the death of Adelaide Melhuish cleared
+the scales off their eyes. Those two have never kissed or squeezed—yet.
+They’ll be starting quite soon now.”
+
+“How old is Doris?”
+
+“Nineteen.”
+
+“But a really good-looking girl of nineteen must have had admirers
+before Grant went to the village.”
+
+“She had, and has. Having educated herself out of the rut, however, she
+left many runners at the post. One is persistent—a youngish horse-coper
+named Elkin. Adelaide Melhuish probably saw her with Grant. Neither
+Doris nor Grant knew that Adelaide Melhuish, as such, was in
+Steynholme. That is to say, the girl had seen Miss Melhuish in the post
+office, and recognized her as a famous actress, but that is all. And
+now I shan’t tell you any more, or you’ll know all that I know, which
+is too much.”
+
+The cigar was behaving itself at last, having burnt down to the
+fracture, so Winter’s thoughts could be given exclusively to the less
+important matter of the Steynholme affair.
+
+“To begin with,” he said instantly. “Ingerman can establish a cast-iron
+alibi.”
+
+“So I imagined. But he’s a bad lot. I throw in that item gratuitously.”
+
+The oddly-assorted pair walked in silence until Vauxhall Bridge was in
+sight. Winter pulled out a watch.
+
+“What time did you say my train left Victoria?” he inquired.
+
+“Plenty of time yet to make your guess and listen to further details,”
+scoffed Furneaux.
+
+“Frankly, I give it up. But, if I must share in the hunt, I tell you
+now that, metaphorically speaking, I shall cling to the postmaster’s
+daughter till torn away by sheer force of evidence.”
+
+Furneaux dug his colleague in the ribs.
+
+“That’s the effect of constant association with me, James,” he cackled
+gleefully. “Ten years ago you would have pounced on Elkin. You’ve hit
+it! I’m a prood mon the day. The pupil is equaling the master.”
+
+“You little rat, I had hanged my first murderer before you knew the
+meaning of _habeas corpus_! Let’s turn now, and get to business.”
+
+Few Treasury barristers, leading for the Crown, could have marshaled
+the facts with such lucidity and fairness as Furneaux during that
+saunter to Victoria Station.
+
+“Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice,” said Othello to
+Lodovico, and these Scotland Yard men, charged with so great a
+responsibility, never forgot the great-hearted Moor’s advice.
+
+When Winter took his seat in the train at five o’clock he could have
+drawn a plan of Steynholme, which he had never seen, and marked thereon
+the exact position of each house mentioned in this record. Moreover, he
+was acquainted with the chief characters by sight, as it were. And,
+finally, he and Furneaux had arranged a plan of campaign.
+
+Furneaux refreshed a jaded intellect by an evening at the opera. Next
+morning, at eleven o’clock, he was inquiring for Mr. Ingerman at an
+office in a certain alley off Cornhill.
+
+A smart youth interposed a printed formula between the visitor and a
+door marked “Private.” Furneaux wrote his name, and put “Steynholme” in
+the space reserved for “business.” He was admitted at once. Mr.
+Ingerman, apparently, was immersed in a pile of letters, but he swept
+them all aside, and greeted the caller affably.
+
+“Glad to see you, Mr. Furneaux,” he said. “I missed you on the train
+yesterday. Did you—”
+
+“Nice quiet place you’ve got here, Mr. Ingerman,” interrupted the
+detective.
+
+“Yes. But, as I was about to—”
+
+“Artistically furnished, too,” went on Furneaux dreamily. “Oak,
+self-toned carpets and rugs, restful decorations. Those etchings, also,
+show taste in the selection. ‘The Embankment—by Night.’ Fitting sequel
+to ‘The City—by Day.’ I’m a child in such matters, but, ’pon my honor,
+if tempted to pour out my hard-earned savings into the lap of a City
+magnate, I would disgorge here more readily than in some saloon-bar of
+finance, where the new mahogany glistens, and the typewriters click
+like machine-guns.”
+
+Ingerman was nettled. He glanced at his correspondence.
+
+“You have a somewhat far-fetched notion of my position,” he said, with
+a staccato quality in his velvet voice. “I am not a magnate, and I toil
+here to make, not to lose, money for my clients.”
+
+“A noble ideal. Forgive me if my rhapsody took the wrong line.”
+
+“And I’m sure you will forgive me if I now put the question which leads
+to the probable cause of your visit. Did you travel by the two o’clock
+train yesterday?”
+
+“Yes. I avoided you purposely.”
+
+“May I ask, why?”
+
+“My mind was weary. I wanted my wits about me when I tackled you.”
+
+Ingerman smiled, and leaned back, resting both elbows on the arms of
+the chair, and bringing the tips of his fingers together.
+
+“Proceed,” he said.
+
+“You prefer that I should drag out a statement piecemeal rather than
+receive it _en bloc_?”
+
+“Put it that way, if you like.”
+
+“I shall even enjoy it. To clear the ground, are you the Isidor G.
+Ingerman who exploited the A1 Mine in Abyssinia?”
+
+Ingerman’s finger-tips whitened under a sudden pressure, but his voice
+remained calm.
+
+“An unfortunate episode,” he said.
+
+“And the Aegean Transport Company, Limited?”
+
+“Into which I was inveigled by Greeks. But why this history of ruined
+enterprises?”
+
+“It’s a sort of schooling. I have noticed that the smartest counsel
+invariably begin with a few fireworks in order to induce the proper
+frame of mind in a witness.”
+
+“Does that mean that you want me to blurt out bitter and prejudiced
+accusations against Mr. Grant?”
+
+“I want to hear what you have to say about the death of your wife. You
+forced the cross-examining role on me. I’m doing my best.”
+
+Ingerman kept silent during many seconds. When he spoke, his cultured
+voice was suave as ever.
+
+“Perhaps it was my fault, Mr. Furneaux,” he said. “You gave me a strong
+hint. I should have taken it, and we might have started an interesting
+chat on pleasanter lines. So, with apologies for my insistence about
+the train, I make a fresh start. I believe firmly that Grant was
+directly concerned in the murder. And I shall justify my belief. Within
+the past fortnight a _rapprochement_ between my wife and myself became
+possible. It was spoken of, even reduced to the written word. I have
+her letters. Mine should be found among her belongings. May I take it
+that they _have_ been found?”
+
+“Yes,” said Furneaux.
+
+“Ah. So far, so good. My poor wife reached the parting of the ways. She
+saw that her life was becoming an empty husk. I think the theater was
+palling on her. But I see now that she still cherished the dream of
+winning the man she loved—not me, her husband, but that handsome
+dilettante, Grant. I take it, therefore, that she went to Steynholme to
+determine whether or not the glamour of the past was really dead.
+Unfortunately, she witnessed certain idyllic passages between her
+one-time lover and a charming village girl. Imagine the effect of this
+discovery on one of the artistic temperament. ‘Hell hath no fury like a
+woman scorned,’ and my unhappy wife would lash herself into an
+emotional frenzy. She would tear a passion to rags. Her very training
+on the stage would come to her aid in scathing words—perhaps threats.
+If Grant remained cold to her appeal the village beauty should be made
+to suffer. Then _he_ would flame into storm. And so the upas-tree of
+tragedy spread its poisonous shade until reason fled, and some demon
+whispered, ‘Kill!’ I find no flaw in my theory. It explains the
+inexplicable. Now, how does it strike you, Mr. Furneaux?”
+
+“As piffle.”
+
+“Is that so? I have the advantage, of course, in knowing my wife’s
+peculiarities. And I have made some study of Grant. He admits already
+that he is under suspicion. Why, if he is innocent? Mind you, I pay
+little heed to the crude disposal of the body. Horace, I think, has a
+truism that art lies in concealing art. My wife’s presence in
+Steynholme was no secret. She would have been missed from the inn.
+Search would be made. The murder must be revealed sooner or later, and
+the murderer himself was aware that by no twisting or turning could his
+name escape association with that of his victim. Why not face the music
+at once? he would argue. The very simplicity of the means adopted to
+fasten a kind of responsibility on him might prove his best safeguard.
+Even now I doubt whether any jury will find him guilty on the evidence
+as it stands, but my duty to my unhappy wife demands that I shall
+strengthen the arm of justice by every legitimate means in my power.”
+
+“Is that your case, Mr. Ingerman?”
+
+“At present, yes.”
+
+“It assumes that the police adopt your view.”
+
+“Not necessarily. The police must do their work without fear or favor.
+But Grant can be committed for trial on a coroner’s warrant.”
+
+“Grant is certainly in an awkward place.”
+
+“Only a little while ago you dismissed my theory of the crime as airy
+persiflage.”
+
+“That was before you quoted Horace. I have a great respect for Horace.
+His ode to the New Year is a gem.”
+
+“Would you care to see my wife’s recent letters?”
+
+“If you please.”
+
+“They are at my flat, I’ll send you copies. The originals are always at
+your disposal for comparison, of course. Now may I, without offense,
+ask a question?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Is it wise that the emissary of Scotland Yard should leave
+Steynholme?”
+
+“But didn’t I tell you that I might obtain light in the neighborhood of
+Cornhill?”
+
+“True. I could have given you the facts in Steynholme.”
+
+“I’m a greater believer in what the theater people call ‘atmosphere.’
+Some of your facts, Mr. Ingerman, remind me of an expert’s report in a
+mining prospectus. When tested by cyanide of potassium the gold in the
+ore often changes into iron pyrites. But don’t hug the delusion that I
+shall neglect Steynholme. The murderer is there, not in London, and,
+unless my intellect is failing, he will be tried for his life at the
+next Lewes Assizes. Meanwhile, may I give you a bit of advice?”
+
+“By all means.”
+
+“Employ a sound lawyer, one who will avoid needless mud-slinging. Good
+day! Send those letters to the Yard by to-night’s post if practicable.”
+
+“It shall be done.”
+
+When the door closed on Furneaux, Ingerman smiled.
+
+“I’ve given that little Frenchman furiously to think,” he murmured.
+
+But the “little Frenchman” was smiling, too. He had elaborated the
+scheme already discussed with Winter. It was much to his liking, though
+unorthodox, rather crack-brained, more than risky, and altogether
+opposed to the instructions of the Police Manual. Each of these
+drawbacks was a commendation to Furneaux. In fact, the Steynholme
+mystery had taken quite a favorable turn during that talk with
+Ingerman.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XI.
+P. C. Robinson Takes Another Line
+
+
+About the time Furneaux was whisked past _The Hollies_ in
+Superintendent Fowler’s dogcart, Grant and Hart were finishing
+luncheon, and planning a long walk to the sea. Grant would dearly have
+liked to secure Doris’s company, but good taste forbade that he should
+even invite her to share the ramble. Thus, the death of a woman with
+whom he had not exchanged a word during three years had already set up
+a barrier between Doris and himself. Though impalpable, it was
+effective. It could neither be climbed nor avoided. Quiet little
+Steynholme had suddenly become a rigid censor of morals and etiquette.
+Until this evil thing was annihilated by slow process of law, Doris and
+he might meet only by chance and never remain long together.
+
+When the two were ready to start, Hart elected to dispense with his
+South American sombrero.
+
+“I am sensitive to ridicule,” he professed. “The village urchins will
+christen me ‘Owd Ben,’ and the old gentleman’s character was such that
+I would feel hurt. So, for to-day, I’ll join the no hat brigade.”
+
+“I wonder if we’ll meet Furneaux,” said Grant, selecting a
+walking-stick. “It’s odd that we should have seen nothing of him this
+morning.”
+
+“It would be still more odd if we had, remembering the precautions he
+took not to be observed coming here last night.”
+
+“Well, that’s so. I forgot to ask the reason. There was one, I
+suppose.”
+
+“Of the best. That little man is a live wire of intelligence. He’s
+wasted on Scotland Yard. He ought to be a dramatist or an ambassador.”
+
+“Quaint alternatives, those.”
+
+“Not at all. Each profession demands brains, and is at its best in
+coining cute phrases. I’ve met scores of both tribes, and they’re like
+as peas in a pod.”
+
+A bell rang.
+
+“That’s the front door,” said Grant. “It’s Furneaux himself, I hope.”
+
+But the visitor was P. C.  Robinson, who actually smiled and saluted.
+
+“Glad I’ve caught you before you went out, sir,” he said. “Mr. Furneaux
+asked me to tell you he had to hurry back to London. I was also to
+mention that he had got the whiskers.”
+
+“What whiskers? Whose whiskers?”
+
+“That’s all he said, sir—he’d got the whiskers.”
+
+“Why, Owd Ben’s whiskers, of course. How dense you are, Jack!” put in
+Hart.
+
+Now, this was the first Robinson had heard of whiskers in connection
+with the crime. He remembered Elkin’s make-up as Svengali, of course,
+and could have kicked himself for not associating earlier a set of
+sable whiskers with the black wig and the bullet-torn hat.
+
+But, Owd Ben! What figure did that redoubtable ghost cut in the
+mystery?
+
+“There are certain _lacunae_ in your otherwise vigorous and thrilling
+story, constable,” went on Hart.
+
+“Very likely, sir,” agreed Robinson, much to the surprise of his
+hearers. He had not the slightest notion what a _lacuna_, or its
+plural, signified. He was only adopting Furneaux’s advice, and trying
+to be civil.
+
+“Ah, you see that, do you?” said Hart. “Well, fill ’em in. When, where,
+and how did the midget sleuth obtain the specter’s hairy adornments?”
+
+The policeman, whose wits were thoroughly on the alert, realized that
+he had scored a point, though he knew not how.
+
+“He did not tell me, sir,” he answered. “It’s a rum business, that’s
+what it is, no matter what way you look at it.”
+
+Grant, agreeably aware of the village constable’s change of front,
+accepted the olive branch readily.
+
+“We’re just going for a walk,” he said. “If you have ten minutes to
+spare, Mrs. Bates will find you some luncheon, I have no doubt.”
+
+“Well, sir, meals are a trifle irregular during a busy time like this,”
+admitted Robinson, feeling that his luck was in, because tongues would
+surely be loosened in the kitchen to an official guest introduced by
+the master of the establishment. He was right. No member of the Bates
+family dreamed of reticence, now that the household was restored to
+favor with “the force.” Before Robinson departed, he was full of
+information and good food.
+
+What more natural, then, an hour later, than that he should contrive to
+meet Elkin as the horse-dealer was taking home a lively two-year-old
+pony he had been “lungeing” on a strip of common opposite his house?
+
+Each was eager to question the other, but Elkin opened fire.
+
+“Anything fresh?” he cried. “You have a fair course now, Robinson. That
+little London ’tec has bunked home.”
+
+“Has he?” In the language of the ring, Robinson thought fit to spar for
+an opening.
+
+“Oh, none of your kiddin’,” said Elkin, stroking the nervous colt’s
+neck. “You know he has. You don’t miss much that’s going on. Bet you
+half a thick ’un you’d have put someone in clink before this if the
+murder at _The Hollies_ had been left in your hands.”
+
+“That’s as may be, Mr. Elkin. But this affair seems to have gripped you
+for fair. You look thoroughly run down. Sleepin’ badly?”
+
+“Rotten! Hardly got a wink last night.”
+
+“You shouldn’t be out so late. Why, on’y a week ago you were in bed
+regular at 10.15.”
+
+“That inquest broke up the day yesterday, so I was delayed at
+Knoleworth.”
+
+“What time did you reach home?”
+
+“Dashed if I know. After twelve before I was in bed. By the way, what’s
+this about things missing from a box owned by the Amateur Dramatic
+Society? That silly josser of a detective—What’s his name?”
+
+“Furneaux,” said Robinson, who was clever enough not to appear too
+secretive, and was thanking his stars that Elkin had introduced the
+very topic he wanted to discuss.
+
+“Ay, Furneaux. I remember now. He worried old Tomlin last night about
+that box, which is kept in the loft over the club-room. So Tomlin and
+I, and Hobbs, just to satisfy ourselves, went up there as soon as
+Furneaux left to-day. And, what do you think? The box was unlocked,
+though I locked it myself, and have the key; and a hat and wig and
+whiskers I wore when we played a skit on ‘Trilby’ were missing. If that
+isn’t a clew, what is?”
+
+“A clew!” repeated the bewildered Robinson.
+
+“Yes. I’m telling you, though I kept dark before the other fellows.
+Didn’t you say Grant’s cheek was bleeding on Tuesday morning?”
+
+“I did.”
+
+“Well, the whiskers were held on by wires that slip over the ears. One
+wire was sharp as a needle. I know, because it stuck into a finger more
+than once. Why shouldn’t it scratch a man’s cheek, and the cut open
+again next morning?”
+
+“By jing, you’ve got your knife into Mr. Grant, an’ no mistake,”
+commented Robinson.
+
+“You yourself gave him a nasty jab at the inquest,” sneered Elkin.
+
+“I was just tellin’ the facts.”
+
+“So am I. I think you ought to know about that hat and the other
+things. I would recognize them anywhere. Furneaux had something up his
+sleeve, too, or he wouldn’t have pumped Tomlin... Woa, boy! So long,
+Robinson! I must put this youngster into his stall.”
+
+“I’ll wait, Mr. Elkin,” said Robinson solemnly. “I want to have a word
+with you.”
+
+The policeman was glad of the respite. He needed time to collect his
+thoughts. The story of the dinner-party and its excitement disposed
+completely of Elkin’s malicious theory with regard to Grant, but, since
+the horse-dealer was minded to be communicative, it would be well to
+encourage him.
+
+“Come in, and have a drink,” said Elkin, when the colt had been
+stabled.
+
+“No, thanks—not when I’m on duty.”
+
+Elkin raised his eyebrows sarcastically. He could not possibly guess
+that Robinson was adopting Furneaux’s pose of never accepting
+hospitality from a man whom he might have to arrest.
+
+“Well, blaze away. I’m ready.”
+
+The younger man leaned against a gate. He looked ill and physically
+worn.
+
+“Your business has kept you out late of a night recently, you say, Mr.
+Elkin,” began the other, speaking as casually as he could contrive.
+“Now, it might help a lot if you can call to mind anyone you met on the
+roads at ten or eleven o’clock. For instance, last night—”
+
+Elkin laughed in a queer, croaking way.
+
+“Last night my mare brought me home. I was decidedly sprung, Robinson.
+Glad you didn’t spot me, or there might have been trouble. What between
+the inquest, an’ no food, an’ more than a few drinks at Knoleworth, I’d
+have passed Owd Ben himself without seeing him, though I believe I did
+squint in at _The Hollies_ as I went by.”
+
+“What time would that be?”
+
+“Oh, soon after eleven.”
+
+“Sure.”
+
+“I can’t be certain to ten minutes or so. The pubs hadn’t closed when I
+left Knoleworth. What the devil does it matter, anyhow?”
+
+It mattered a great deal. Robinson could testify that Elkin did not
+cross Steynholme bridge “soon after eleven.”
+
+“Nothing much,” was the answer. “You see, I’m anxious to find out who
+might be stirring at that hour, an’ you know everybody for miles
+around. I’d like to fix your journey by the clock, if I could.”
+
+“Dash it all, man, I was full to the eyes. There! You have it
+straight.”
+
+“Were you out on Monday night?”
+
+“The night of the murder?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I left the Hare and Hounds at ten, and came straight home.”
+
+“Who was there with you?”
+
+“The usual crowd—Hobbs, and Siddle, and Bob Smith, and a commercial
+traveler. Siddle went at half past nine, but he generally does.”
+
+“You met no one on the road?”
+
+“No.”
+
+The monosyllable seemed to lack Elkin’s usual confidence. It sounded as
+if he had been making up his mind what to say, yet faltered at the last
+moment.
+
+Robinson ruminated darkly. As a matter of fact, long after eleven
+o’clock on that fateful night, he himself had seen Elkin walking
+homeward. He was well aware that the licensing hours were not strictly
+observed by the Hare and Hounds when “commercial gentlemen” were in
+residence. Closing time was ten o’clock, but the “commercials,” being
+cheery souls, became nominal hosts on such occasions, and their guests
+were in no hurry to depart. Robinson saw that he had probably jumped to
+a conclusion, an acrobatic feat of reasoning which Furneaux had
+specifically warned him against. At any rate, he resolved now to leave
+well enough alone.
+
+“Well, we don’t seem to get any forrarder,” he said. “You ought to take
+more care of your health, Mr. Elkin. You’re a changed man these days.”
+
+“I’ll be all right when this murder is off our chests, Robinson. You
+won’t have a tiddley? Right-o! So long!”
+
+Robinson walked slowly toward Steynholme. At a turn in the road he
+halted near the footpath which led down the wooded cliff and across the
+river to Bush Walk. He surveyed the locality with a reflective frown.
+Then, there being no one about, he made some notes of the chat with
+Elkin. The man’s candor and his misstatements were equally puzzling.
+None knew better than the policeman that the vital discrepancy of fully
+an hour and a half on the Monday night would be difficult to clear up.
+Tomlin, of course, would have no recollection of events after ten
+o’clock, but the commercial traveler, who could be traced, might be
+induced to tell the truth if assured that the police needed the
+information solely for purposes in connection with their inquiry into
+the murder. That man must be found. His testimony should have an
+immense significance.
+
+That evening, shortly before seven o’clock, a stalwart,
+prosperous-looking gentleman in tweeds “descended” from the London
+express at Knoleworth. The local train for Steynholme stood in a bay on
+the opposite platform, and this passenger in particular was making for
+it when he nearly collided with another man, younger, thinner,
+bespectacled, who hailed him with delight.
+
+“You, too? Good egg!” was the cry.
+
+The gentleman thus addressed did not seem to relish this geniality.
+
+“Where the deuce are you off to?” he demanded.
+
+“To Steynholme—same as you, of course.”
+
+“Look here, Peters, a word in your ear. If you know me during the next
+few days, you’ll never know me again. I suppose you’ll be staying at
+the local inn—there’s only one of any repute in the place?”
+
+“That’s so. I’ve got you. May I take it that you will reciprocate when
+the time comes?”
+
+“Have I ever failed you?”
+
+“No. We meet as strangers.”
+
+Peters bustled off. He had the reputation of being the smartest “writer
+up” in London of mystery cases. The Steynholme affair had interested
+both him and a shrewd news-editor.
+
+The pair arrived at the Hare and Hounds within a few minutes of each
+other. The big man registered as “Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina.” Peters
+ordered a chop, and went off at once to interview the local policeman.
+Mr. Franklin took more pains over the prospective meal.
+
+“Have you a nice chicken?” he inquired.
+
+Yes, Mr. Tomlin had a veritable spring chicken in the larder at that
+moment.
+
+“And do you think your cook could provide a _tourne-dos_?”
+
+“A what-a, sir?” wheezed Tomlin.
+
+The visitor explained. He liked variety, he said. Half the chicken
+might be deviled for breakfast. The two dishes, with plain boiled
+potatoes and French beans, would suit him admirably. He was sorry he
+dared not try Tomlin’s excellent claret, but a dominating doctor had
+put him on the water-cart. In effect, Mr. Franklin impressed the
+landlord as a man of taste and ample means.
+
+Peters had gobbled his chop before Franklin entered the dining-room,
+but they met later in the snug, where Elkin was being chaffed by Hobbs
+anent his carryin’s on in Knoleworth the previous night.
+
+Siddle came in, but the chatter was not so free as when the habitués
+had the place to themselves.
+
+Now, Peters had marked the gathering as one that suited his purpose
+exactly, so he gave the conversation the right twist.
+
+“I suppose you local gentlemen have been greatly disturbed by this
+sensational murder?” he said.
+
+Hobbs took refuge in a glass of beer. Siddle gazed contemplatively at
+his neat boots. Tomlin meant to say something; Elkin, eying the
+stranger, and summing him up as a detective, answered brusquely:
+
+“The murder is bad enough, but the fat-headed police are worse. Three
+days gone, and nothing done!”
+
+“What murder are you discussing, may I ask?” put in Franklin.
+
+Peters turned on him with astonishment in every line of a peculiarly
+mobile face.
+
+“Do you mean to say, sir, that you haven’t heard of the Steynholme
+murder?” he gasped.
+
+“I seldom, if ever, read such things in the newspapers, and, as I
+landed in England only a week ago from France, my ignorance, though
+abyssmal, is pardonable. Moreover, I can say truly that I am far more
+interested in pedigree horses than in vulgar criminals.”
+
+Peters explained fluently. This was no ordinary crime. A beautiful and
+popular actress had been done to death in a brutal way, and the country
+was already deeply stirred by the story.
+
+Elkin waited impatiently till the journalist drew breath. Then he broke
+in.
+
+“Pedigree horses you mentioned, sir,” he said, his rancor against Grant
+being momentarily conquered by the pertinent allusion to his own
+business. “What sort? Racing, coaching, roadsters, or hacks?”
+
+“All sorts. The Argentine, where I have connections, offers an
+ever-open door to good horseflesh.”
+
+“Are you having a look round?”
+
+“Yes. There are several decent studs within driving distance of
+Steynholme. Isn’t that so, landlord?”
+
+“Lots, sir,” said Tomlin. “An’ the very man you’re talkin’ to has some
+stuff not to be sneezed at.”
+
+“Is that so?” Mr. Franklin gazed at Elkin in a very friendly manner.
+“May I ask your name, sir?”
+
+Elkin produced a card. Every hoof in his stables appreciated in value
+forthwith, but he was far too knowing that he should appear to rush
+matters.
+
+“Call any day you like, sir,” he said. “Glad to see you. But give me
+notice. I generally have an appetizer here of a morning about eleven.”
+
+“An’ you want it, too, Fred,” said Hobbs. “Dash me, you’re as thin as a
+herrin’. Stop whiskey an’ drink beer, like me.”
+
+“And you might also follow that gentleman’s example,” interposed Siddle
+quietly, nodding towards Mr. Franklin.
+
+“What’s that?” snapped Elkin.
+
+“Don’t worry about murders.”
+
+“That’s a nice thing to say. Why should _I_ worry about the d—d
+mix-up?”
+
+The chemist made no reply, but Hobbs stepped into the breach valiantly.
+
+“Keep yer ’air on, Fred,” he vociferated. “Siddle means no ’arm. But
+wot else are yer a-doing of, mornin’, noon, an’ night?”
+
+Elkin laughed, with his queer croak.
+
+“If you stay here a day or two, you’ll soon get to know what they’re
+driving at, sir,” he said to Franklin. “The fact is that this chap,
+Grant, who found the body, and in whose garden the murder was
+committed, has been making eyes at the girl I’m as good as engaged to.
+That would make anybody wild—now, wouldn’t it?”
+
+“Possibly,” smiled Franklin. “Of course there is always the lady’s
+point of view. The sex is proverbially fickle, you know. ‘Woman, thy
+vows are traced in sand,’ Lord Byron has it.”
+
+“Ay, an’ some men’s, too,” guffawed Hobbs. “Wot about Peggy Smith,
+Fred?”
+
+Elkin blew a mouthful of cigarette smoke at the butcher.
+
+“What about that tough old bull you bought at Knoleworth on Monday?” he
+retorted.
+
+Hobbs’s face grew purple. Mr. Franklin beckoned to Tomlin.
+
+“Ask these gentlemen what they’ll have,” he said gently. The landlord
+made a clatter of glasses, and the threatened storm passed.
+
+“You’ve aroused my curiosity,” remarked Franklin to Peters, but taking
+the company at large into the conversation. “This does certainly strike
+one as a remarkable case. Is there no suspicion yet as to the actual
+murderer?”
+
+“None whatever,” said Peters.
+
+“That’s what you may call the police opinion,” broke in Elkin. “We
+Steynholme folk have a pretty clear notion, I can assure you.”
+
+“The matter is still _sub judice_, and may remain so a long time,” said
+Siddle. “It is simply stupid to attach a kind of responsibility to the
+man who happens to occupy the house associated with the crime. I have
+no patience with that sort of reasoning.”
+
+Hobbs, who did not want to quarrel with Elkin, suddenly championed him.
+
+“That’s all very well,” he rumbled. “But the hevidence you an’ me
+’eard, Siddle, an’ the hevidence we know we’re goin’ to ’ear, is a lot
+stronger than that.”
+
+“I’m sure you’ll pardon me, friends,” said Siddle, rising with an
+apologetic smile, “but I happen to be foreman of the coroner’s jury,
+and I feel that this matter is not for me, at any rate, to discuss
+publicly.”
+
+Out he went, not even heeding Tomlin’s appeal to drink the ginger-ale
+he had just ordered.
+
+“Just like ’im,” sighed Hobbs. “Good-’earted fellow! Would find
+hexcuses for a black rat.”
+
+Elkin talked more freely now that the chemist’s disapproving eye was
+off him. Ultimately, Mr. Franklin elected to smoke a cigar in the open
+air, and strolled forth. He sauntered down the hill, stood on the
+bridge, and admired the soft blue tones of the landscape in the half
+light of a summer evening. Shortly before closing time, Robinson
+appeared, it being part of his routine duty to see that no noisy
+revelers disturbed the peace of the village. He noticed the stranger at
+once, and elected to walk past him.
+
+Thus, he received yet another shock when Mr. Franklin addressed him by
+name.
+
+“Good evening, Robinson,” said the pleasant, clear-toned voice. “I’ve
+been expecting you to turn up. Kindly go back home, and leave the door
+open. I want to slip in quietly. I am Chief Inspector Winter, of
+Scotland Yard.”
+
+“You don’t say so, sir!” stammered Robinson.
+
+“But I do say it, and will prove it to you, of course. I’ll be with you
+in a minute or two. There’s someone coming. You and I must not be seen
+together.”
+
+Robinson made off, and Winter lounged along the Knoleworth road. He met
+Bates, going to the post with letters.
+
+Naturally, Bates looked him over. Returning from the post office, he
+kept a sharp eye for the unknown loiterer, but saw him not. He even
+walked quickly to the bend of the road, but the other man had vanished.
+
+Grant and Hart were talking of anything but the murder when Bates
+thrust his head in. He was grasping his goatee beard, sure sign of some
+weight on his mind.
+
+“Beg pardon,” he said, “but I thought you’d like to know. The place is
+just swarmin’ with ’em.”
+
+“Bees?” inquired Hart.
+
+Bates stared fixedly at the speaker for a second or two.
+
+“No, sir, ’tecs,” he said. “There’s a big ’un now—just the opposite to
+the little ’un, Hawkshaw. I ’ope I ’aven’t to tackle this customer,
+though. He’d gimme a doin’, by the looks of ’im.”
+
+Bates had disappeared before Grant remembered that the press
+photographer had mentioned the Big ’Un and the Little ’Un of the Yard.
+
+“Now, I wonder,” he said.
+
+His wonder could hardly have equaled Winter’s had he heard the
+gardener’s words. The guess was a distinct score for blunt Sussex,
+though it was founded solely on the assumption that all comers now,
+unless Bates was personally acquainted with them, were limbs of the
+law.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XII.
+Wherein Winter Gets to Work
+
+
+Winter had identified Bates at the first glance. The letters in the
+man’s hand, too, showed his errand, so, while the gardener was climbing
+the hill, the detective slipped into Robinson’s cottage.
+
+He found the policeman awaiting him in the dark, because a voice said:
+
+“Beg pardon, sir, but the other gentleman from the ‘Yard’ asked me to
+take him into the kitchen. A light in the front room might attract
+attention, he thought.”
+
+“Just what Mr. Furneaux would suggest, and I agree with him,” said
+Winter, quite alive to the canny discretion behind those words, “the
+other gentleman.”
+
+Robinson led the way. Supper was laid on the table. Poor Mrs. Robinson
+had again beaten a hasty retreat.
+
+“Now, Robinson,” said the Chief Inspector affably, “before we come to
+business I’ll prove my bona fides. Here is my official card, and I’ll
+run quickly through events until 1.30 p.m. to-day. I met Mr. Furneaux
+at Victoria, and he posted me fully up to that hour.”
+
+So the policeman listened to a clear summary of the Steynholme case as
+it was known to the authorities.
+
+“I did not warn either Mr. Fowler or you of my visit because a telegram
+could hardly be explicit enough,” concluded Winter. “At the inn I am
+Mr. Franklin, an Argentine importer of blood stock in the horse line.
+At this moment the only other man beside yourself in Steynholme who is
+aware of my official position is Mr. Peters, and he is pledged to
+secrecy. To-morrow or any other day until further notice, you and I
+meet as strangers in public. By the way, Mr. Furneaux asked me to tell
+you that he found the wig and the false beard in the river early this
+morning. The wearer had apparently flung them off while crossing the
+foot-bridge leading from Bush Walk, having forgotten that they would
+not sink readily. Perhaps he didn’t care. At any rate, Mr. Hart’s
+bullet seems to have laid Owd Ben’s ghost. Now, what of this fellow,
+Elkin? He worries me.”
+
+“Can I offer you a glass of beer, sir?”
+
+“With pleasure. May I smoke while you eat? You see, I differ from Mr.
+Furneaux in both size and habits.”
+
+Robinson poured out the beer. He was preternaturally grave. The
+somewhat incriminating statements he had wormed out of the horse-dealer
+that afternoon lay heavy upon him. But he told his story succinctly
+enough. Winter nodded to emphasize each point, and congratulated him at
+the end.
+
+“You arranged that very well,” he said. “I gather, though, that Elkin
+spoke rather openly.”
+
+“Just as I’ve put it, sir. He tripped a bit over the time on Monday
+night. But it’s only fair to say that he might have had Tomlin’s
+license in mind.”
+
+“That issue will be settled to-morrow. I’ll find out the commercial
+traveler’s name, and send a telegram from Knoleworth before noon....
+Who is Peggy Smith?”
+
+Robinson set down an empty glass with a stare of surprise.
+
+“Bob Smith’s daughter, sir,” he answered.
+
+“No doubt. But, proceed.”
+
+“Well, sir, she’s just a village girl. Her father is a blacksmith. His
+forge is along to the right, not far. She’ll be twenty, or
+thereabouts.”
+
+“Frivolous?”
+
+“Not more than the rest of ’em, sir.”
+
+“Have you seen her flirting with Elkin?”
+
+Robinson took thought.
+
+“Now that I come to think of it, she might be given a bit that way. Her
+father shoes Elkin’s nags, so there’s a lot of comin’ an’ goin’ between
+the two places. But folks would always look on it as natural enough.
+Yes, I’ve seen ’em together more than once.”
+
+“In that case, he can hardly grumble if the postmaster’s daughter has
+an eye for another young man.”
+
+“Miss Martin!” snorted Robinson. “She wouldn’t look the side of the
+road he was on. Fred Elkin isn’t her sort.”
+
+“But he said to-night in the Hare and Hounds that he and Miss Martin
+were practically engaged.”
+
+“Stuff an’ nonsense! Sorry, sir, but I admire Doris Martin. I like to
+see a girl like her liftin’ herself out of the common gang. She’s the
+smartest young lady in the village, an’ not an atom of a snob. No, no.
+She isn’t for Fred Elkin. Before this murder cropped up everybody would
+have it that Mr. Grant would marry her.”
+
+“How does the murder intervene?”
+
+Robinson shifted uneasily in his chair. He knew only too well that he
+himself had driven a wedge between the two.
+
+“Steynholme’s a funny spot, sir,” he contrived to explain. “Since it
+came out that Doris an’ Mr. Grant were in the garden at _The Hollies_
+at half past ten on Monday night, without Mr. Martin knowin’ where his
+daughter was, there’s been talk. Both the postmaster an’ the girl
+herself are up to it. You can see it in their faces. They don’t like
+it, an’ who can blame ’em!”
+
+“Who, indeed? But this Elkin—surely he had some ground for a definite
+boast, made openly, among people acquainted with all the parties?”
+
+“There’s more than Elkin would marry Doris if she lifted a finger,
+sir.”
+
+“Can you name them?”
+
+“Well, Tomlin wants a wife.”
+
+Winter laughed joyously.
+
+“Next?” he cried.
+
+“They say that Mr. Siddle is a widower.”
+
+“The chemist? Foreman of the jury?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“From appearances, he is a likelier candidate than either Elkin or
+Tomlin. Anybody else?”
+
+“I shouldn’t be far wrong if I gave you the name of most among the
+young unmarried men in the parish.”
+
+“Dear me! I must have a peep at this charmer. But I want those names,
+Robinson.”
+
+Winter produced a note-book, so he was evidently taking the matter
+seriously. The policeman, however, was flustered. His thoughts ran on
+Elkin, whereas this masterful person from London insisted on discussing
+Doris Martin.
+
+“My difficulty is, sir, that she has never kep’ company with any of
+’em,” he said.
+
+“Never mind. Give me the name of every man who, no matter what his
+position or prospects, might be irritated, if no more, if he knew that
+Miss Martin and Mr. Grant were presumably spooning in a garden at a
+rather late hour.”
+
+It was a totally new line of inquiry for Robinson, but he bent his wits
+to it, and evolved a list which, if published, would certainly be
+regarded with incredulous envy by every other girl in the village than
+the postmaster’s daughter; as for Doris herself, she would be mightily
+surprised when she saw it, but whether annoyed or secretly gratified
+none but a pretty girl of nineteen can tell.
+
+Winter departed soon afterwards. Before going to the inn he had a look
+at the forge. A young woman, standing at the open door of the adjoining
+cottage, favored him with a frank stare. There was no light in the
+dwelling. When he returned, after walking a little way down the road,
+the door was closed.
+
+Next morning, Bates heard of Peters as the detective and of Mr.
+Franklin as a “millionaire” from South America. Moreover, he
+scrutinized both in the flesh, and saw Robinson salute Peters but pass
+the financial potentate with indifference.
+
+Alas, that a reputation, once built, should be destroyed!
+
+“I was mistook, sir,” he reported to Grant later. “There’s another ’tec
+about, but ’e ain’t the chap I met last night. They say this other
+bloke is rollin’ in money, an’ buyin’ hosses right an’ left.”
+
+“Then he’ll soon be rolling in the mud, and have no money,” put in
+Hart.
+
+“Who is he?” inquired Grant carelessly.
+
+“A Mr. Franklin, from South America, sir.”
+
+Grant and Hart exchanged glances. Curiously enough, Hart remained
+silent till Bates had gone.
+
+“I must look this joker up, Jack,” he said then. “To me the mere
+mention of South America is like Mother Gary’s chickens to a sailor, a
+harbinger of storm.”
+
+But Hart consumed Tomlin’s best brew to no purpose—in so far as seeing
+Mr. Franklin was concerned, since the latter was in Knoleworth, buying
+a famous racing stud. Being in the village, however, this fisher in
+troubled waters was not inclined to return without a bag of some sort.
+
+He walked straight into the post office. Doris and her father were
+there, the telegraphist being out.
+
+“Good day, everybody,” he cried cheerfully. “Grant wants to know, Mr.
+Martin, if you and Miss Doris will come and dine with him, us, this
+evening at 7.30?”
+
+The postmaster gazed helplessly at this free-and-easy stranger. Doris
+laughed, and blushed a little.
+
+“This is Mr. Hart, a friend of Mr. Grant’s, dad,” she explained. “I’m
+afraid we cannot accept the invitation. We are so busy.”
+
+“The worst of excuses,” said Hart.
+
+“But there is a London correspondent here who hands in a long telegram
+at that hour.”
+
+“What’s his name?”
+
+“Mr. Peters.”
+
+“Great Scott! Jimmie Peters here? I’ll soon put a stopper on him. He’ll
+come, too—jumping. See if he doesn’t. Is it a bargain? Short telegram
+at six. Dinner for five at 7.30. Come, now, Mr. Martin. It’s up to you.
+I can see ‘Yes’ in Doris’s eye. Over the port—most delectable, I assure
+you—I’ll give full details of the peculiar case of a man in
+Worcestershire whose crop of gooseberries increased fourfold after
+starting an apiary. And what does it matter if you do lose a queen or
+two in June? The drones will attend to that trifle.... It’s a fixture,
+eh? Where’s Peters? In the Pull and Push? I’ll rout him out.”
+
+The whirlwind subsided, but quickly materialized again.
+
+“Peters nearly fell on his knees and wept with joy,” announced Hart.
+“He believes he was given a bull steak for luncheon. He pledges himself
+to have only five hundred words on the wire at five o’clock.”
+
+Meanwhile, father and daughter had decided that there was no valid
+reason why they should not dine with Mr. Grant. Martin already
+regretted his aloofness on the day of the inquest, though, truth to
+tell, Hart’s expert knowledge of bee-culture was the determining
+factor. On her part, Doris was delighted. Her world had gone awry that
+week, and this small festivity might right it.
+
+Not one word of the improvised dinner-party did Hart confide to Grant.
+He informed the only indispensable person, Mrs. Bates, and left it at
+that. Grant, a restless being these days, took him for another long
+walk. It chanced that their road home led down the high-street. The
+hour was a quarter past seven, and Peters hailed them.
+
+Hart introduced the journalist, saying casually:
+
+“Jimmie is coming to dinner, Jack.”
+
+“Delighted,” said Grant, of course.
+
+Peters looked slightly surprised, but passed no comment. Then Doris and
+her father appeared. They joined the others, shook hands, and, to
+Grant’s secret perplexity, the whole party moved off down the hill in
+company. When the Martins turned with the rest to cross the bridge,
+Grant began to suspect his friend.
+
+“Wally,” he managed to whisper, “what game have you been playing?”
+
+“Aren’t you satisfied?” murmured Hart. “Sdeath, as they used to say in
+the Surrey Theater, you’re as bad as Furshaw!”
+
+There were others far more perturbed by that odd conjunction of diners
+than the puzzled host, who merely expected Mrs. Bates to belabor him
+with a rolling pin. Mr. Siddle, for instance, had just closed his shop
+when the five met. That is to say, the dark blue blind was drawn, but
+the door was ajar. He came to the threshold, and watched the party
+until the bridge was neared, when one of them, looking back, might have
+seen him, so he stepped discreetly inside. Being a non-interfering,
+self-contained man, he seemed to be rather irresolute. But that
+condition passed quickly. Leaning over the counter, he secured a hat
+and a pair of field-glasses, and went out. He, too, knew of Mrs.
+Jefferson’s weakness for shopping in Knoleworth, and that good lady had
+gone there again. Her train was due in ten minutes. A wicket gate led
+to a narrow passage communicating with the back door of her residence.
+He entered boldly, reached the garden, and hurried to the angle on the
+edge of the cliff next to the Martins’ strip of ground.
+
+Yes, a spacious dinner-table was laid at _The Hollies_. Doris, Mr.
+Martin, and Peters soon strolled out on to the lawn. The pedestrians
+had obviously gone upstairs to wash after their tramp.
+
+Mr. Siddle rather forgot himself. He stared so long and earnestly
+through the field-glasses that he ran full tilt into Mrs. Jefferson and
+maid before regaining the high-street. But the chemist was a ready man.
+He lifted his hat with an inquiring smile.
+
+“Didn’t you say you wanted some anti-arthritic salts early in the
+week?” he asked.
+
+“Yes,” said Mrs. Jefferson, “but I got some to-day in Knoleworth, thank
+you.”
+
+“Well, I was just making up an indent, and might as well include your
+specific if you really needed it.”
+
+Which was kind and thoughtful of Mr. Siddle, but not quite true, though
+it fully explained his presence at Mrs. Jefferson’s gate.
+
+Mr. Franklin, escorting a fragrant Havana up the hill (he had traveled
+by the same train) saw the meeting, and, being aware of Mrs.
+Jefferson’s frugal habits, since Furneaux had omitted no item of his
+movements in Steynholme, remembered it later during the nightly
+gathering in the inn.
+
+Elkin greeted Mr. Franklin respectfully when the great man joined the
+circle.
+
+“Did you see anything worth while at Knoleworth, sir?” he said.
+
+“No. I was unlucky. All the principals were at a race meeting.”
+
+“By gum! That’s right. It’s Gatwick today. Dash! I might have saved you
+a journey.”
+
+“Oh, it doesn’t matter. In my business there is no call for hurry.”
+
+Elkin looked around.
+
+“Where’s our friend, the ’tec?” he said.
+
+“I think you’re wrong about ’im, meanin’ Mr. Peters,” said Tomlin.
+“’E’s ’ere for a noospaper, not for the Yard.”
+
+“That’s his blarney,” smirked Elkin. “A detective doesn’t go about
+telling everybody what he is.”
+
+“Whatever his profession may be,” put in Siddle’s quiet voice, “I
+happen to know that he is dining with Mr. Grant. So are Mr. Martin and
+Doris. By mere chance I called at Mrs. Jefferson’s. I went to the back
+door, and, finding it closed, looked into the garden. From there I
+couldn’t help seeing the assembly on the lawn of _The Hollies_.”
+
+“Dining at Grant’s?” shouted Elkin in a fury. “Well, I’m—”
+
+“’Ush, Fred!” expostulated Tomlin with a shocked glance at Mr.
+Franklin. “Wot’s wrong wi’ a bit of grub, ony ways? A very nice-spoken
+young gent kem ’ere twiced, an’ axed for Mr. Peters the second time.
+He’s a friend o’ Mr. Grant’s, I reckon.”
+
+“What’s wrong?” stormed the horse-dealer. “Why, everything’s wrong! The
+bounder ought to be in jail instead of giving dinner-parties. Imagine
+Doris eating in that house!”
+
+“Ay! Sweetbreads an’ saddle o’ lamb,” interjected Hobbs with the air of
+one imparting a secret.
+
+Elkin was pallid with wrath. He glared at Hobbs.
+
+“What I had in my mind was the impudence of the blighter,” he said
+shrilly. “That poor woman’s body leaves here to-morrow for some
+cemetery in London, and Grant invites folk to a small dinner to-night!”
+
+A sort of awe fell on the company. None of the others had as yet put
+the two events in juxtaposition, and they had an ugly sound. Even Mr.
+Siddle stifled a protest. Elkin had scored a hit, a palpable hit, and
+no one could gainsay him. He felt that, for once, the general opinion
+was with him, and drove the point home.
+
+“Hobson—the local joiner and undertaker”—he explained for Mr.
+Franklin’s benefit—“came this morning to borrow a couple of horses for
+the job. It’s to be done in style—‘no expense spared’ was Mr.
+Ingerman’s order—and the poor thing is in her coffin now while Grant—”
+
+He stopped. Mr. Siddle coughed.
+
+“You’ve said enough, Elkin,” murmured the chemist. “This excitement is
+harmful. You really ought to be in bed for the next forty-eight hours,
+dieting yourself carefully, and taking Dr. Foxton’s mixture regularly.
+He has changed it, I noticed.”
+
+“Bed! Me! Not likely. I’m going to kick up a row. What are the police
+doing? A set of blooming old women, that’s what they are. But I’ll stir
+’em up, if I have to write to the Home Secretary.”
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Franklin, smiling genially, “I cannot help taking
+a certain interest in this affair. May I, then, as a complete stranger
+to all concerned, tell you how this minor episode strikes me. Mr.
+Grant, I understand, denies having seen or spoken to Miss Melhuish
+during the past three years. None of the others now in his house had
+met her at all. Really, if a man may not give a dinnerparty in these
+conditions, dining-out would become a lost art.”
+
+Elkin was obviously seeking for some retort which, though forcible,
+would not offend a possible patron. But Siddle answered far more deftly
+than might be looked for from the horse-dealer.
+
+“Your contention, sir, is just what the man of the world would hold,”
+he said, “but, in this village, where we live on neighborly terms, such
+an incident would be impossible in almost any other house than _The
+Hollies_.”
+
+Mr. Franklin nodded. He was convinced. Tomlin, Hobbs, and a local
+draper bore out the chemist’s reasonable theory. Next morning
+Steynholme was again united in condemning Grant, while the postmaster
+and his daughter were not wholly exempted from criticism.
+
+The dinner itself was an altogether harmless and cheery meal. By common
+consent not one word was said about the murder. Hart was amusing on the
+question of bees—almost flippant, Mr. Martin deemed him. Peters had a
+wide store of strange experiences to draw on, while Grant, if rather
+silent in deference to two such brilliant talkers, found much
+satisfaction in regarding Doris as a hostess.
+
+The next day being Saturday, or market day, the village was busy. At
+eleven o’clock there was a somewhat unnecessary display of nodding
+plumes and long-tailed black horses at the removal of the coffin to the
+railway station. For some reason, the funeral arrangements had not been
+bruited about until Elkin made that envenomed attack on Grant in the
+Hare and Hounds the previous night. Ingerman had sent a gorgeous
+wreath, the only one forthcoming locally. This fact, of course, invited
+comment, though no whisperer in the crowd troubled to add that the
+interment was only announced in that day’s newspapers.
+
+Peters, meeting Mr. Franklin on the stairs of the inn, put a note into
+his hand. It read:
+
+“Why don’t you have a chat with Grant? The public mind is being
+inflamed against him. It’s hardly fair.”
+
+Mr. Franklin, meeting Peters in the passage, winked at him, and the
+journalist tortured his brains to turn out some readable stuff which
+should grip the million on Sunday yet not to be damaging to the man
+whose hospitality he enjoyed over night.
+
+In a word, the passing of Adelaide Melhuish was exploited thoroughly as
+an indictment of her one-time lover, and the only two in Steynholme not
+aware of the fact were Grant, himself, and Wally Hart.
+
+By a singular coincidence, not ridiculously beyond the ken of a verger,
+when Doris went to church on Sunday morning, she found herself beside
+Mr. Franklin.
+
+At the close of the service the same big man whom she had noticed as a
+neighbor in the pew overtook her at the post office door. He lifted his
+hat. A passer-by heard him say distinctly:
+
+“Pardon me for troubling you, but can you tell me at what time the mail
+closes for London?”
+
+“At four-thirty,” said Doris.
+
+No other person overheard Mr. Franklin’s next words:
+
+“I am now going to drop a letter in the box. It’s for you. Get it at
+once. It is of the utmost importance.”
+
+Doris was startled, as well she might be. But—she went straight for the
+letter. It was marked: “Private and Urgent,” and ran:
+
+_Dear Miss Martin.
+
+I am here_ vice _Mr. Furneaux, who is engaged on other phases of the
+same inquiry. My business is absolutely unknown. I figure at the inn as
+“Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina.” Indeed, Mr. Furneaux left the village
+because he realized the difficulties facing him in that respect. Now, I
+trust you, and I hope you will justify my faith. You know
+Superintendent Fowler. I want you to meet me and him this afternoon at
+two o’clock at the crossroads beyond the mill. A closed car will be in
+waiting, and we can have half an hour’s talk without anyone in
+Steynholme being the wiser. Remember that this village, like the night,
+has a thousand eyes. Naturally, I would not trouble you in this way if
+the cause was not vital to the ends of justice. Whether or not you
+decide to keep this appointment, I have every confidence that you will
+respect my wish that_ no one_, other than yourself, shall be informed
+of my identity. But I believe you will be wise, and come._
+
+
+_I am,
+Yours faithfully,
+J. L. Winter,
+Chief Inspector, C. I. D., Scotland Yard, S. W._
+
+
+A card was inclosed, as a sort of credential. But, somehow, it was not
+needed. Doris had seen “Mr. Franklin” more than once, and she had heard
+him singing the hymns in church. He looked worthy of credence. His
+written words had the same honest ring. She resolved to go.
+
+Her father, sad to relate, had found three dead queens in the hives. He
+was busy, but spared a moment to tell her that Mr. Siddle was coming to
+tea at four o’clock. Doris was rather in a whirl, and seemed to be
+unnecessarily astonished.
+
+“Mr. Siddle! Why?” she gasped.
+
+“Why not!” said her father. “It’s not the first time. You can entertain
+him. I’ll look after the letters.”
+
+“I must get some cakes. We have none.”
+
+“Well, that’s simple. I wonder if that fellow Hart really understands
+apiaculture? You might invite him, too.”
+
+With that letter in her pocket Doris had suddenly grown wary. Hart and
+Siddle would not mix, and her woman’s intuition warned her that Siddle
+had chosen the tea-hour purposely in order to have an uninterrupted
+conversation with her. She disliked Mr. Siddle, in a negative way, but
+the very nearness of the detective was stimulating. Let Mr. Siddle
+come, then, and come alone!
+
+“No, dad,” she laughed. “Mr. Hart’s knowledge will be available
+to-morrow. In his presence, poor Mr. Siddle would be dumb.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIII.
+Concerning Theodore Siddle
+
+
+Winter, being a cheerful cynic, had not erred when he appealed to that
+love of mystery which, especially if it is spiced with a hint of
+harmless intrigue, is innate in every feminine heart. Indeed, he was so
+assured of the success of his somewhat dramatic move that as he walked
+to a rendezvous arranged with Superintendent Fowler on the Knoleworth
+road he reviewed carefully certain arguments meant to secure Doris’s
+assistance.
+
+Passing _The Hollies_, he smiled at the notion that Furneaux would
+undoubtedly have brought Grant to the conclave. It was just the sort of
+difficult situation in which his colleague would have reveled. But the
+Chief Inspector was more solid, more circumspect, even, singularly
+enough, more sensitive to the probable comments of a crusty judge if
+counsel for the defense contrived to elicit the facts.
+
+“Anything fresh?” inquired the superintendent, when a smart car drew
+up, and Winter entered.
+
+Mr. Fowler was in plain clothes, and the blinds were half drawn. No one
+could possibly recognize either of the occupants unless the car was
+halted, and the inquisitor literally thrust his head inside. The motor
+was a private one, borrowed for the occasion.
+
+“Yes, a little,” said Winter, as the chauffeur put the engine in gear.
+“Your man, Robinson, has been drawing Elkin, or Elkin drew him—I am not
+quite sure which, but think it matterless either way.”
+
+He sketched Robinson’s activities briefly, but in sufficient outline.
+
+“A new figure has come on the screen—Siddle, the chemist,” he added
+thoughtfully.
+
+“Siddle!” Mr. Fowler was surprised. “Why, he is supposed to be a model
+of the law-abiding citizen.”
+
+“I don’t say he has lost his character in that respect,” said Winter.
+“Still, he puzzles me. Elkin is a loud-mouthed fool. The verbal bricks
+he hurls at Grant are generally half baked, and crumble into dust.
+Hitherto, Siddle has tried to repress him, with a transparent honesty
+that rather worried me. On Friday night, however, Siddle attacked Grant
+with poisoned arrows. He did more damage in two minutes than Elkin
+could achieve in as many months.”
+
+“How?”
+
+“He showed very clearly that Grant was guilty of gross bad taste in
+inviting Mr. Martin and his daughter to dinner that evening. I’m
+inclined to agree with him, if the story has been told fairly. But that
+is beside the main issue. Siddle aroused the sleeping dogs of the
+village, and the pack is in full cry again. Grant seems to have been
+popular here; he had almost recovered from the blow of Miss Melhuish’s
+death by the straightforward speech he made before the inquest. But
+Siddle threw him back into the mud by a few skillful words. What is
+Siddle’s record? Is he a local man?”
+
+“I think not. Robinson can tell us.”
+
+“Robinson says he ‘believes’ Siddle is a widower. That doesn’t argue
+long and close knowledge.”
+
+“We must look into it. Robinson has been stationed here four years.
+Siddle is not old, but he has been in business in Steynholme more years
+than that. But—you’ll pardon me, I’m sure, Mr. Winter—may I take it
+that you are really interested in the chemist’s history?”
+
+The superintendent was perplexed, or he would not have adopted his
+professional method of semi-apologetic questions with a man from the
+C.I.D.
+
+“I hardly know what I’m interested in,” laughed Winter. “Grant didn’t
+kill the lady. I shall be slow to credit Elkin with being the scoundrel
+he looks. Siddle, and Tomlin, if you please, are regarded as starters
+in the Doris Martin Matrimonial Stakes, and I don’t think Tomlin could
+ever murder anything but the King’s English. It is Siddle’s _volte
+face_ that bothers me.”
+
+“Um!” murmured Mr. Fowler. He was not an uneducated man, but _volte
+face_, correctly pronounced, was unfamiliar in his ears.
+
+“The change was so marked,” went on the detective. “I gather that
+Siddle is a stickler for charity and fair dealing. He didn’t abandon
+the role, of course. It was the sheer ingenuity of his method that
+caught my attention. So I simply catalogue him for research.”
+
+“Has Miss Martin promised to meet us?” inquired the other, feeling that
+he was on the track of _volte face_.
+
+“No. But there she is!” cried Winter. “She has just heard the car. Tell
+your chauffeur to slow up. The road is empty otherwise. By the way, you
+help her in. She might be a bit shy of me, and I don’t want a second’s
+delay.”
+
+Winter’s judgment was not at fault. Doris _was_ feeling a trifle
+uncertain, seeing that she was about to encounter a complete stranger.
+Moreover, she had come a good half mile from the shop whence the cakes
+for tea were to be procured at the back door, and as a favor. Her eyes
+were fixed on the slowing car with a timid anxiety that betrayed no
+small degree of doubt as to the outcome of this Sunday afternoon
+escapade. She was pale and nervous. At that moment Doris wished herself
+safe at home again.
+
+“One word,” broke in the superintendent hurriedly. “Why are you so sure
+that Grant is innocent, Mr. Winter?”
+
+“I’m sure of nothing with regard to this case. But I have great faith
+in Furneaux’s flair for the true scent. It has never failed yet.”
+
+Mr. Fowler wished his companion would not use such uncommon words.
+However, he got out, and took off his hat with a courteous sweep. Doris
+had to look twice at him. Hitherto, she had always seen him in uniform.
+Winter smiled at the unmistakable expression of relief in her face. She
+was almost self-possessed as she took the seat by his side.
+
+“Good day, Mr. Winter,” she said.
+
+“Mr. Franklin, please. Better become used to my pseudonym.... Plenty of
+room for your feet, Mr. Fowler? That’s it. Now we’re comfy. The
+chauffeur will bring us back here in half an hour, Miss Martin. Will
+that suit your convenience?”
+
+“Oh, yes. I am free till nearly four o’clock. We have a guest to tea
+then.”
+
+“I have a well-developed bump of curiosity these days. Who is it, may I
+ask?”
+
+“Mr. Siddle, the local chemist.”
+
+“Indeed. An old friend, I suppose?”
+
+“We have known him seven years, ever since he came to Steynholme.”
+
+“Ah. He is not a native of the place?”
+
+“No. He bought Mr. Benson’s business. He’s a Londoner, I believe.”
+
+“Is there—a Mrs. Siddle?”
+
+“No. I—er—that is to say, gossip has it that he was married, but his
+wife died.”
+
+“He doesn’t speak of her? Is that it? One would have thought that in a
+house where he is well known—”
+
+“We don’t really know him well. No one does, I think.”
+
+“You’ve invited him to tea, at any rate,” laughed Winter.
+
+“No,” said Doris. “He invited himself. At least, so I gathered from
+dad.”
+
+“Ah, well. He feels lonely, no doubt, and wishes to chat about recent
+strange events in Steynholme. And that brings me to the reason why I
+sought this chat under such peculiar conditions. You realize my
+handicap, Miss Martin? If I were seen talking to you, or even entering
+your house as apart from the post office, people would begin to wonder.
+You follow that, don’t you?”
+
+Yes, Doris did follow it. What she did not follow was the veiled
+admiration in Superintendent Fowler’s glance at the detective. Those
+few inconsequential questions had shed a flood of light on Siddle’s
+past and present, yet the informant was blissfully unaware of their
+real purport. And the way was opened so deftly. The purchase of a
+chemist’s business would almost certainly be negotiated through a local
+lawyer. Let him be found, and Siddle’s pre-Steynholme days could be
+“looked into,” as the police phrase has it. The superintendent had the
+rare merit of being candid with himself. He had no previous experience
+of Scotland Yard men or methods, and was inclined to be skeptical about
+Furneaux. But Winter’s prompt use of a chance opening, and the
+restraint which cut off the investigation before the girl could suspect
+any ulterior motive, displayed a technique which the Sussex
+Constabulary had few opportunities of acquiring.
+
+“Now, Miss Martin,” began Winter, “if ever you have the misfortune to
+fall ill—touch wood, please—and call in a doctor, you’ll tell him the
+facts, eh?”
+
+“Why consult him at all, if I don’t?” she smiled.
+
+“Exactly. To-day I’m somewhat in the position of a Harley-street
+specialist, summoned to assist an eminent local practitioner in Dr.
+Fowler. That’s a sort of gentle preliminary, leading up to the
+disagreeable duty of putting some questions of a personal nature. What
+you may answer will not go beyond ourselves. I promise you that. You
+will not be quoted, or requested to prove your statements. Such a thing
+would be absurd. If I were really a doctor, and you needed my advice,
+you might easily describe your symptoms all wrong. It would be my
+business to listen, and deduce the truth, and I would never dream of
+rating you for having misled me. You see my point?”
+
+“Yes, but Mr. Win—Mr. Franklin, I know nothing whatever about the
+murder.”
+
+“I’m sure you don’t. It was a wicked trick of Fate that took you to Mr.
+Grant’s garden last Monday night.”
+
+“It was really an astronomical almanac,” retorted Doris, who now felt a
+growing confidence in this nice-spoken official. “Sirius is a star
+remarkable for its beautiful changing lights, and on Monday evening was
+at its best. I think I ought to explain,” and she blushed delightfully,
+“that the village gossip about Mr. Grant and me is entirely mistaken.
+We are not—well, I had better use plain English—we are not lovers. My
+father and I are just on close, friendly terms with Mr. Grant. I—my
+position hardly warrants even that relationship with an author of some
+distinction. But please set aside any notion of us as likely to become
+engaged. For one thing, it is preposterous. For another, I shall not
+leave my father.”
+
+Poor Doris! She little guessed how accurately this skilled student of
+human nature read the hidden thought behind that vehement protest. Even
+the note of vague rebellion against social disabilities was pathetic
+yet illuminating. Of course, he took her quite seriously.
+
+“Let us keep to the hard road of fact,” he said. “What you really mean
+is that Mr. Grant has never made love to you. But I must be candid,
+young lady. There is no earthly reason why he shouldn’t, though I could
+name offhand half a dozen why he should.... Well, well, I must not pay
+compliments. My friend, Mr. Furneaux, can manage that with much greater
+facility, being half a Frenchman. And now I’m going to say an
+unpleasant thing. I ask your forgiveness in advance. Both Mr. Furneaux
+and I agree in the opinion that your imaginary love affair is
+indissolubly bound up with the mystery of Miss Melhuish’s death. In a
+word, I have brought you here today to discuss your prospective
+marriage, and nothing else. That astonishes you, eh? Well, it’s the
+truth, as I shall proceed to make clear. There’s a Mr. Fred Elkin, for
+instance—”
+
+Doris uttered a little laugh of dismay. Winter’s emphatic words had
+astounded her, but the horse-dealer’s name acted as comic relief.
+
+“I can’t bear the man,” she protested.
+
+“I have no doubt. But you ought to know that he is loudly proclaiming
+his determination to marry you before the year is out.”
+
+The girl’s face reddened again, and her eyes sparkled.
+
+“I wouldn’t marry him if he were a peer of the realm,” she said
+indignantly.
+
+“Quite so. But he is an avowed suitor. Now don’t be vexed. Has he never
+declared his intentions to _you_?”
+
+“He would never dare. I sing and act a little, at village concerts and
+dramatic performances, and he has annoyed me at times by an officious
+pretense that he was deputed by my father to see me home. I came here
+quite a little girl, so people learnt to use my Christian name. I don’t
+object to it at all. But I simply hate hearing it on Mr. Elkin’s lips.”
+
+“Exit Fred!” said Winter solemnly. “Next!”
+
+Doris, after a period of calm, was now profoundly uncomfortable. This
+kind of prying was the last thing she had expected. She had come
+prepared to defend Grant, but, beyond one exceedingly personal
+reference, the detective had studiously shut him out of the
+conversation.
+
+“What am I to say?” she cried. “Do you want a list of all the young men
+who make sheep’s eyes at me?”
+
+“No. I can get that from the Census Bureau. Come, now, Miss Martin.
+_You_ know. Has any man in the village led you to suspect, shall we put
+it? that sometime or other, he might ask you to become his wife?”
+
+Lo, and behold! Doris’s pretty eyes filled with tears. Superintendent
+Fowler was so pleased at hearing Scotland Yard introducing a
+parenthetical query into its sentences that he, sitting opposite, was
+taken aback when Winter said in a fatherly way:
+
+“I’ve been rather clumsy, I’m afraid. But it cannot be helped. I must
+go blundering on. I’m groping in the dark, you know, but it’s a
+thousand pities I shall have to tread on _your_ toes.”
+
+“It isn’t that,” sobbed Doris. “I hate to put my thoughts into words.
+That’s all. There _is_ a man whom I’m—afraid of.”
+
+“Siddle?”
+
+She turned on Winter a face of sudden awe.
+
+“How can you possibly guess?” she said wonderingly, and sheer
+bewilderment dried her tears.
+
+“My business is nine-tenths guesswork. At any rate, we are on firm
+ground now. If you could please yourself, I suppose, Mr. Siddle would
+not come to tea to-day!”
+
+“He certainly would not,” declared the girl emphatically.
+
+“You believe he is coming for a purpose?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Elkin—I must drag him in again for an instant—pretends that the
+commotion aroused in the village by this murder would incline you
+favorably to a proposal of marriage. Mr. Siddle may have discovered
+some virtue in the theory.”
+
+“Did Mr. Elkin really hint that I needed _him_ as a shield?”
+
+Doris was genuinely angry now. She little imagined that Winter was
+playing on her emotions with a master hand.
+
+“Don’t waste any wrath on Elkin,” he soothed her. “The fellow isn’t
+worth it. But his crude idea might be developed more subtly by an abler
+man.”
+
+“I think it odd that Mr. Siddle should choose to-day, of all days, for
+a visit,” she admitted.
+
+Winter relapsed into silence for a while. The car was running through a
+charming countryside, and a glimpse of the sea was obtainable from the
+crest of each hill. Mr. Fowler was too circumspect to break in on the
+thread of his coadjutor’s thoughts. The inquiry had taken a curious
+turn, and was momentarily beyond his grasp.
+
+“It’s singular, but it’s true,” said the detective musingly when next
+he spoke, “that I am now going to ask you to act differently than was
+in my mind when I sought this interview. I should vastly like to be
+present when Siddle bares his heart to you this afternoon.
+
+“I can invite you to tea.”
+
+“Alas! that won’t serve our ends. But, if you feel you have a purpose,
+you will be nerved to deal with him. Bring him out into that secluded
+garden of yours—”
+
+“The first thing he will suggest,” and Doris’s voice waxed
+unconsciously bitter. “He knows that dad will be busy with the mails
+for an hour after tea.”
+
+“Good!”
+
+“I think it bad, most disagreeable.”
+
+“You won’t find the position so awkward if you are playing a part. And
+that is what I want—a bit of clever acting. Lean on those railings, and
+make Siddle believe that your heart is on Mr. Grant’s lawn. You know
+the kind of thing I mean. Dreamy eyes, listless manner, inattention,
+with smiling apologies. You will annoy Siddle, and a cautious man in a
+temper becomes less cautious. Force him to avow his real thoughts. You
+will learn something, trust me.”
+
+“About what?”
+
+There were no tears in Doris’s eyes. They were wide open in wonderment.
+
+“About his attitude to this tragedy. Do this, and you will be giving
+Mr. Grant the greatest possible help. He needs it. Next Wednesday, at
+the adjourned inquest, he will be put on the rack. Ingerman will fee
+counsel to be vindictive, merciless. Such men are to be hired. Their
+reputation is built up on the slaughter of reputations. I want to
+understand Siddle before Wednesday. By the way, what’s his other name?”
+
+“Theodore.”
+
+“Theodore Siddle. Unusual. Well, your half hour is nearly up. Will you
+do what I ask?”
+
+“I’ll try. May I put one question?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You said you had something altogether different in view before we met.
+What was it?”
+
+“I’ll tell you—let me see—I’ll tell you on Thursday.”
+
+“Why not now?”
+
+“Because it is the hardest thing in the world for a woman to be
+single-minded, in the limited sense of concentration, I mean. Focus
+your wits on Siddle to-day. I don’t suggest any plan. I leave that to
+your own intelligence. Vex him, and let him talk.”
+
+“Vex him!”
+
+“Yes. What man won’t get mad if he notices that his best girl is
+thinking about a rival.”
+
+This time Doris did not blush. She was troubled and serious, very
+serious.
+
+“I’ll do what I can,” she promised. “When shall I see you again?”
+
+“Soon. There’s no hurry. All this is preparatory for Wednesday.”
+
+“Am I to tell my father nothing?”
+
+“Please yourself. Not at present. I recommend you.”
+
+The car had stopped. It sped on when Doris alighted. She would be home
+with her cakes at three o’clock, and Mr. Martin would never have
+noticed her absence.
+
+“A fine bit of work, if I may say so,” exclaimed Fowler appreciatively.
+“But I am jiggered if I can imagine what you’re driving at.”
+
+Winter was cutting the end off a big cigar. He finished the operation
+to his liking before answering earnestly:
+
+“We stand or fall by the result of that girl’s efforts. Furneaux thinks
+so, and I agree with him absolutely. After five days, where are we, Mr.
+Fowler? In the dark, plus a brigand’s hat and hair. But there’s a queer
+belief in some parts of England that a phosphorescent gleam shows at
+night over a deep pool in which a dead body lies. That’s just how I
+feel about Siddle. The man’s an enigma. What sort of place is
+Steynholme for a chemist of his capacities? Dr. Foxton has the highest
+regard for him professionally, and I’m told he doctors people for miles
+around. Yet he lives the life of a recluse. An old woman comes by day
+to prepare his meals, and tidy the house and shop. His sole relaxation
+is an hour of an evening in the village inn, his visits there being
+uninterrupted since the murder. He was there on the night of the
+murder, too. For the rest, he is alone, shut off from the world.
+Without knowing it, he’s going to fall into deep waters to-day, and
+he’ll emit sparks, or I’m a Chinaman.... I’ll leave you here. Good-by!
+See you on Tuesday, after lunch.”
+
+The superintendent drove on alone. He pondered the Steynholme affair in
+all its bearings, but mostly did he weigh up Winter and Furneaux. At
+last, he sighed.
+
+“London ways, and London books, and London detectives!” he muttered.
+“We’re not up to date in Sussex. Now, if I could please myself, I’d be
+hot-foot after Elkin. I see what Winter has in his mind, but surely
+Elkin fills the bill, and Siddle doesn’t.... What was that word—volt
+what!”
+
+Doris was lucky. She met Mr. Siddle as she emerged from the back
+passage to the cake-shop. Resolving instantly that if an unpleasant
+thing had to be done it should at least be done well, she smiled
+brightly.
+
+“See what you have driven me to—breaking the Sabbath,” she cried,
+holding up the bag of cakes.
+
+“Tea and bread-and-butter with you would be a feast for the gods,” said
+Siddle.
+
+“Now you’re adapting Omar Khayyam.”
+
+“Who’s he?”
+
+“A Persian poet of long ago.”
+
+“I never read poetry. But, if your tastes lie that way, I’ll accomplish
+some more adaptation.”
+
+“Oh, no, please. Cakes for you, Mr. Siddle; poets for giddy young
+things like me.”
+
+There was a sting in the words. Doris preened herself on having carried
+out the detective’s instructions to the letter thus far.
+
+Arrived in the house she found her father still in the garden,
+examining some larvae under a microscope. He looked severe rather than
+studious. He might have been an omnipotent being who had detected a
+malefactor in a criminal act. Was Steynholme and its secret felon being
+regarded in that way by the providence which, for some inscrutable
+purpose, permitted, yet would infallibly punish, a dreadful murder? She
+was a girl of devout mind, and the notion was appalling in its direct
+application to current events.
+
+In the meantime the chemist, evidently taking a Sunday afternoon
+constitutional, came on Winter, who was leaning on a wall of the bridge
+and looking down stream—Grant’s house being on the left.
+
+He would have passed, in his wonted unobtrusive way, but the detective
+hailed him with a cheery “Good day, Mr. Siddle. Are you a fisherman?”
+
+“No, Mr. Franklin, I’m not,” he answered.
+
+“Well, now, I’m surprised. You are just the sort of man whom I should
+expect to find attached to a rod and line—even watching a float.”
+
+“I tried once when I was younger, but I could neither impale a worm nor
+extract a hook. My gorge rose against either practice. I am a
+vegetarian, for the same reason. If it were not for this disturbing
+tragedy you would have heard Hobbs, the butcher, rallying me about my
+rabbit-meat, as he calls my food.”
+
+“Well, well!” laughed Winter. “Your ideas and mine clash in some
+respects. I look on a well-grilled steak as a gift from Heaven, and
+after it, or before it—I don’t care which—let me have three hours
+whipping a good trout stream. With the right cast of flies I could show
+a fine bag from this very stretch of water.”
+
+“Why not ask Mr. Grant’s permission? It would be interesting to learn
+whether he will allow others to try their luck.”
+
+Mr. Siddle strolled on. Winter bent over, keen to discern the
+gray-backed fish which must be lurking in those clear depths and
+rippling shallows.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIV.
+On Both Sides of the River
+
+
+The sun, transmuted into Greenwich time, exercised an extraordinary
+influence on the seemingly humdrum life of Steynholme that day. A few
+minutes after three o’clock—just too late to observe either Winter or
+Siddle—P. C.  Robinson strolled forth from his cottage. He glanced up
+the almost deserted high-street, in which every rounded cobble and
+white flagstone radiated heat. A high-class automobile had dashed past
+twice in forty minutes, but the pace was on the borderland of doubt, so
+the guardian of the public weal had contented himself with recording
+its number on the return journey.
+
+But his thoughts were far a-field from joyriders, stray cattle, hawkers
+without licenses, and other similar small fry which come into the
+constabulary net. It would be a feather in his cap if he could only
+strike the trail of the veritable Steynholme murderer. The entrancing
+notion possessed him morning, noon, and night. Mrs. Robinson declared
+that it even dominated his dreams. Robinson was sharp. He knew quite
+well that the brains of the London detectives held some elusive quality
+which he personally lacked. They seemed to peer into the heart of a
+thing so wisely and thoroughly. He did not share Superintendent
+Fowler’s somewhat derogatory estimate of Furneaux, with whom he was
+much better acquainted than was his superior officer, while Chief
+Inspector Winter’s repute stood so high that it might not be
+questioned. Still, to the best of his belief, the case had beaten both
+these doughty representatives of Scotland Yard; there was yet a chance
+for the humble police-constable; so Robinson squared his shoulders,
+seamed his brows, and marched majestically down the Knoleworth road.
+
+He had an eye for _The Hollies_, of course, though neither he nor
+anybody else could discern more than the bare edge of the lawn from
+bridge or road, owing to the dense screen of evergreen trees and shrubs
+planted by the tenant who remodeled the property.
+
+But the spot where the body of Adelaide Melhuish was drawn ashore was
+visible, and the sight of it started a dim thesis in the policeman’s
+mind which took definite shape during less than an hour’s stroll. Thus,
+at four o’clock exactly, he was pulling the bell at _The Hollies_.
+Almost simultaneously, Mr. Siddle knocked modestly on the private door
+of the post office, to reach which one had to pass down a narrow yard.
+
+“Mr. Grant at home?” inquired Robinson, when Minnie appeared.
+
+Yes, the master was on the lawn with Mr. Hart. The policeman found the
+two there, seated in chairs with awnings. They had been discussing, of
+all things in the world, the futurist craze in painting. Hart held by
+it, but Grant carried bigger guns in real knowledge of the artist’s
+limitations as well as his privileges.
+
+Hart was the first to notice the newcomer’s presence, and greeted him
+joyously.
+
+“Come along, Robinson, and manacle this reprobate,” he shouted. “He’s
+nothing but a narrow-minded pre-Rafaelite. A period in prison will dust
+the cobwebs out of his attic.”
+
+“Hello, Robinson!” said, Grant. “Anything stirring?”
+
+“Not much, sir. I just popped in to ask if you remembered exactly how
+the body was roped?”
+
+“Indeed, I do not. Some incidents of that horrible half hour have gone
+into a sad jumble. I recollect you calling attention to the matter, but
+what your point was I really cannot say now. Perhaps it may come back
+if you explain.”
+
+“Well, we don’t seem to be making a great deal of progress, sir, and I
+was wondering whether you two gentlemen might help. I don’t want it
+mentioned. I’m taking a line of me own.”
+
+Grant repressed a smile. He recalled well enough the first “line” the
+policeman took, and the mischief it had caused. Being an even-minded
+person, however, he admitted that his own behavior had not been above
+suspicion on the day the crime was discovered. In allotting blame, as
+between Robinson and himself, the proportion was six of one and half a
+dozen of the other.
+
+“Propound, justiciary,” said Hart. “You’ve started well, anyhow. The
+connection between a line and a rope should be obvious even to a
+judge.... As a pipe-opener, have a drink!”
+
+Robinson had removed his helmet, and was flourishing a red
+handkerchief, not without cause, the day being really very hot.
+
+“Not for a few minutes, thank you, sir,” said the policeman. “May I ask
+Bates for a sack and a cord?”
+
+He went to the kitchen. Hart was “tickled to death,” he vowed.
+
+“We are about to witness the reconstruction of the crime, a procedure
+which the French delight in, and the intellect of France is a hundred
+years ahead of our effete civilization,” he chortled.
+
+Grant was not so pleased. The memory of a distressing vision was
+beginning to blur, and this ponderous policeman must come and revive
+it. Yet, even he grew interested when Robinson illustrated a nebulous
+idea by knotting a clothesline around a sack stuffed with straw, having
+brought Bates to bear him out in the matter of accuracy.
+
+“There you are, gentlemen!” he said, puffing after the slight exertion.
+“That’s the way of it. How does it strike you?”
+
+“It’s what a sailor calls two half hitches,” commented Hart instantly.
+“A very serviceable knot, which will resist to the full strength of the
+rope.”
+
+“We have no sailors in Steynholme, sir,” said the policeman.
+
+“Oh, it’s used regularly by tradesmen,” put in Grant. “A draper, or
+grocer—any man accustomed to tying parcels securely, in fact—will
+fashion that knot nine times out of ten.”
+
+“How about a—a farmer, sir?” That was as near as Robinson dared to go
+to “horse-dealer.”
+
+“I think a farmer would be more likely to adopt a timber hitch, which
+is made in several ways. Here are samples.” And Grant busied himself
+with rope and sack.
+
+Robinson watched closely.
+
+“Yes,” he nodded. “I’ve seen those knots in a farmyard.... Well, it’s
+something—not much—but a trifle better than nothing.... All right,
+Bates. You can take ’em away.”
+
+“Have you shown that knot to Mr. Furneaux?” inquired Grant.
+
+“No, sir. I’ve kept that up me sleeve, as the sayin’ is.”
+
+“But why?”
+
+Robinson shuffled uneasily on his feet.
+
+“These Scotland Yard men will hardly listen to a uniformed constable,
+sir,” he said. “I’ll tell ’em all about it at the inquest on
+Wednesday.”
+
+“In effect, John P. Robinson he sez they didn’t know everythin’ down in
+Judee,” quoted Hart.
+
+“You’ve got my name pat,” grinned the policeman, whose Christian names
+were “John Price.”
+
+“My name is Walter, not Patrick,” retorted Hart. Robinson continued to
+smile, though he failed to grasp the joke until late that evening.
+
+“Did you make up that verse straight off, sir,” he asked.
+
+“No. It’s a borrowed plume, plucked from an American quill pen.”
+
+Hart gave “plume” a French sound, and Robinson was puzzled to know why
+Grant bade his friend stop profaning a peaceful Sunday afternoon.
+
+“You’ll have a glass of beer now?” went on the host.
+
+“I don’t mind if I do, sir, though it’s tea-time, and I make it a rule
+on Sundays to have tea with the missis. A policeman’s hours are broken
+up, and his wife hardly ever knows when to have a meal ready.”
+
+Minnie was summoned. It took her a couple of minutes to draw the beer
+from a cool cellar. So it chanced that when Doris led Mr. Siddle to the
+edge of the cliff about twenty-five minutes past four, the first thing
+they saw was the local police-constable on the lawn of _The Hollies_
+putting down a gill of “best Sussex” at a draught.
+
+“Well!” cried the chemist icily, “I wonder what Superintendent Fowler
+would say to that if he knew it?”
+
+“What is there particularly wrong about Robinson drinking a glass of
+beer?” demanded Doris, more alive to the insinuation in Siddle’s words
+than was quite permissible under the role imposed on her by Winter.
+
+She waved her hand to the party on the lawn. Grant, whose eyes ever
+roved in that direction, had seen her white muslin dress the moment she
+appeared.
+
+“Who the deuce is that with Miss Martin?” he said, returning her
+signal.
+
+“Siddle, the chemist,” announced Robinson, not too well pleased himself
+at being “spotted” so openly. “Well, gentlemen, I’ll be off,” and he
+vanished by the side path through the laurels.
+
+“Siddle!” repeated Grant vexedly. “So it is. And she dislikes the man,
+for some reason.”
+
+“Let’s go and rescue the fair maid,” prompted Hart.
+
+“No, no. If Doris wanted me she would let me know.”
+
+“How? At the top of her voice?”
+
+“You’re far too curious, Wally.”
+
+“Semaphore, of course,” drawled Hart. “When are you going to marry the
+girl, Jack!”
+
+“As soon as this infernal business has blown over.”
+
+“You haven’t asked her, I gather?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Tell me when you do, and I’ll hie me to London town, though in torrid
+June. You’re unbearable in love.”
+
+“The lash of your wit cuts deeply sometimes,” said Grant quietly.
+
+“Dash it all, old chap, I was talking at random. Very well. I’ll do
+penance in sackcloth and ashes by remaining here, and applauding your
+poetic efforts. I’ll even help. I’m a dab at sonnets.”
+
+Meanwhile, Mr. Siddle had regained his poise.
+
+“I meant nothing offensive to the donor of the beer,” he said, tuning
+his voice to an apologetic note. “But I take it Robinson is conducting
+certain inquiries, and I imagine that his superiors demand a degree of
+circumspection in such conditions. That is all.”
+
+“Surely you do not rank with the stupid crowd in its suspicions of Mr.
+Grant?” said the girl.
+
+“I’m pleased to think you refuse to class me with the gossip-mongers of
+Steynholme, Doris,” was the guarded answer.
+
+There had been no reference to the murder during tea, which was served
+as soon as the chemist came in. The visitor had tabled a copy of a
+current medical journal containing an article on the therapeutic
+qualities of honey, so the talk was lifted at once into an atmosphere
+far removed from crime. Doris was grateful for his tact. When her
+father went to the office she brought Mr. Siddle into the garden solely
+in pursuance of her promise to the detective, though convinced that
+there would be no outcome save a few labored compliments to herself.
+And now, by accident, as it were, the death of Adelaide Melhuish thrust
+itself into their conversation. Perhaps it was her fault.
+
+“No,” she said candidly. “No one who has known you for seven years, Mr.
+Siddle, could possibly accuse you of spreading scandal.”
+
+“Seven years! Is it so long since I came to Steynholme? Sometimes, it
+appears an age, but more often I fancy the calendar must be in error.
+Why, it seems only the other day that I saw you in a short frock,
+bowling a hoop.”
+
+“A tom-boy occupation,” laughed Doris. “But dad encouraged that and
+skipping, as the best possible means of exercise.”
+
+“He was right. Look how straight and svelte you are! Few, if any, among
+our community can have watched your progress to womanhood as closely as
+I. You see, living opposite, as I do, I kept track of you more
+intimately than your other neighbors.”
+
+Siddle was trimming his sails cleverly. The concluding sentence robbed
+his earlier comments of their sentimental import.
+
+“If we live long enough we may even see each other in the sere and
+yellow leaf,” said Doris flippantly.
+
+“I would ask no greater happiness,” came the quiet reply, and Doris
+could have bitten her tongue for according him that unguarded opening.
+Suddenly availing herself of the advice which the detective, like
+Hamlet, had given to the players, she gazed musingly at the fair
+panorama of The Hollies and its gardens, with the two young men seated
+on the lawn. By this time Minnie was staging tea, and the picture
+looked idyllic enough. Doris saw, out of the tail of her eye, that her
+companion was watching her furtively, though apparently absorbed in the
+scene. He moistened his thin lips with his tongue.
+
+“As a study in contrasts, that would be hard to beat,” he said, after a
+long pause.
+
+“Contrasts!” she echoed.
+
+“Well, yes. Even an uncontentious man like myself can hardly fail to
+compare Sunday afternoon with Tuesday morning.”
+
+“Why not Monday night?” she flashed.
+
+“Monday night, in part, remains a mystery yet to be unveiled. I blot
+Monday night from my mind. I have no alternative, being on the jury
+which has to arrive at a just verdict. Now, if Fred Elkin were here, he
+would foam at the mouth.”
+
+“Happily, Fred Elkin is _not_ here.”
+
+“Ah, I am glad, glad, to hear you say that. You don’t like him?”
+
+“I detest him.”
+
+“He makes out, to put it mildly, that you are great friends.”
+
+“You will oblige me by contradicting the statement. Or—no. One treats
+that sort of man with contempt.”
+
+“I agree with you most heartily. I’m sorry I ever mentioned him.”
+
+Yet Doris was well aware that the chemist had dragged in Elkin by the
+scruff of the neck, probably for the sake of getting him disposed of
+thoroughly and for all time. Rather on the tiptoe of expectation, she
+awaited the next move. It was slow in coming, so again she looked
+wistfully at the distant tea-drinkers. She found slight difficulty in
+carrying out this portion of the stage directions. Truth to tell, she
+would gleefully have gone and joined them.
+
+Siddle was not altogether at ease. The conversation was too spasmodic
+to suit his purpose. Though slow of speech he was nimble of brain, and,
+knowing Doris so well, he had anticipated a livelier duel of wits. In
+all likelihood, he cursed the tea-party on the lawn. He had not
+foreseen this drawback. But, being a masterful man, he tackled the
+situation boldly.
+
+“I seized the opportunity of a friendly chat with you to-day, Doris,”
+he went on, leaning over the fence to inhale the scent of a briar rose.
+“The story runs through the village that you and your father dined at
+The Hollies on Friday evening. Is that true?”
+
+Now, Doris had it on reliable authority that Siddle himself had been
+the runner who spread that story, and the knowledge steeled her heart
+against him.
+
+“Yes,” she said composedly.
+
+“It was kind and neighborly of you to accept the invitation, but a
+mistake.”
+
+She turned and faced him. His expression was baffling. She thought she
+saw in his sallow, clean-cut features the shadow of a confident smile.
+
+“You mean that this horrid murder should make some difference in the
+friendship between ourselves and Mr. Grant?” she cried.
+
+“Yes. To you, though to no one else would I speak so plainly, I have no
+hesitation in saying that Mr. Grant is far, very far, from being clear
+of responsibility in that matter. Three days from now you will
+understand what I mean. Evidence will be forthcoming which will put him
+in a most unenviable light. I am not alleging, or even hinting, that he
+may be deemed guilty of actual crime. That is for the law to determine.
+But I do tell you emphatically that his present heedless attitude will
+give place to anxiety and dejection. It cannot be otherwise. A somewhat
+sordid history will be revealed, and his pretense that relations
+between him and the dead woman ceased three years ago will vanish into
+thin air. Believe me, Doris, I am actuated by no motive in this matter
+other than a desire to further your welfare. I cannot bear even to
+think of your name being associated, in ever so small degree, with that
+of a man who must be hounded out of his own social circle, if no worse
+fate is in store for him.”
+
+“Good gracious!” cried Doris, genuinely amazed. “How do you come to
+know all this?”
+
+“I listen to the words of those qualified to speak with knowledge and
+authority. I have mixed in varied company this past week, wholly on
+your account. Don’t be led away by the mere formalities of the opening
+day of the inquest. The coroner deliberately shut off all real evidence
+except as to the cause of death. On Wednesday the situation will
+change, and you cannot fail to be shocked by what you hear, because you
+will be there.”
+
+“I am given to understand that, even if I am called, my testimony will
+be of no importance.”
+
+“Such may be the police view. Mr. Ingerman will press for a very
+different estimate.”
+
+“Has he told you that?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“So, although foreman of the jury, you have not declined to hobnob with
+a man who is avowedly Mr. Grant’s enemy?”
+
+“I would hobnob with worse people if, by so doing, I might serve you.”
+
+Grant, “fed up,” as he put it to Hart, with watching the _tête à tête_
+between Doris and the chemist, sprang to his feet and went through a
+pantomime easy enough to follow save for one or two signs. Doris held
+both hands aloft. Well knowing that anything in the nature of a
+pre-arranged code would be gall and wormwood to Siddle, she explained
+laughingly:
+
+“Mr. Grant signals that he and Mr. Hart are going for a walk; he wants
+me to accompany them. But I can’t, unfortunately. I promised dad to
+help with the accounts.”
+
+“If you really mean what you say, my warning would seem to have fallen
+on deaf ears.”
+
+Siddle’s voice was well under control, but his eyes glinted
+dangerously. His state was that of a man torn by passion who
+nevertheless felt that any display of the rage possessing him would be
+fatal to his cause.
+
+But, rather unexpectedly, Doris took fire. Siddle’s innuendoes and
+protestations were sufficiently hard to bear without the added
+knowledge that a ridiculous convention denied her the companionship of
+a man whom she loved, and who, she was beginning to believe, loved her.
+She swept round on Siddle like a wrathful goddess.
+
+“I have borne with you patiently because of the acquaintance of years,
+but I shall be glad if this tittle-tattle of malice and ignorance now
+ceases,” she said proudly. “Mr. Grant is my friend, and my father’s
+friend. In the first horror of the crime which has besmirched our dear
+little village, we both treated Mr. Grant rather badly. We know better
+to-day. Your Ingermans and your Elkins, and the rest of the busybodies
+gathered at the inn, may defame him as they choose, or as they dare. As
+for me, I am his loyal comrade, and shall remain so after next
+Wednesday, or a score of Wednesdays. I am going in now, Mr. Siddle, and
+shall be engaged during the remainder of the evening. Your shop opens
+at six, and I am sure you will find some more profitable means of
+spending the time than in telling me things I would rather not hear.”
+
+Siddle caught her arm.
+
+“Doris,” he said fiercely, “you must not leave me without, at least,
+learning my true motive. I—”
+
+The girl wrested herself free from his grip. She realized what was
+coming, and forestalled it.
+
+“I care nothing for your motive,” she cried. “You forget yourself!
+Please go!”
+
+She literally ran into the house. The chemist, unless he elected to
+behave like a love-sick fool, had no option but to follow, and make his
+way to the street by the side door.
+
+The only other happening of significance that Sunday was an unheralded
+visit by Winter to the policeman’s residence.
+
+He popped in after dusk, opening the door without knocking.
+
+“You in, Robinson?” he inquired.
+
+“Yes, sir. Will you—”
+
+“Shan’t detain you more than a minute. At the inquest you said that you
+personally untied the rope which bound Miss Melhuish’s body. Here are a
+piece of string and a newspaper. Would you mind showing me what sort of
+knot was used?”
+
+Robinson was nearly struck dumb, and his fingers fumbled badly, but he
+managed to exhibit two hitches.
+
+“Ah, thanks,” said Winter, and was off in a jiffy.
+
+From the window of a darkened room Robinson watched the erect, burly
+figure of the detective until it was merged in the mists of night.
+
+“Well, I’m—,” he exclaimed bitterly.
+
+“John, what are you swearing about?” demanded his wife from the
+kitchen.
+
+“Something I heard to-day,” answered her husband. “There was a chap of
+my name, John P. Robinson, an’ he said that down in Judee they didn’t
+know everything. And, by gum, he was right. They knew mighty little
+about London ’tecs, I’m thinking. But, hold on. Surely—”
+
+He bustled into his coat, and hastened to _The Hollies_. No, neither
+Mr. Grant nor Mr. Hart had spoken to a soul about the knot. Nor had
+Bates. Of course, Robinson did not venture to describe Winter. Finally,
+he put the incident aside as a clear case of thought-reading.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XV.
+A Matter of Heredity
+
+
+Shortly before noon on Monday occurred two events destined to assume a
+paramount importance in the affair which was wringing the withers of
+Steynholme. As in the histories of both men and nations, these first
+steps in great developments began quietly enough. For one thing,
+Furneaux returned to the village. For another, the London telegraphist,
+who expected the day to prove practically a blank, was reading a
+newspaper when the telegraph instrument clicked the local call.
+
+Doris was checking and distributing the stock of stamps which had
+arrived that morning; her father was counting mail-bags in a small
+annex to the main room, the Knoleworth office having acquired a habit
+of making up shortages by docking the country branches. No member of
+the public happened to be present. The girl could have heard what the
+Morse code was tapping forth had she chosen, but she had trained
+herself to disregard the telegraph when occupied on other work.
+
+Suddenly, however, the telegraphist’s pencil paused.
+
+“Hello!” he said. “Theodore Siddle! That’s the chemist opposite, isn’t
+it!”
+
+“Yes,” said Doris, suspending her calculations at mention of the name.
+
+“Well, his mother’s dead.”
+
+“Dead?” she echoed vacantly. Somehow, it had never hitherto dawned on
+her that the chemist might possess relatives in some part of the
+country.
+
+“That’s what it says,” went on the other.
+
+_“‘Regret inform you your mother died this morning. Superintendent,
+Horton Asylum.’”_
+
+
+“In an asylum, too,” said the girl, speaking at random.
+
+“Yes. Horton is the place for epileptic lunatics, near Epsom, you
+know.”
+
+“I didn’t know. Does it mean that—that she was an epileptic lunatic?”
+
+“So I should imagine, from the wording. If a nurse, or a matron, they’d
+surely describe her as such.”
+
+“I suppose we ought not to discuss Mr. Siddle’s telegram,” said Doris,
+after a pause.
+
+“Well, no. But where’s the harm? I wouldn’t have yelled out the news if
+we three weren’t alone. Where’s that boy?”
+
+“Gone to his dinner. Father will take it. By the way, say nothing to
+him as to the contents. Would you mind calling him?”
+
+Doris hurried swiftly to the sitting-room, and thence upstairs. The
+telegraphist explained the absence of a messenger, so Mr. Martin
+delivered the telegram in person.
+
+Crossing the street, he detected a dead bee. He picked it up, horrified
+at the thought that the Isle of Wight disease might have reached
+Sussex. So it was an absent-minded postmaster who handed the telegram
+over Siddle’s counter, inquiring laconically:
+
+“Is there any answer?”
+
+Siddle opened the buff envelope, and read. He glanced sharply at
+Martin.
+
+“No,” he said. “What’s wrong with that bee?”
+
+“I don’t know. I have my doubts. When I have a moment to spare I’ll put
+it under the microscope.”
+
+Siddle examined the telegram again. The handwriting was that beloved of
+Civil Service Commissioners. Unquestionably, it was not Doris’s. No
+sooner had his friend gone off, still intent on the dead insect, than
+Siddle followed. He knew that the bee would undergo scientific scrutiny
+at once, so gave Martin just enough time to dive into the sitting-room
+before entering the post office.
+
+“Did you receive this telegram a few minutes ago!” he inquired.
+
+The young man became severely official.
+
+“Which telegram?” he said stiffly.
+
+“This one,” and Siddle gave him the written message.
+
+“Yes,” was the answer.
+
+“Excuse me, but—er—are its contents known to you only?”
+
+“What do you mean, sir? It would cost me my berth if I divulged a word
+of it to anyone.”
+
+“I’m sorry. Pray don’t take offense. I—I’m anxious that my friends, Mr.
+and Miss Martin, should not hear of it. That is what I really have in
+mind.”
+
+The telegraphist cooled down.
+
+“You may be quite sure that neither they nor any other person in
+Steynholme will ever see the duplicate,” he said confidentially. “I
+make up a package containing duplicates each evening, and it is sent to
+headquarters. If it will please you, I’ll lock the copy now in my
+desk.”
+
+“That is exceedingly good of you,” said Siddle gratefully. “You, as a
+Londoner, will understand that such a telegram from—er—Horton is not
+the sort of thing one would like to become known even in the most
+limited circle.”
+
+“You can depend on me, sir.”
+
+Siddle hastened back to his shop. The telegraphist looked after him.
+
+“Queer!” he mused. “Miss Doris guessed him at once. Phi-ew, I must be
+careful! This village contains surprises.”
+
+Doris, watching from an upper room, saw the visitor, and timed him. She
+imagined he had dispatched an answer. Being a woman, she sought
+enlightenment a few minutes later.
+
+“Mr. Siddle came in,” she said tentatively.
+
+“Yes,” said the specialist, smiling. “And I agree with you, Miss
+Martin. We mustn’t talk about telegrams, even among ourselves, unless
+it is necessary departmentally.”
+
+Doris was silenced, but she read the riddle correctly. The chemist was
+particularly anxious that no Steynholme resident should be made aware
+of his mother’s death. She wondered why.
+
+She was enlightened when Furneaux paid a call about tea-time. She took
+him into the garden. The lawn at _The Hollies_ was empty.
+
+“Well, you entertained an acquaintance yesterday?” he began.
+
+“Yes. Am I to tell you what happened?”
+
+“Not a great deal, I imagine,” he said, with a puzzling laugh.
+
+“No, but I annoyed him, as Mr.——”
+
+“No names!” broke in the detective hastily. “Names, especially modern
+ones, destroy romance. Even the Georgian method of using initials, or
+leaving out vowels, lend an air of intrigue to the veriest balderdash.”
+
+“But no one can overhear us,” was the somewhat surprised comment.
+
+“How true!” said Furneaux. “Pardon me, Miss Martin. Tell the story in
+your own way.”
+
+Doris had a good memory. She was invariably letter-perfect in a play
+after a couple of rehearsals, and could prompt others if they faltered.
+The detective listened in silence while she repeated the conversation
+between Siddle and herself. He took no notes. In fact, he hardly ever
+did make any record in a case unless it was essential to prove the
+exact words of a suspected person.
+
+“Good!” he said, when she had finished. “That sounds like the complete
+text.”
+
+“I don’t think I have left out anything of importance—that is, if a
+single word of it _is_ important.”
+
+“Oh, heaps,” he assured her. “It’s even better than I dared hope. Can
+you tell me if Siddle’s mother is dead yet?”
+
+The question found Doris so thoroughly unprepared that she blurted out:
+
+“Have you had a telegram, too, then?”
+
+“No. But Siddle has had one, eh? Don’t be vexed. I’m not tricking you
+into revealing post office secrets. I knew she was dying, and, when I
+saw your father take a message to the chemist’s shop I simply made an
+accurate guess.... Now, I’m going to scare you, purposely and of malice
+aforethought, because I want you to be a good little girl, and obey
+orders. Mrs. Siddle, senior, now happily deceased, was an epileptic
+lunatic of a peculiarly dangerous type. She suffered from what is
+classed by the doctors as _furor epilepticus_, a form of spasmodic
+insanity not inconsistent with a high degree of bodily vigor and long
+periods of apparently complete mental saneness. Now, if I were not
+speaking to one who has shared her father’s studies in bee-life, I
+would not introduce the subject of heredity. But _you_ know, Miss
+Martin, that such racial characteristics are transmitted, or
+transmissible, I should say, by sex opposites. Thus, an epileptic
+mother is more likely to give her taint to a son than to a daughter....
+Yes, I mean all that, and more,” he went on, seeing the look of horror,
+not unmixed with fear, in Doris’s eyes. “There must be no more
+irritating of Siddle, or playing on his feelings—by you, at any rate.
+Treat him gently. If he insists on making love to you, be as firm as
+you like in a non-committal way. I mean, by that, an entire absence on
+your part of any suggestion that you are repulsing him because of a
+real or supposed preference for any other man.”
+
+“Do you want me to believe that he is liable to attack me?” demanded
+the girl, her naturally courageous spirit coming to her aid.
+
+“I do,” said Furneaux, speaking with marked earnestness.
+
+“Yet you ask me to endure his company if he chooses to force himself on
+me?”
+
+“For a few days.”
+
+“But it may be a few years?”
+
+“No. That is not to be thought of. Leave it to me to devise a way.
+Besides, you need not allow him so many opportunities that the strain
+would become unbearable. You are busy, owing to the certain increase of
+work brought about by this murder. Your time will be greatly occupied.
+But, don’t render him morbidly suspicious. For instance, no more
+dinners at _The Hollies_. No more gadding about by night, if you hear
+weird noises on the other side of the river. And you must absolutely
+deny yourself the pleasurable excitement of Mr. Grant’s company.”
+
+“You are carrying a warning to its extreme limit.”
+
+“Exactly.”
+
+“And am I to keep this knowledge to myself?”
+
+“In whom would you confide?”
+
+“My father, of course.”
+
+“I know you better,” and the detective’s voice took on a profoundly
+serious note. “Your father would never admit that what he knows to be
+true of bees is equally true of humanity. You can trust the police to
+keep a pretty sharp eye on Siddle, of course, but the present is a
+strenuous period, both for us and for people with maniacal tendencies,
+so accidents may happen.”
+
+“You have distressed me immeasurably,” said the girl, striving to
+pierce the mask of that inscrutable face.
+
+“I meant to,” answered Furneaux quietly. “No half measures for me. I’ve
+looked up the asylum record of Mrs. Siddle, senior, and it’s not nice
+reading.”
+
+“There was a Mrs. Siddle, junior, then?”
+
+“A Mrs. Theodore Siddle, if one adopts the conventional usage. Yes. She
+died last month.”
+
+“Last month!” gasped Doris, feeling vaguely that she was moving in a
+maze of deceit and subterfuge.
+
+“On May 25th, to be precise. She lived apart from her husband. I have
+reason to believe she feared him.”
+
+“Yet—”
+
+She hesitated, hardly able to put her jumbled thoughts into words.
+
+“Yes. That’s so,” said the detective instantly. “Never mind. It’s a
+fairly decent world, taken _en bloc_. I ought to speak with authority.
+I see enough of the seamy side of it, goodness knows. Now, forewarned
+is forearmed. Don’t be nervous. Don’t take risks. Everything will come
+right in time. Remember, I’m not far away in an emergency. Should I
+chance to be absent if you need advice, send for Mr. Franklin. You can
+easily devise some official excuse, a mislaid letter, or an error in a
+telegram.”
+
+“I think I shall feel confident if both of you are near,” and the ghost
+of a smile lit Doris’s wan features.
+
+“We’re a marvelous combination,” grinned Furneaux, reverting at once to
+his normal impishness. “I am all brain; he is all muscle. Such an
+alliance prevails against the ungodly.”
+
+“Is Mr. Grant in any danger?” inquired Doris suddenly.
+
+“No.”
+
+The two looked into each other’s eyes. Doris was eager to ask a
+question, which Furneaux dared her to put. The detective won. She
+sighed.
+
+“Very well,” she said. “I’m to behave. Am I to regard myself as a decoy
+duck?”
+
+“A duck, anyhow.”
+
+She laughed lightly. Furneaux would vouchsafe no further information,
+it would appear. For a girl of nineteen, Doris was uncommonly gifted
+with clear, analytical reasoning powers.
+
+The detective returned to the Hare and Hounds, and went upstairs. He
+met Peters on the landing.
+
+“The devil!” he cried.
+
+“My _dear_ pal!” retorted the journalist.
+
+“Are you living here?”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Why not, indeed? Where the eagles are there is the carcase.”
+
+“Your misquotation is offensive.”
+
+“It was so intended.”
+
+“Come and have a drink.”
+
+“No.”
+
+“I say ‘yes.’ You’ll thank me on your bended knees afterwards. The
+South American gent is having the time of his life. I’ve just been to
+my room for _Whitaker’s Almanack_, wherewith a certain Don Walter Hart
+purposes flooring him.”
+
+Wally Hart had, indeed, succeeded in running to earth the Argentine
+magnate, and was giving Winter a most uncomfortable quarter of an hour.
+
+“Ha!” shouted Hart, when Furneaux came in with Peters. “Here’s the
+pocket marvel who’ll answer any question straight off. What is the
+staple export of the Argentine!”
+
+“How often have you been there?” demanded the detective dryly.
+
+“Six times.”
+
+“And you’ve lived there?” This to Winter.
+
+“Yes,” glowered the big man, fearing the worst.
+
+“Then the answer is ‘fools,’” cackled Furneaux.
+
+Wally laughed. He had remembered, just in time, that he had no right to
+claim acquaintance with the representative of Scotland Yard, and there
+were some farmers present, each of whom had a “likely animal” to offer
+the buyer of blood stock.
+
+“Gad, I think you’re right,” he said.
+
+“You wanted me to say ‘sheep,’ I suppose?”
+
+“Got it, at once.”
+
+“As though one valuable horse wasn’t worth a thousand sheep.”
+
+“Just what my friend, Don Manoel Alcorta, of Los Andes ranch,
+Catamarca, always held,” put in Winter, drawing the bow at a venture.
+
+Hart cocked an eye at him.
+
+“Sir,” he said, “I would take off my hat, if I wore one in Steynholme,
+to any man who claims the friendship of Don Manoel Alcorta, a sincere
+patriot. I suggest that we crack a bottle to his immortal memory.”
+
+“My doctor forbids me to touch wine,” said Winter mournfully.
+
+“But these bucolic breeders of browns and bays employ wiser medicos,
+I’ll go bail. Landlord, a quart of the best, and six out, as they say
+in London.”
+
+Six glasses were duly filled with champagne. When it was consumed, Hart
+buttonholed Peters.
+
+“A word with you, scribe,” he said. “Good-day, gentlemen. I leave you
+to your nags. Treat Mr. Franklin fairly. The friend of Don Manoel
+Alcorta must be a true man.”
+
+Winter heaved a sigh of relief when the professional revolutionist had
+vanished.
+
+“He’s a funny ’un,” commented one of the farmers.
+
+“A bit touched, I reckon,” said another. “Wot’s ’e doin’ now to the
+other one?”
+
+They looked through the window. The two were standing in the middle of
+the road, and Wally was shaking Peters violently. The argument was not
+so fierce as it appeared to be. Peters had been commanded to bring both
+detectives to dinner that evening; when he demurred, trying to hedge on
+the question of Winter’s identity, Hart grabbed him by the shoulder.
+
+“Do as I tell you,” he hissed. “Of course, I know now that the big
+fellow is the man Grant heard of a week ago. I was an idiot to take him
+seriously about the Argentine. Bring the pair of ’em, I tell you. We’ll
+make a night of it.”
+
+“I’ll try,” said Peters faintly, “but if you stir up that wine so
+vigorously I won’t answer for the consequences.”
+
+Winter, wishing devoutly that would-be sellers of horseflesh were not
+so numerous in the district, noted the names and addresses of the local
+men, and promised to write when he could make an appointment. Then he
+escaped upstairs, whither Furneaux soon followed. Winter had secured an
+extra bedroom, overlooking the river, which Tomlin had converted into a
+sitting-room. Thus, he held a secure observation post both in front and
+rear of the hotel.
+
+“Well, how did she take it?” inquired the Chief Inspector, when he and
+his colleague were safe behind a closed door.
+
+“Sensible girl,” said Furneaux. “By the way, Siddle’s mother is dead.
+Telegram came this morning. Things should happen now.”
+
+“I don’t quite see why.”
+
+“No. You’re still muddled after floundering in the mud of South
+America. What possessed you to let that cheerful idiot, Wally Hart, put
+you in the cart?”
+
+“How could I help it? I was extracting some really helpful facts about
+Siddle and Elkin from Tomlin and the others when a shock-headed
+whirlwind blew in, and nearly embraced me because I claimed
+acquaintance with the El Dorado bar in Buenos Ayres. From that instant
+I was lost. Like St. Augustine on the gridiron, no sooner was I nicely
+toasted on one side than I was turned on to the other. That grinning
+penny-a-liner, Peters, too, helped as assistant torturer. Wait till he
+asks me for a ‘pointer’ in this or any other case. He sold me a pup
+to-day, but I’ll land him with a full-sized mastiff.”
+
+“No, you won’t. He’s done you a lot of good. You were simply reeking
+with conceit when I met you this morning. It was ‘Siddle this’ and
+‘Siddle that’ until you fairly sickened me. One would have thought I
+hadn’t cleared the ground for you, left you with all lines open and
+yourself unknown to the enemy. Sometimes, you make me tired.”
+
+“Sorry, Charles,” said Winter patronizingly. “I had a bit of luck on
+Sunday, I admit. The chance turn taken by the conversation with Doris,
+with the result that I was able to occupy a strategic position on the
+cliff, and hear every word Siddle uttered, was really fortunate. But,
+isn’t that just what men mean when they prate of success? Opportunity
+knocks once at every man’s door, says the old saw. The clever man grabs
+hold instantly. The indolent one, often a mere gabbler, opens his eyes
+and his mouth weeks afterwards, and cries, ‘Dear me! Was that the
+much-looked-for opportunity?’ Of course, Robinson’s by-play with the
+sack and rope was merely thrown in by the prodigal hand of Fate.”
+
+“Stop!” yelped Furneaux. “Another platitude, and I’ll assault you with
+the tongs!”
+
+It was the invariable habit of the Big ’Un and Little ’Un to quarrel
+like cat and dog when the toils were closing in around a suspect. Woe,
+then, to the malefactor! His was a parlous state.
+
+“Let’s cool down, Charles!” said Winter, opening a leather case, and
+selecting, with great care, one out of half a dozen precisely similar
+cigars. “We’re pretty sure of our man, but we haven’t a scrap of
+evidence against him. How, or where, to begin ringing him in I haven’t
+the faintest notion. If only he’d kill Grant we’d get him at once.”
+
+“But he won’t. He trusts to Ingerman playing that part of the game.
+He’s as artful as a pet fox. I bought soap, and a pound of sal
+volatile, but he did up each parcel with sealing-wax.”
+
+“Sal volatile!” smiled Winter. “I, too, went in for soap, but my
+imagination would not soar beyond a packet of cotton-wool. It was the
+lumpiest thing I could think of.”
+
+“And perfectly useless!” sneered Furneaux. “I must say you do fling the
+taxpayers’ money about. Now, _my_ little lot will keep the electric
+bells in my flat in order for two years.”
+
+“You forget that constant association with you demands that I should
+frequently plug my two ears,” retorted Winter.
+
+Furneaux would surely have thrown back the jest had not a knock on the
+door interrupted him.
+
+“Who’s there? I’m busy,” cried Winter.
+
+“Me-ow!” whined Peters’s voice.
+
+“Oh, it’s you, Tom. Come in!”
+
+The journalist crept in on tiptoe.
+
+“Hush! We are not observed,” he said. “Wally Hart threatens to choke me
+if you two don’t dine with him and Grant to-night.”
+
+There was silence for a little while. The detectives looked at each
+other.
+
+“At what time?” said Winter, at last.
+
+Peters was astonished, and showed it.
+
+“Why, I assured him it was absolutely imposs.,” he cried.
+
+“Well, it isn’t. In fact, it suits our plans. I want exercise, and
+shall walk back from Knoleworth. Furneaux will make his own
+arrangements. Tell Grant that I shall drop in without knocking.”
+
+“And tell him I shall arrive by parachute,” added Furneaux.
+
+“In case of accidents, and there is a shoot-up, with myself as the
+unresisting victim, my front name is James,” said Peters.
+
+“The only good point about you,” scoffed Winter.
+
+“You’re strong on names to-day,” tittered the journalist. “Don Manoel
+Alcorta was a superb effort as an authority on gee-gees. Wally tells me
+his donship is the recognized expert south of the line on seismic
+disturbances, and spends his days and nights watching a needle making
+scratches on a sensitive plate.”
+
+“He would be useful here in a day or two,” said Winter.
+
+“Ah, thanks! Is that a tip?”
+
+“Not for publication. What you must say is that this affair looks like
+baffling the shrewdest wits in Scotland Yard.”
+
+“My very phrase—my own ewe lamb. Pardon. I shouldn’t have alluded to
+sheep.”
+
+“The only known representative of the Yard in Steynholme is Furneaux,”
+smiled the Chief Inspector.
+
+Furneaux was drumming on a window-pane with his finger-tips.
+
+“True,” he cackled. “Just to prove it, he now informs you that Siddle,
+finding trade slow, has called on Mr. John Menzies Grant!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVI.
+Furneaux Makes a Successful Bid
+
+
+The lawn front of _The Hollies_ was not visible from the upper story of
+the Hare and Hounds owing to a clump of pines which had found foothold
+on the cliff, but, through the gap formed by the end of the post office
+garden, the entrance to the house from the Knoleworth road was
+discernible.
+
+Furneaux’s dramatic announcement brought the other two to the window.
+By this time Peters, gifted with a nose for news like a well-trained
+setter’s for partridges, had begun to associate the quiet-mannered,
+gentle-spoken chemist with the inner circle of the crime, so waited and
+watched with the detectives for Siddle’s reappearance.
+
+At any rate the visitor must have been admitted, because a long quarter
+of an hour elapsed before he came in sight again. He walked out slowly
+into the roadway, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and
+glanced to right and left. Then, turning abruptly, he stared at the
+dwelling he had just quitted. What this slight but peculiar action
+signified was not hard to guess. Furneaux, indeed, put it into words.
+
+“Having warned Grant off Miss Doris Martin, and been cursed for his
+pains, the foreman of the jury does not trouble to await further
+evidence, but arrives at a true and lawful verdict straight off,”
+announced the little man.
+
+“We ought to hear things to-night,” said Peters.
+
+“We?” inquired Winter.
+
+“Yes. Didn’t I make it clear that I shared in the dinner invitation?”
+
+“No, and I’m—”
+
+“Don’t say it!” pleaded the journalist. “If I fell from grace to-day,
+remember my unswerving loyalty since the hour we met on the platform at
+Knoleworth! Haven’t I kept close as an oyster? And would any
+consideration on earth move me to publish an accurate and entertaining
+account of the roasting of Chief Inspector Winter by Wally Hart? Think
+what I’m sacrificing—a column of the best.”
+
+Winter bent a weighing look on the speaker. There was treason in the
+thought, as King James remarked to the barber who tried to prove his
+loyalty by pointing out how easily he might cut his majesty’s throat
+any morning. But Peters maintained the expression of a sphinx, and the
+big man relaxed.
+
+“The conditions are that not a word about this business appears in
+print, either now or in the future until we have a criminal in the
+dock,” he said.
+
+“Accepted,” said Peters.
+
+Furneaux laughed shrilly, even derisively, but him his colleague
+treated with majestic disdain. Then, the chemist having reentered the
+village, the group broke up, Peters to search his brains for “copy”
+which should be readable yet contain no hint of the new trail, Winter
+to take train to Knoleworth, and Furneaux to tackle Fred Elkin, who, he
+had ascertained earlier, would drive home from a neighboring hamlet
+about five o’clock.
+
+Elkin had returned when the detective reached the house, a somewhat
+pretentious place, half farm, half villa, and altogether horsey. The
+entrance hall bristled with fox masks and brushes. A useful collection
+of burnished bits and snaffles hung on a side wall. A couple of stuffed
+badgers held two wicker stands for sticks and umbrellas, and whips and
+hunting-crops were ranged on hooks beneath a 12-bore and a rook rifle.
+
+A pert maid-servant took Furneaux’s card, blanched when she read it,
+and forgot to close the door of the dining-room. Hence, the detective
+heard Elkin’s gruff comments:
+
+“What? _That_ chap? Wants to see me? Not more than I want to see him.
+Show him in.”
+
+Furneaux, looking very meek and mild, entered an apartment of the
+carpet-bag upholstery period. A set of six exceedingly good and rare
+sporting prints caught his eye.
+
+“Good day,” he said, finding Elkin drinking tea, and eating a boiled
+egg. “You’re feeling better, I’m glad to see.”
+
+Now, no matter how ungracious a man may be, a courteous solicitude as
+to his health demands a certain note of civility in return.
+
+“Yes,” he said. “Sit down. Will you join me?”
+
+“I’ll have a cup of tea, with pleasure,” said Furneaux.
+
+“Right-o! Just touch that bell, will you?”
+
+The other obeyed, and took a closer look at one of the prints. Yes, the
+date was right, 1841, and the stippling admirable.
+
+“Nice lot of pictures, those,” he said cheerfully, when the frightened
+maid, much to her relief, had been told to bring another cup and a
+fresh supply of toast.
+
+“Are they?” Elkin had taken them and some kitchen furniture for a bad
+debt.
+
+“Yes. Will you sell them?”
+
+“Well, I haven’t thought about it. What’ll you give?”
+
+Furneaux hesitated.
+
+“I can’t resist anything in the art line that takes my fancy,” he said,
+after a pause of indecision. “What do you say to ten bob each?”
+
+Elkin valued the lot at that figure, but Furneaux was a fool, and
+should be treated as such.
+
+“Oh, come now!” he cried roguishly. “They’re worth more than that.”
+
+Furneaux reflected again.
+
+“Three pounds is a good deal for six prints,” he murmured, “but, to get
+it off my mind, I’ll spring to guineas.”
+
+“Make it three-ten and they’re yours.”
+
+“Three guineas is my absolute limit,” said Furneaux.
+
+“Done!” cried Elkin. The original debt was under two pounds, so he had
+cleared more than fifty per cent. on the transaction, and was plus a
+number of chairs and a table.
+
+Furneaux counted out the money, wrote a receipt on a leaf torn from his
+pocket-book, and stamped it.
+
+“Sign that,” he said, “pocket the cash, send the set to the Hare and
+Hounds for me in a dog-cart now, and the deal is through.”
+
+Leaving the table, he went and lifted down each picture carefully.
+Somewhat wonderingly, Elkin rang the bell once more, gave the necessary
+instructions, and the room was cleared of its art. He was quite sure
+now that Furneaux was, as he put it, “dotty.” The latter, however, sat
+and enjoyed his tea as though well pleased with his bargain.
+
+“And how are things going in the murder at _The Hollies_?” inquired the
+horse-dealer, by way of a polite leading up to the visitor’s
+unexplained business.
+
+“Fairly well,” said the detective. “My chief difficulty was to convince
+certain important people that you didn’t kill Miss Melhuish. Once I—”
+
+“Me!” roared Elkin, his pale blue eyes assuming a fiery tint. “_Me!_”
+
+“Once I established that fact,” went on the other severely, “a real
+stumbling-block was removed. You see, Elkin, you have behaved
+throughout like a perfect fool, and thus lent a sort of credibility to
+an otherwise absurd notion. Your furious hatred of Mr. Grant, for
+instance, born of an equally fatuous—or, shall I say? fat-headed—belief
+that Miss Martin would marry you for the mere asking, led you into deep
+waters. It was a mistake, too, when you lied to P. C.  Robinson as to
+the time you came home on that Monday night. You told him you walked
+straight here from the Hare and Hounds at ten o’clock. You know you
+didn’t—that it was nearer half past eleven when you reached this house.
+Consider what that discrepancy alone might have meant if Scotland Yard
+failed to take your measure correctly. Then add the fact that the
+murderer wore the hat, wig, and whiskers in which you made a guy of
+yourself while filling the rôle of Svengali last winter. Now, I ask
+you, Elkin, where would you have stood with the average British jury
+when the prosecution established those three things: Motive, your
+jealousy of Grant; time, your unaccounted-for disappearance during the
+hour when the crime was committed; and disguise, a clumsy suggestion of
+Owd Ben’s ghost? Really, I have known men brought to the scaffold on
+circumstantial evidence little stronger than that. Instead of glaring
+at me like a cornered rat you ought to drop on your knees and thank
+providence, as manifested through the intelligence of the ‘Yard,’ that
+you are not now in a cell at Knoleworth, ruminating on your own
+stupidity, and in no small jeopardy of your life.”
+
+Many emotions chased each other across Fred Elkin’s somewhat mean and
+cruel face while Furneaux rated him in this extraordinary manner.
+Surprise, wrath, even fear, had their phases. But, dominating all other
+sensations, was an overpowering indignation at the implied hopelessness
+of his pursuit of Doris Martin.
+
+He literally howled an oath at his torturer. Furneaux was shocked.
+
+“No, no,” he protested in a horrified tone. “Don’t swear at your best
+friend.”
+
+“Friend! By—, I’ll make you pay for what you’ve said. There’s a law to
+stop that sort of thing.”
+
+“But the law requires witnesses. A slander isn’t a slander unless it’s
+uttered to your detriment before a third party. How different would be
+Mr. Grant’s action against you! Your well-wishers simply couldn’t
+muzzle you. Whether before your pot-house cronies or mere strangers,
+you charged him openly with being a murderer. I’m sorry for you, Elkin,
+if ever you come before a judge. He’ll rattle more than my three
+guineas out of you. Even now, you don’t grasp the extent of your folly.
+Instead of telling me how you spent that hour and a half on the night
+of the crime you have the incredible audacity to threaten me, _me_, the
+man who has saved you from jail. One more word, you miserable swab, and
+I’ll let Robinson arrest you. You’ll be set free, of course, when I
+stage the actual villain, but a few remands of a week each in custody
+will thin your hot blood. You were with Peggy Smith after leaving the
+Hare and Hounds, making a fool of an honest girl who thinks you mean to
+wed her. Yet you blather about being ‘practically engaged’ to Doris
+Martin, a girl who wouldn’t let you tie her shoe-lace. You’re an
+impudent pup, Fred, and you know it. But you stock decent tea, so I’ll
+take another cup. If you’re wise, you’ll take a second one yourself.
+It’s better for you than whiskey.”
+
+Elkin, despite all his faults, was endowed with the shrewdness
+inseparable from his business, because no man devoid of brains ever yet
+throve as a horse-dealer. He smothered his rage, thinking he might
+learn more from this strange-mannered detective by seeming
+complaisance.
+
+“You’re a bit rough on a fellow,” he growled sulkily, pouring out the
+tea.
+
+“For your good, my boy, solely for your good. Now, own up about Peggy.”
+
+“Yes. That’s right. She’d prove an alibi, so your tom-fool case breaks
+down when the flag falls.”
+
+“Does it? A girl may say anything to save her supposed lover. How will
+the twelve good men and true view Doris Martin’s evidence on Wednesday?
+What did _you_ mean, for instance, by your question to the coroner at
+the first hearing?”
+
+“I thought Grant was guilty, and I think so still,” came the savage
+retort.
+
+“A nice juryman you are, I must say! May I trouble you to pass the
+sugar?”
+
+“Look here! What are you gettin’ at? Damme if I can see through your
+game. What is it?”
+
+“I didn’t want to worry poor Peggy. And her father might set about you
+if he knew the facts, so I’m probably saving you a hiding as well as a
+period in jail. The only reliable witness we had as to events in
+Tomlin’s place was a commercial traveler, and he is positive that the
+house closed at ten o’clock. However, that’s all right. How do you
+account for the marvelous improvement in your health? Dr. Foxton cannot
+understand your illness. He says you are wiry, and have a strong
+constitution.”
+
+“Dr. Foxton jolly near knocked me up,” said Elkin. “I took his medicine
+till I was sick as a cat.”
+
+“But you took spirits, too.”
+
+“That’s nothing fresh. Anyhow, I’ve dropped both, and am picking up
+every hour.”
+
+“Since when?”
+
+“Since yesterday morning, if you want to know.”
+
+“I do. I’m most interested. Dr. Foxton doesn’t compound his own
+prescriptions, does he?”
+
+“No. I get ’em made up at Siddle’s.”
+
+“Ah. These country chemists often keep drugs in stock till they
+deteriorate, or even set up chemical changes. Have you the bottles?”
+
+“Yes. But what the—”
+
+“Anything left in them?”
+
+“The last two are half full. Still—”
+
+“What a cross-grained chap you are? I buy your pictures, drink your
+tea, rescue you from a positively dangerous position, warn you against
+carrying any farther a most serious libel, yet you won’t let me help
+you in a matter affecting your health!”
+
+“Help me? How?”
+
+“Even you, I suppose, realize that Scotland Yard employs skilled
+analysts. Give me your bottles, in strict confidence, of course, and
+I’ll tell you what they really contain. Then you can compare the
+analyses with the doctor’s prescriptions. The knowledge should be
+useful, to say the least. Siddle’s reputation needn’t suffer, but,
+unless I am greatly mistaken, you will have the whip hand of him in
+future.”
+
+The prospect was alluring. Elkin would enjoy showing up the chemist,
+who had treated him rather as a precocious infant of late.
+
+“By jing!” he cried, “I’m on that. Bet you a quid—But, no. You’d hardly
+lay against your own opinion. Just wait a tick. I’ll bring ’em.”
+
+Furneaux stared fixedly at the table while his host was absent. His
+conscience was not pricking him with regard to an unmerited slur on the
+country chemists of Great Britain. All is fair in love and the
+detection of crime, and he simply had to get hold of those bottles by
+some daring yet plausible ruse.
+
+“Now—I wonder!” he muttered, as Elkin’s step sounded on the stairs.
+
+“There you are!” grinned the horse-dealer. “Take a dose of the last
+one. It’ll stir your liver to some tune.”
+
+Furneaux drew the corks out of both bottles, and sniffed the contents.
+Then he tasted, with much tongue-smacking.
+
+“Um!” he said. “Stale laudanum, for a start. I expected as much. Bought
+by the gallon and sold by the drop. Is that the dogcart with my
+pictures?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Hail your man. He can give me a lift.”
+
+“But there’s lots of things I want to ask you—”
+
+“Probably. I’m here to put questions, not to give information. I’ve
+gone a long way beyond the official tether already. If you’ve a grain
+of sense, and I think you’re not altogether lacking in that respect,
+you’ll keep a close tongue, and act on the tips thrown out. You’ll find
+pearls of price among the rubbish-heap of my remarks generally.
+Good-by. See you on Wednesday.”
+
+And Furneaux climbed into the cart, holding the pictures so that they
+would not rattle, and perhaps loosen the old gilded frames.
+
+“Drive me to the chemist’s” he said to the groom; within five minutes,
+he was explaining his purchase to Siddle, and requesting, as a favor,
+that the latter should wrap the set of prints in brown paper, making
+two parcels, and tying each securely, so that they might be dispatched
+by train.
+
+Siddle examined one, the first of the series, which depicted the
+Aylesbury Steeplechase.
+
+“Rather good,” he said. “Where did you pick them up?”
+
+“At Elkin’s.”
+
+“Indeed. What an unexpected place!”
+
+“That’s the only way a poor man can get hold of a decent thing
+nowadays. The dealers grab everything, and sell them as collections.”
+
+“Art is not in my line, though anyone can see that these are
+excellent.”
+
+“Yes. But you’re looking at ‘The Start.’ Have a peep at this one, ‘The
+Finish.’ The artist _would_ have his joke. You see that the dark horse
+wins.”
+
+“How did you persuade Elkin to part with them?”
+
+“By paying him a tempting price, of course. I’m a weak-minded ass in
+such matters.”
+
+The chemist busied himself to oblige the detective, wrapping and tying
+the packages neatly. Furneaux insisted on paying sixpence for the
+paper, string, and labor. There was quite a friendly argument, but he
+carried his point.
+
+The dog-cart then brought him to the station, where he tipped and
+dismissed the man; a little later, he caught a London-bound train.
+
+At half past seven precisely, Winter turned in through the
+Knoleworth-side gate of _The Hollies_ (there were two, the approach to
+the house being semi-circular) and pushed the door open, as it was
+standing ajar.
+
+Grant was waiting in the hall, and greeted him pleasantly.
+
+“Here’s a telegram which is meant for you, I fancy,” he said.
+
+Winter read:
+
+
+_“Sorry to spoil your party. Compelled to travel to London. Returning
+early to-morrow. F.”_
+
+
+“That’s pretty Fanny’s way,” smiled the Chief Inspector. “But there’s
+something in the wind, or he would never have hurried off in this
+fashion. He tells me that the only pleasant evening he spent in
+Steynholme was under your roof, Mr. Grant.”
+
+“Come along in, Don Jaime!” drawled Hart’s voice from the “den,” which
+had been cleared of its litter, the lawn being deemed somewhat
+unsuitable for the purposes of a drawing-room on that occasion. It was
+overlooked from too many quarters.
+
+“Ah, we meet now under less uneven conditions, Mr. Hart,” said Winter.
+“Do you know that Enrico Suarez is in London?”
+
+Hart, startled for once in his life, gazed at the detective fixedly.
+
+“Since when?” he cried.
+
+“He crossed from Lisbon last week.”
+
+Hart took a revolver from his hip pocket, and opened it, apparently
+making sure that it was properly loaded.
+
+“What’s the law in England?” he inquired. “Can I shoot first, or must I
+wait till the other fellow has had a pop?”
+
+Winter laughed.
+
+“It’s all right,” he said. “Suarez is in Holloway, awaiting
+extradition. But I owed you one for the rise you took out of me
+to-day.”
+
+A bell sounded, and Peters came in. He glanced around.
+
+“Where’s Furneaux?” he demanded.
+
+“Gone to London. Why this keen interest?” said Winter.
+
+“There’s something up. Elkin dropped in at the Hare and Hounds. He was
+simply bursting with curiosity, and had to talk to somebody. So he
+chose me.”
+
+“He would,” was the dry comment.
+
+“Fact, ’pon me honor. I didn’t lead him on an inch. It seems that
+Furneaux bought some prints which caught his eye in Elkin’s house, and
+Tomlin says that that hexplains hit.”
+
+“Explains what?”
+
+“Furneaux’s visit to Siddle, and certain bulky parcels brought in and
+brought out again.”
+
+“Queer little duck, Furneaux,” said Hart. “Now that my mind is at ease
+about the immediate future of the biggest rascal in Venezuela I can
+take an active part in Steynholme affairs once more. When it’s all
+through I’ll make a novel of it, dashed if I don’t, with the
+postmaster’s daughter in the three-color process as a frontispiece.”
+
+“But who will be the villain?” said Peters.
+
+Hart waved the negro-head pipe at the other three.
+
+“Draw lots. I am indifferent,” he said.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVII.
+An Official Housebreaker
+
+
+No word bearing on the main topic in these men’s minds was said during
+dinner. Grant was attentive to his guests, but markedly silent, almost
+distrait. Two such talkers as Hart and Peters, however, covered any
+gaps in this respect. Cigars and pipes were in evidence, and, horrible
+though it may sound in the ears of a _gourmet_, the port was
+circulating, when Winter turned and gazed at the small window.
+
+“Is that where the ghost appears!” he inquired.
+
+“Yes,” said Grant. “You know the whole story, of course?”
+
+“Furneaux misses nothing, I assure you.”
+
+“He missed a daylight apparition this afternoon, at any rate. I have no
+secrets from my friends, so I may as well tell you—”
+
+“That Siddle called, and implored you to consider Doris Martin’s future
+by avoiding her at present,” put in the Chief Inspector.
+
+Such shocks were losing some of their effect, on the principle that a
+man hears the burst of the thousandth high-explosive shell with a good
+deal less trepidation than attended the efforts of the first dozen.
+Still, Grant gazed at the speaker in profound astonishment.
+
+“You Scotland Yard men seem to know everything,” he said.
+
+“A mere pretense. Try him on sheep-raising in the Argentine, Jack,”
+murmured Hart.
+
+“Wally, this business is developing a very serious side,” protested
+Grant. Hart stretched a long arm for the port decanter.
+
+“Come, friend!” he addressed it gravely. “Let us commune! You and I
+together shall mingle joyous memories of
+
+
+_“A draught of the Warm South,
+The true, the blushful Hippocrene.”_
+
+
+“We read Siddle’s visit aright, it would appear,” said Winter quietly.
+
+“Yes. That was his mission, put in a nutshell.”
+
+“And what did you say?”
+
+“I told him that, after Wednesday, I would ask Doris Martin to marry
+me, which is the best answer I can give him and all the world.”
+
+“Why ‘after Wednesday’?”
+
+“Because I shall know then the full extent of the annoyance which
+Ingerman can inflict.”
+
+“Did you give Siddle that reason?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Winter frowned.
+
+“You literary gentlemen are all alike,” he said vexedly. “You become
+such adepts in analyzing human duplicity in your books that you never
+dream of trying to be wise as a serpent in your own affairs. The author
+who will split legal hairs by way of brightening his work will sign a
+contract with a publisher that draws tears from his lawyer when a
+dispute arises. Why be so candid with a rank outsider, like Siddle?”
+
+“I distrust the man. Doris distrusts him, too.”
+
+“So you take him into your confidence.”
+
+“No. I merely give him chapter and verse to prove that his interference
+is useless.”
+
+“Have you engaged a lawyer for Wednesday?”
+
+“No. Why should I? My hands are clean.”
+
+“But your clothes may suffer if enough mud is slung at you. Wire to
+this man in the morning, and mention my name—Winter, of course, not
+Franklin.”
+
+“Codlin’s your friend, not Short,” said Hart. “Sorry. It’s a time-worn
+jape, but it fitted in admirably.”
+
+The detective scribbled a name and address on a card.
+
+“I don’t think you need worry about Ingerman,” he went on, “though it’s
+well to be prepared. A smart solicitor can stop irrelevant statements,
+especially if ready for them. But there must be no more of this
+heart-opening to all and sundry, Mr. Grant. Siddle is your rival. He,
+too, wants to marry Miss Martin, and regards you now as the only
+stumbling-block.”
+
+“Siddle! That stick!” gasped Grant.
+
+“Ridiculous, indeed monstrous,” agreed Winter, rather heatedly, “but
+nevertheless a candidate for the lady’s hand.”
+
+Then he laughed. Peters’s keen eyes were watching him, and Wally Hart
+was giving more heed to the conversation than was revealed by a fixed
+stare at the negro’s head in meerschaum.
+
+“You’ve bothered me,” he went on. “I thought you had more sense. Don’t
+you understand that all these bits of gossip reach Ingerman through the
+filter of the snug at the Hare and Hounds?”
+
+“The man’s visit was unexpected, and his mission even more so. I just
+blurted out the facts.”
+
+“Well, you’ve rendered the services of a solicitor absolutely
+indispensable now.”
+
+Grant, by no means so clear-headed these days as was his wont, followed
+the scent of Winter’s red herring like the youngest hound in a pack;
+but Wally Hart and Peters, lookers-on in this chase, harked back to the
+right line.
+
+“May I—” they both broke in simultaneously.
+
+“Place to the fourth estate,” bowed Hart solemnly.
+
+“Thanks,” said the journalist. “May I put a question, Winter?”
+
+“A score, if you like.”
+
+“Totting up the average of the murder cases in which Furneaux and you
+have been engaged, in how many days do you count on spotting your man?”
+
+“Sometimes we never get him.”
+
+“Oh, come a bit closer than that.”
+
+“Generally, given a clear run, with an established motive, we know who
+he is within eight days.”
+
+“Wednesday, in effect?”
+
+“Can’t say, this time?”
+
+“Suppose, as a hypothesis, you are convinced of a man’s guilt, but can
+obtain little or no evidence?”
+
+“He goes through life a free and independent citizen of this or any
+other country. Arrests on suspicion are not my long suit.”
+
+“How does one get evidence?” purred Hart. “It isn’t scattered broadcast
+by a clever criminal. And you fellows seem to object to my method,
+which has been the only effectual one so far in this affair.”
+
+“If you had shot that specter the other night there would have been the
+deuce to pay.”
+
+“But you would now be sure of the murderer?”
+
+“Why do you assume that?”
+
+“Like Eugene Aram, he can’t keep away from the scene of his crime.”
+
+Winter felt he was skating on thin ice, so hastened to escape.
+
+“Detective work is nearly all guessing,” he said sententiously, “yet
+one must beware of what I may term obvious guessing. If cause and
+effect were so closely allied in certain classes of crime my department
+would cease to exist, and the protection of life and property might be
+left safely to the ordinary police. By the way, P. C. Robinson has been
+rather inactive during two whole days. That makes me suspicious. What’s
+he up to? Can you throw a light on him, Peters?”
+
+The journalist knew that he was being told peremptorily to cease
+prying. He kicked Hart under the table.
+
+“Hi!” yelled Wally. “What’s the matter? Strike your matches on your own
+shin, not mine.”
+
+“Peters is announcing that the discussion is now closed,” said Winter
+firmly.
+
+“Very well. He needn’t emphasize the warning by a hob-nailed boot. When
+my injured feelings have recovered I’ll discourse to you of strange
+folk and stranger doings on the banks of the Rio de la Plata, and your
+stock as an Argentine plutocrat will rise one hundred per cent, next
+time you’re badgered by a man who knows the country.”
+
+“Meanwhile, Robinson is hot-foot on the Elkin trail,” laughed Peters.
+“His face was a study to-day when the groom supplied details of the
+picture-buying.”
+
+“Furneaux wanted that transaction to be widely known,” said Winter. “He
+gave every publicity to it.”
+
+“Did he secure a bargain, I wonder?” said Grant.
+
+“Oh, I expect so. He doesn’t waste his hard-earned money, even for
+official purposes.”
+
+But Winter was well aware of, and kept to himself one phase of the art
+deal, at any rate. Furneaux had persuaded Siddle to fasten two bulky
+packages with string!
+
+He was shaving next morning when his colleague entered, spruce as ever
+in attire, but looking rather weary. The little man flung himself at
+full length on Winter’s bed.
+
+“Been up all night,” he explained. “Chemical analysis is fascinating
+but slow work—like watching a moth evolve from a grub. Had a fearful
+job, too, to get an analyst to chuck a theater and attend to business.
+The blighter talked of office hours. _Cré nom_! Ten till four, and an
+hour and a half for lunch! Why can’t we run _our_ show on those lines,
+James!”
+
+Winter finished carefully the left side of his broad expanse of face.
+
+“You came down by the mail, I suppose?” he said casually.
+
+“What a genius you are!” sighed Furneaux. “If _I_ were trembling with
+expectation I could no more put a banal question like that than swallow
+the razor after I was done with it. You might at least have the common
+decency to thank me for leaving you to gorge on rare meats and vintage
+wines while I dallied with the deadly railway sandwich.”
+
+Winter scraped the other cheek, his chin, and upper lip.
+
+“Shall I go to the bathroom first, or listen?” he inquired.
+
+“Ah, well, I’m tired, and hiking these frail bones to bed till twelve,
+so I’ll give you a condensed version,” snapped Furneaux. “Elkin’s
+illness, begun by whiskey and over-excitement, developed into steady
+poisoning by Siddle. The chemist used a rare agent, too—pure
+nicotine—easy, in a sense, to detect, but capable of a dozen reasonable
+explanations when revealed by the post-mortem. But Elkin wasn’t to be
+killed outright, I gather. The idea was to upset stomach and brain till
+he was half crazy. As you can read print when it’s before your eyes, I
+needn’t go into the matter of motive; Elkin’s behavior supplies all
+details.”
+
+“How about the knots? Hurry! I hate the feeling of soap drying on my
+skin.”
+
+“One running noose and twice two half hitches on each package.”
+
+“Good! Charles, we’re going to pull off a real twister.”
+
+“_We!_ Well, that tikes it, as the girl said when her hat blew off with
+the fluffy transformation pinned to it.”
+
+Winter rushed to the bathroom, and Furneaux crept languidly to bed.
+
+Before going to Knoleworth, Mr. Franklin consulted with Tomlin as to a
+suitable dinner, to which the other guests staying in the inn, namely,
+Mr. Peters and the Scotland Yard gentleman—the little man with the
+French name—might be invited. This important point settled, Mr.
+Franklin caught an early train, and was absent all day, being, in fact,
+closeted with Superintendent Fowler and a Treasury solicitor.
+
+Furneaux was sound asleep long after twelve o’clock, and swore at
+Tomlin in French when the landlord ventured to arouse him. Tomlin went
+downstairs scratching his head.
+
+“Least said soonest mended,” he communed, “but we may all be murdered
+in our beds if them’s the sort of ’tecs we ’ave to look arter us.”
+
+However, he cheered up towards night. Ingerman, a lawyer, and some
+pressmen, arriving for the inquest, filled every available room, and
+the kitchen was redolent of good fare. All parties gathered in the
+dining-room, of course, and Ingerman had an eye for Mr. Franklin’s
+party. The scraps of talk he overheard were nothing more exciting than
+the prospects of a certain horse for the Stewards’ Cup. Peters had the
+tip straight from the stables. A racing certainty, with a stone in
+hand.
+
+After dinner the financier was surprised when Furneaux approached, and
+tapped him professionally on the shoulder.
+
+“A word with you outside,” he said.
+
+Ingerman was irritated—perhaps slightly alarmed.
+
+“Can’t we talk here?” he said, in that singularly melodious voice of
+his.
+
+“Better not, but I shan’t detain you more than five minutes.”
+
+“Anything my legal adviser might wish to hear?”
+
+“Not from me. Tell him yourself afterwards, if you like.”
+
+In the quiet street the detective suddenly linked arms with his
+companion. Probably he smiled sardonically when he felt a telltale
+quiver run through Ingerman’s lanky frame.
+
+“You’ve brought down Norris, I see?” he began.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Meaning to make things hot for Grant tomorrow?”
+
+“Meaning to give justice the materials—”
+
+“Cut the cackle, Isidor. I know you, and it’s high time you knew me.
+Grant has retained Belcher. Ah! that gets you, does it? You haven’t
+forgotten Belcher. Now, be reasonable! Or, rather, don’t run your head
+into a noose. Grant had no more to do with the murder of your wife than
+you had. Call off Norris, and Grant withdraws Belcher. Twig? It’s dead
+easy, because the Treasury solicitor will simply ask for another week’s
+adjournment, as the police are not ready to go on. In the meantime, you
+pay off Norris, and save your face. Is it a deal?”
+
+“Am I to understand—”
+
+“Don’t wriggle! The key of the situation is held by Belcher. Name of a
+pipe! What prompting does Belcher need from me or anybody else after
+the Bokfontein Lands case?”
+
+“But—”
+
+“Isidor, this is the last word. I was at the funeral on Saturday, and
+met your wife’s mother and sister. They do love you, don’t they?”
+
+Ingerman died game.
+
+“If I have your assurance that Mr. Grant is really innocent of
+Adelaide’s death, that is sufficient,” he said slowly.
+
+“Well, if it pleases you to put it that way, I’m agreeable. Which is
+your road? Back to the hotel? I’m for a short stroll. Mind you, no
+wobbling! Go straight, and I’ll attend to Belcher. But, good Lord! How
+his eyes will sparkle when they light on you to-morrow!”
+
+Neither the redoubtable Belcher, nor the Bokfontein Lands, nor poor
+Adelaide Melhuish’s mother and sister may figure further in this
+chronicle. The inquest opened at the appointed hour next day, and was
+closed down again for a week with a celerity that was most
+disappointing both to the jury and the general public. Of three legal
+luminaries present only one, the Treasury man, uttered a few bald
+words. Belcher and Norris did not even announce the names of their
+clients. Norris noticed that Belcher surveyed Ingerman with a grim
+smile, but thought nothing of it until he received a check later in the
+week. Then he made some inquiries, and smiled himself.
+
+The foreman of the jury looked a trifle pinched, though his cheeks bore
+two spots of hectic color. Mr. Franklin, drawn to the court by
+curiosity, happened to glance at him once, and found him gazing at
+Furneaux in a peculiarly thoughtful manner.
+
+Elkin, thriving on a diet of tea and eggs, was also interested in the
+representative of Scotland Yard. He seemed to ignore Grant entirely.
+Doris Martin was not in court. Superintendent Fowler had called about
+half past nine to tell her she would not be asked to attend that day.
+
+Near Mr. Franklin sat a few village notabilities, who, since they had
+not the remotest connection with anyone concerned in the tragedy, have
+been left hitherto in their Olympian solitude. He listened to their
+comments.
+
+“As usual, the police are utterly at sea,” said one.
+
+“Yes, ‘following up important clews,’ the newspapers say,” scoffed
+another.
+
+“It’s a disgraceful thing if a crime like this goes undetected and
+unpunished.”
+
+“Which is the Scotland Yard man!”
+
+“The small chap, in the blue suit.”
+
+“What? _That_ little rat!”
+
+“Oh, he’s sharp. I met a man in the train and he told me—”
+
+Mr. Franklin grinned amiably; Hobbs, the butcher, intercepting his eye,
+grinned back. It is not difficult to imagine what portion of the
+foregoing small talk reached Furneaux subsequently.
+
+Oddly enough, both detectives had missed a brief but illuminating
+incident which took place in the Hare and Hounds the previous night,
+while Winter was finishing a cigar with Peters, and Furneaux was
+bludgeoning Ingerman into compliance with his wishes.
+
+Elkin’s remarkable improvement in health was commented on by Hobbs, and
+Siddle took the credit.
+
+“That last mixture has proved beneficial, then?” he said, eying the
+horse-dealer closely.
+
+“Top-hole,” smirked Elkin. “But it’s only fair to say that I’ve chucked
+whiskey, too.”
+
+“Did you finish the bottle?”
+
+“Which bottle?”
+
+“Mine, of course.”
+
+“Nearly.”
+
+“Don’t take any more. It was decidedly strong. I’ll send a boy early
+to-morrow morning with a first-rate tonic, and you might give him any
+old medicine bottles you possess. I’m running short.”
+
+Elkin hesitated a second or two.
+
+“I’ll tell my housekeeper to look ’em up,” he said. After the inquest
+he communicated this episode to Furneaux as a great joke.
+
+“Queer, isn’t it?” he guffawed. “A couple of dozen bottles went back,
+as I’m always getting stuff for the gees, but those two weren’t among
+’em. You took care of that, eh? When will you have the analysis?”
+
+“It’ll be fully a week yet,” said the detective. “Government offices
+are not run like express trains, and this is a free job, you know. But,
+be advised by me. Stick to plain food, and throw physic to the dogs.”
+
+Another singular fact, unobserved by the public at large, was that a
+policeman, either Robinson or a stranger, patrolled the high-street all
+day and all night, while no one outside official circles was aware that
+other members of the force watched _The Hollies_, or were secreted
+among the trees on the cliffside, from dusk to dawn.
+
+Next morning, however, there was real cause for talk. Siddle’s shop was
+closed. Over the letter-box, neatly printed, was gummed a notice:
+
+
+_“Called away on business. Will open for one hour after arrival of 7 p.
+m. train. T. S.”_
+
+
+Everyone who passed stopped to read. Even Mr. Franklin joined Furneaux
+and Peters in a stroll across the road to have a look.
+
+“I want you a minute,” said the big man suddenly to Furneaux. There was
+that in his tone which forbade questioning, so Peters sheered off, well
+content with the share permitted him in the inquiry thus far.
+
+“That fellow, Hart, is no fool,” went on Winter rapidly. “He said last
+night ‘How does one get evidence?’ It was not easy to answer. Siddle
+has gone to his mother’s funeral. What do you think!”
+
+“You’d turn me into a housebreaker, would you?” whined Furneaux
+bitterly. “I must do the job, of course, just because I’m a little one.
+Well, well! After a long and honorable career I have to become a sneak
+thief. It may cost me my pension.”
+
+“There’s no real difficulty. An orchard—”
+
+“Bet you a new hat I went over the ground before you did.”
+
+“Get over it quickly now, and get something out of it, and I’ll _give_
+you a new hat. Got any tools?”
+
+“I fetched ’em from town Tuesday morning,” chortled Furneaux. “So now
+who’s the brainy one?”
+
+He skipped into the hotel, while Winter went to the station to make
+sure of Siddle’s departure and destination. Yes, the chemist had taken
+a return ticket to Epsom, where a strip of dank meadow-land on the road
+to Esher marks the last resting-place of many of London’s epileptics.
+On returning to the high-street, Winter lighted a cigar, a somewhat
+common occurrence in his everyday life, where-upon Furneaux walked
+swiftly up the hill. A farmer, living near the center of the village,
+owned a rather showy cob. Winter found the man, and persuaded him to
+trot the animal to and fro in front of the hotel. There was a good deal
+of noise and hoof-clattering, and people came to their doors to see
+what was going on. Obviously, if they were watching the antics of a
+skittish two-year-old in the high-street, their eyes were blind to
+proceedings in the back premises. Even the postmaster and his daughter
+were interested onlookers, and a policeman, who might have put a
+summary end to the display, vanished as though by magic.
+
+Luckily, Winter was a good judge of a horse. When the cob was stabled,
+and the farmer came to the inn to have a drink, he was forced to admit
+a tendency to cow hocks, which, it would seem, is held a fatal blemish
+in the Argentine.
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had dodged into a lane and thence to a bridle-path
+which emerged near Bob Smith’s forge. When he had traversed, roughly
+speaking, one-half of a rectangle in which the Hare and Hounds occupied
+the center of one of the longer sides, he climbed a gate and followed a
+hedge. Though not losing a second, he took every precaution to remain
+unseen, and, to the best of his belief, gained an inclosed yard at the
+back of Siddle’s premises without having attracted attention. He
+slipped the catch of a kitchen window only to discover that the sash
+was fastened by screws also. The lock of the kitchen door yielded to
+persuasion, but there were bolts above and below. A wire screen in a
+larder window was impregnable. Short of cutting out a pane of glass, he
+could not effect an entry on the ground floor.
+
+Nimble as a squirrel, and risking everything, he climbed to the roof of
+an outhouse, and tried a bedroom window. Here he succeeded. When the
+catch was forced, there were no further obstacles. In he went, pausing
+only to look around and see if any curious or alarmed eye was watching
+him. He wondered why every back yard on that side of the high-street
+was empty, not even a maid-servant or woman washing clothes being in
+sight, but understood and grinned when the commotion Winter was
+creating came in view from a front room.
+
+Then he undertook a methodical search, working with a rapid yet
+painstaking thoroughness which missed nothing. From a wardrobe he
+selected an overcoat and pair of trousers which reeked with turpentine.
+They were old and soiled garments, very different from the well-cut
+black coat and waistcoat, with striped cloth trousers, worn daily by
+the chemist. He drew a blank in the remainder of the upstairs rooms,
+which included a sitting-room, though he devoted fully quarter of an
+hour to reading the titles of Siddle’s books.
+
+A safe in the little dispensing closet at the back of the shop promised
+sheer defiance until Furneaux saw a bunch of keys resting beside a
+methylated spirit lamp.
+
+“’Twas ever thus!” he cackled, lighting the lamp. “Heaven help us poor
+detectives if it wasn’t!”
+
+In a word, since murder will out, Siddle had forgotten his keys!
+Probably, he had gone to the safe for money, and, while writing the
+notice as to his absence, had laid down the keys and omitted to pick
+them up again.
+
+Furneaux disregarded ledgers and account books. He examined a bank
+pass-book and a check-book. In a drawer which contained these and a
+quantity of gold he found a small, leather-bound book with a lock,
+which no key on the bunch was tiny enough to fit. A bit of twisted wire
+soon overcame this difficulty, and Furneaux began to read.
+
+There were quaint diagrams, and surveyor’s sketches, both in plan and
+section, with curious notes, and occasional records of what appeared to
+be passages from letters or conversations. The detective read, and
+read, referring back and forth, absorbed in his task, no doubt, but
+evidently puzzled.
+
+At last, he stuffed the book into a pocket, completed his scrutiny of
+the safe, examined the bottles on the shelf labeled “poisons,” and took
+a sample of the colorless contents of one bottle marked “C10H14N2.”
+
+Then he went to the kitchen, replaced all catches and the lock of the
+door, and let himself out by the way he had come.
+
+Winter saw him from afar, and hastened upstairs to the private
+sitting-room. Furneaux appeared there soon.
+
+“Well?” said the Chief Inspector eagerly.
+
+“Got him, I think,” said Furneaux.
+
+Not much might be gathered from that monosyllabic question and its
+answer, but its significance in Siddle’s ears, could he have heard,
+would have been that of the passing bell tolling for the dead.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVIII.
+The Truth at Last
+
+
+Not often did Furneaux qualify an opinion by that dubious phrase, “I
+think,” which, in its colloquial sense, implies that the thought
+contains a reservation as to possible error.
+
+Winter looked anxious. Both he and his colleague knew well when to drop
+the good-natured banter they delighted in. They were face to face now
+with issues of life and death, dark and sinister conditions which had
+already destroyed one life, threatened another, and might envisage
+further horrors. Small wonder, then, if the Chief Inspector’s usually
+cheerful face was clouded, or that his hopes should be somewhat dashed
+when Furneaux seemed to lack the abounding confidence which was his
+most marked characteristic.
+
+“You’ve got something, I see,” he said, trying to speak encouragingly,
+and glancing at the bundle of clothing which Furneaux had wrapped in a
+newspaper before dropping from the bedroom window of Siddle’s house.
+
+“Yes, a lot. What to make of it is the puzzle. We either go ahead on
+the flimsiest of evidence or I carry out another housebreaking job this
+afternoon and restore things in status quo. First, the bundle—an old
+covert-coating overcoat and a pair of frayed trousers which probably
+draped Owd Ben’s ghost. They’ve been soaked in turpentine, which,
+chemist or no chemist, is still the best agent for removing stains.
+We’ll put ’em under the glass after we’ve examined the book. Siddle
+keeps a sort of diary, a series of jumbled memoranda. If we can extract
+nutriment out of that we may have something tangible to go upon. Let’s
+begin at the end.”
+
+Opening the leather-bound note-book, Furneaux stood with his back to
+the window. Winter, owing to his superior height, could look over the
+lesser man’s shoulder. Many an occult document affecting the famous
+crimes and social or dynastic intrigues of the previous decade had
+these two examined in that way, the main advantage of scrutiny in
+common being that they could compare readings or suggested readings
+without loss of time, and with the original manuscript before both
+pairs of eyes.
+
+In the first instance, there were no dates—only scraps of sentences, or
+comments. The concluding entry in the book was:
+
+_“A tactical error? Perhaps. Immovable.”_
+
+
+Then, taking the order backward:
+
+_“Scout the very notion of such an infamy. You and every scandal-monger
+in S. may do your worst.”
+“Free to confess that events have opened my eyes to the truth, so, not
+for the first time, out of evil comes good.”
+“A prig.”
+“Visit for such a purpose a piece of unheard-of impudence.”_
+
+
+These were all on one page.
+
+“Quite clearly a _précis_ of Grant’s remarks when Siddle called on
+Monday,” said Winter.
+
+At any other time, Furneaux would have waxed sarcastic. Now he merely
+nodded.
+
+“Stops in a queer way,” he muttered. “Not a word about the inquest or
+the missing bottles.”
+
+The preceding page held even more disjointed entries, which,
+nevertheless, provided a fair synopsis of Doris’s spirited words on the
+Sunday afternoon.
+
+
+_“Malice and ignorance.”
+
+“Patient because of years.”
+
+“Loyal comrade. Shall remain.”
+
+“Code.”
+
+“No difference in friendship.”
+
+“E. hopeless. Contempt.”
+
+“Skipping—good.”
+
+On the next page:
+
+“Isidor G. Ingerman. Useful. Inquire.”
+
+“E.’s boasts? Nonsensical, surely!”
+
+“Why has D. gone?”_
+
+
+Both men paused at that line.
+
+“Detective?” suggested Winter.
+
+“That’s how I take it,” agreed Furneaux.
+
+Then came a sign: “+10%.”
+
+“Elkin’s mixture was not ‘as before.’ It was fortified,” grinned
+Furneaux. “That’s the exact increase of nicotine. By the way, I have a
+sample. We can take care of him on that charge, without a shadow of
+doubt.”
+
+Winter blew softly on the back of his friend’s head.
+
+“You’re thorough, Charles, thorough!” he murmured. “It’s a treat to
+work with you when you get really busy.”
+
+Furneaux ran his thumb across the end of several leaves.
+
+“I can tell you now,” he said, “that there’s nothing of real value in
+the earlier notes. So far as I can judge, they refer either to a sort
+of settlement with his wife or chance phrases used by Doris Martin
+which might imply that she was heart whole and fancy free. There’s not
+a bally word dealing with the murder, or that can be twisted into the
+vaguest allusion to it. But here’s a plan and section which have a sort
+of significance. I’ve seen the place, so recognized it, or thought I
+did. We must check it, of course. Here you are! You know the footbridge
+across the river from Bush Walk?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“The eastern end is supported on a hollow pier of masonry, in which one
+might tog up unseen. These drawings would be useful as an _Aide
+Memoire_ on a dark night. A false step, with the river in flood, might
+be awkward.”
+
+“What’s that on the opposite page?”
+
+“I give it up—at present.”
+
+This somewhat rare display of modesty on Furneaux’s part was readily
+understandable. A series of straight lines and angles conveyed very
+little hint of their purport; but Winter smiled behind his friend’s
+back.
+
+“I’ve been prowling about this wretched inn longer than you,” he said.
+“Look outside, to the left.”
+
+“Don’t need to, now,” cackled Furneaux. “It’s the profile of a wall,
+gate, and outhouse along which one could reach the window of the
+club-room. Would you mind stopping grinning like a Cheshire cat?”
+
+“Anything else?”
+
+“Yes. This one:
+
+‘_S. M.? 1820_.’
+
+
+That beats you, eh?”
+
+“Dished completely.”
+
+“Doris Martin, as usual, supplies the answer. An old volume of the
+_Sussex Miscellany_, probably that for 1820, contains the full story of
+Owd Ben. I might have mentioned it to you, but focussed on current
+events. Siddle has it among his books, which, by the way, are made up
+largely of scientific and popular criminal records.”
+
+“Is that the lot?”
+
+“I’m afraid so. Have a look.”
+
+“Just a minute. I want to think.”
+
+Winter turned and gazed through the open window. Seldom had a more
+gracious June decked England with garlands. The hour was then high
+noon, and a pastoral landscape was drowned in sunshine. The Chief
+Inspector cut the end off a cigar dreamily but with care.
+
+“Broadmoor—perhaps,” he muttered. “But we can’t hang him yet, Charles.
+A couple of knots and a theory won’t do for the Assizes. We haven’t a
+solitary witness. Hardly a night but he goes home at 9.30. If only he
+had killed Grant! But—Adelaide Melhuish!”
+
+In sheer despair he struck a match.
+
+“Well, let’s overhaul these duds,” said Furneaux savagely. “I’ll chance
+the dinner hour for the return visit. Steynholme folk eat at half past
+twelve to the tick, and you can hardly get up another horse show.”
+
+There was a knock at the door.
+
+“Let me in, quick!” came Peters’s voice, and the handle was tried
+forcibly.
+
+“Go away! I’m busy!” cried Winter.
+
+“This is urgent, devilish urgent,” said Peters.
+
+Furneaux snatched up the note-book, and Winter tore off his coat,
+throwing it over the package which reposed in an armchair. Then the
+Chief Inspector unlocked the door, blocking the way aggressively.
+
+“Now, I must say—” he began.
+
+But Peters clutched his shoulder with a nervous hand.
+
+“Siddle has just hurried up the street and entered his shop,” he
+hissed.
+
+The journalist had not only kept his eyes open, but excelled in the art
+of putting two and two together, an arithmetical calculation which, as
+applied to the affairs of life, is not so readily arrived at as many
+people imagine.
+
+“Buncoed! He’s missed his keys!” shrilled Furneaux.
+
+“Confound the man! He might at least have attended his mother’s
+funeral!” stormed Winter, retrieving his coat.
+
+Thus it happened that Furneaux was the first down the stairs, though
+the three emerged from the door of the inn on each other’s heels. A
+stout man, in all likelihood a farmer with horses for sale, was
+mounting the two steps which led to the entrance. His head was down,
+and his weight forward, so he successfully resisted Furneaux’s impact,
+but Peters and Winter were irresistible, and he tumbled over with a
+muffled yell.
+
+At that instant Siddle quitted his shop, and headed straight for the
+post office. In his right hand he carried an automatic pistol. The
+street was wide. Furneaux, absolutely fearless in the performance of
+his duty, ran in a curve so as to bar the chemist’s path, and it was
+then that Siddle saw him. The man’s face was terrible to behold. His
+eyes were rolling, his teeth gnashing; he had bitten his tongue and
+cheeks, and his stertorous breathing ejected from his mouth foam tinged
+with blood.
+
+“Ha!” he screamed in a falsetto of fury, “not yet, little man, not
+yet!”
+
+With that he raised the pistol, and fired point-blank at the detective.
+Furneaux ducked, and seized a small stone, being otherwise quite
+unarmed. He threw it with unerring aim, and, as was determined
+subsequently, struck the hand holding the weapon. Possibly, almost by a
+miracle, the blow caused a faulty pressure, because the action jammed,
+though the pistol itself was most accurate and deadly in its
+properties.
+
+By this time Winter, sweeping Peters aside, was within ten feet of the
+maniac, who turned and ran into the shop. The door, a solid one, fitted
+with a spring lock, slammed in the Chief Inspector’s face, and resisted
+a mighty effort to burst it open. A few yards away stood an empty,
+two-wheeled cart, uptilted, and Winter demanded the help of a few men
+who had gathered on seeing or hearing the hubbub.
+
+“I call on you in the King’s name!” he shouted. “We must force that
+door! Then stand clear, all of you!”
+
+He raced to the cart, and, when his object was perceived, willing hands
+assisted in converting the heavy vehicle into a battering-ram. The
+gradient of the hill favored the attack, which was made at an acute
+angle, and the first assault smashed the lock. There were a couple of
+seconds’ delay while the cart was backed out, and the detectives rushed
+in, Furneaux leading, because Winter gave his great physical strength
+to the shafts. But the Chief Inspector grabbed his tiny friend by the
+collar as the latter darted around the counter and into the dispensary
+in the rear.
+
+“Two of us can’t go abreast, and you’ll only get hurt,” he said,
+speaking with a calmness that was majestic in the circumstances.
+
+“The nicotine is gone!” yelped Furneaux; both saw that the safe stood
+open.
+
+Behind the dispensary was a small passage, whence the stairs mounted,
+and a door led to the kitchen. That door was closed now, though it was
+open when Furneaux ransacked the house. Therefore, they made that way
+at once. No ordinary lock could resist Winter’s shoulder, and he soon
+mastered this barrier. But the kitchen was empty—the outer door locked
+but unbolted. Since it is practically impossible for the strongest man
+to pull a door open, the two made for the window, and tore at screws
+and catch with eager fingers. Furneaux, light and nimble-footed,
+scrambled through first, so it was he who found Siddle lying in the
+orchard beyond the wall of the yard. The unhappy wretch had swallowed
+nearly the whole remaining contents of the bottle of nicotine, or
+enough to poison a score of robust men. He presented a lamentable and
+distressing spectacle. Some of the more venturesome passers-by, who had
+crowded after the detectives and Peters, could not bear to look on, and
+slunk away in horror.
+
+Furneaux soon brought an emetic, which failed to act. Siddle breathed
+his last while the glass was at his lips.
+
+In that moment of crisis only three men did not lose their heads.
+Winter cleared away the gapers, while Furneaux remained with the body.
+P. C. Robinson came up the hill at a run, and was sent for a stretcher,
+bringing from Hobbs’s shop the very one on which the ill-fated Adelaide
+Melhuish was carried from the river bank.
+
+But where was Peters? In the post office, writing the first of a series
+of thrilling dispatches to a London evening newspaper. What journalist
+ever had a more sensational murder-case to supply “copy”? And when was
+“special correspondent” ever better primed for the task? He wrote on,
+and on, till the telegraphist cried halt. Then he hied him to London by
+train, and began the more ambitious “story” for next morning. What he
+did not know he guessed correctly. A fagged but triumphant man was
+Jimmie Peters when he “blew in” to the Savage Club at 1 A.M. to seek
+sustenance and a whiskey and soda before going home.
+
+Furneaux was white and shaken when Winter escorted the
+stretcher-bearers to the orchard.
+
+“Poor devil!” he said, as the men lifted the body. “Foredoomed from
+birth! We can eradicate these diseases from cattle. Why not from men!”
+
+The villagers could not understand him. Already, in some mysterious
+way, the word had gone around that Siddle had murdered the actress, and
+taken his own life to avoid arrest, after shooting at the detective who
+was hot on his trail.
+
+Not until Peters’s articles came back to Steynholme did the public at
+large realize that the chemist undoubtedly meant to kill Doris Martin.
+He was going straight to the post office when the way was barred by
+Furneaux. The bullet which missed the latter actually pierced the zinc
+plate of the letter-box, and scored a furrow, inches long, in an oak
+counter which it struck laterally.
+
+The village did not recover its poise for hours. Grant and Hart, to
+whom Bates brought the news about one o’clock, rose from an untasted
+luncheon and hurried to the high-street. Knots of people stared at
+Grant, some sheepishly, others with frank relief, because all who knew
+him liked him. One man, a retired ironmonger and an impulsive fellow,
+came forward and wrung his hand heartily. A few prominent residents
+followed suit. Grant was greatly embarrassed, but managed to endure
+these awkward if well-meant congratulations. There could be no
+mistaking their intent. He had been tried for murder at the bar of
+public opinion, and was now formally acquitted.
+
+Even Fred Elkin, ignorant as yet of his own peril, yielded to the
+influences of the moment and bustled through the crowd.
+
+“Mr. Grant,” he cried outspokenly, “I ask your pardon. I seem to have
+made a d—d fool of myself!”
+
+“Easier done than said,” chimed in Hart. “But, among all this
+bell-ringing, can anyone tell what has actually happened? Where’s
+Peters?”
+
+“In the post office.”
+
+The two went in, and found the journalist scribbling against time. Hart
+coolly grabbed a few slips of manuscript, and commenced reading. Grant
+looked about for Doris. She was not visible, but Mr. Martin, pallid and
+nervous, nodded toward the sitting-room. The younger man, taking the
+gesture as a tacit invitation, entered the room.
+
+Doris was sitting there, crying bitterly. Poor girl! She had seen that
+portion of the drama which was enacted in the street, and the shock of
+it was still poignant. She looked up and met her lover’s eyes. Neither
+uttered a word, but Grant did a very wise thing. He caught her by the
+shoulders, raised her to her feet, and, after kissing her squarely on
+the lips, gave her a comforting hug.
+
+“It will be all right now, Doris,” he whispered tenderly. “Such
+thunderstorms clear the air.”
+
+An eminent novelist might have found many more ornate ways of avowing
+his sentiments, but never a more satisfactory one. At any rate, it
+served, so what more need be said?
+
+Certain rills of evidence accumulated into a fair-sized stream before
+night fell. P. C.  Robinson, for instance, scored a point by
+ascertaining that Peggy Smith had seen Furneaux dropping from the
+bedroom window of the chemist’s shop. She was some hundreds of yards
+away, and could not be positive that some man, perhaps a glazier, had
+not been there legitimately effecting repairs. Still, when she met
+Siddle hurrying from the station, she told him of the incident.
+
+“He never even thanked me,” she said, “but broke into a run. The look
+in his eyes was awful.”
+
+The girl had, in fact, confirmed his worst fears, and her neighborly
+solicitude had merely hastened the end.
+
+Again, the railway officials showed that Siddle had returned from
+Victoria instead of taking train to the asylum. Furneaux had guessed
+aright. The discovery that his keys had been left behind drove the man
+into a panic of fright.
+
+It took nearly three weeks before the unhappy business was finally
+disposed of. A Treasury solicitor was given the chance of his career by
+the medico-legal disquisition which cleared up an extraordinary record.
+The annals of the disease which predisposed Theodore Siddle to crime
+went back many years. He was a fairly wealthy man by inheritance, and
+adopted the profession of chemistry as a hobby. One fact stood out
+boldly. He was aware of his hereditary taint, and had settled down in
+Steynholme believing that a quiet life, free from care or the
+distractions of a town, would enable him to overcome it. Probably, the
+lawyer held, the man owned two distinct individualities, and the baser
+instincts gradually overpowered the humane ones.
+
+Of course, the whole history of those trying days had to come out in
+open court, and the postmaster’s daughter was given a descriptive and
+pictorial boom which many an actress envied. Peters was restored to
+grace when he showed plainly that his articles had kept the fickle
+barometer of public opinion at “set fair,” in so far as Grant and Doris
+were concerned.
+
+“But,” as Hart drawled during a dinner of reconciliation, “you needn’t
+have been so infernally personal about my hat.”
+
+Grant and Doris were married before the year was out. Mr. Martin
+retired on a pension, and the young couple decided that they could
+never dissociate _The Hollies_ from the tragic memories bound up with
+its ghost-window and lawn. So the place was sold, and Steynholme knows
+“the postmaster’s daughter” no more. Winter and Furneaux week-ended
+with them recently at a pretty little nook in Dorset. Hart, just home
+from the Balkans, traveled from town with the detectives, and Doris, a
+radiant young matron, was as flippant as the best of them.
+
+One evening, when the men were sitting late in the smoking-room, the
+talk turned on the now half-forgotten drama in which the hapless
+Adelaide Melhuish played her last rôle.
+
+“I met Peters in the Savage Club the other night,” said Hart, filling
+the negro-head pipe with care while he talked, “and he was chortling
+about his ‘psychological study,’ as he called it, of that unfortunate
+chemist. He still clings to the theory that your wife was the intended
+victim, Grant. Do you agree with him?”
+
+“Rubbish!” cried Furneaux, before his host could answer. “At best,
+Peters is only a clever ass. Siddle never had the remotest notion of
+killing Miss Doris Martin, as Mrs. Grant was then. We shall never know
+for certain just what happened, but there are elements in the affair
+which give ground for reasonable guesswork. The first thing that
+impressed Winter and me—at least, I suppose I really evolved the idea,
+though my bulky friend elaborated it” (whereat Winter smiled
+forgivingly, and beheaded a fresh Havana) “was the complete
+noiselessness of the crime. Here we had Mr. Grant startled by the face
+at the window, and actually searching outside the house for the ghostly
+visitant, while Miss Doris was gazing at _The Hollies_ from the other
+side of the river, and not a sound was heard, though it was a summer’s
+night, without a breath of wind, and at an hour when the splash of a
+fish leaping in the stream would have created a commotion. Now, Miss
+Melhuish was an active and well-built young woman, an actress, too, and
+therefore likely to meet an emergency without instant collapse. Yet she
+allows herself to be struck dead or insensible without cry or struggle!
+How do you account for it?”
+
+“Go on, Charles; don’t be theatrical,” jeered Winter. “You’ve got the
+story pat. Even that simile of the jumping fish is mine.”
+
+“True,” agreed Furneaux. “I only brought it in as a sop. But, to
+continue, as the tub-thumper says. Isn’t it permissible to assume that
+Siddle accompanied the lady, either by prior arrangement or by
+contriving a meeting which looked like mere chance? We know that she
+went to his shop. We know, too, that he was clever and unscrupulous,
+and any allusion to Grant would stir his wits to the uttermost. He
+would see instantly how interested Miss Melhuish was in the owner of
+_The Hollies_, while she, a smart Londoner, would recognize in Siddle
+an informant worth all the rest of the babblers in Steynholme. At any
+rate, no matter how the thing was brought about, it is self-evident
+that Siddle brought his intended victim into the grounds, and told her
+of the small uncovered window through which she could peer at Grant
+after Miss Doris had gone. He showed her which path to use, and
+undoubtedly waited for her, and stayed her flight when Grant rose from
+his chair. She was close to him, and wholly unafraid, finding in him an
+ally. They were purposely hidden, in the gloom of dense foliage, and
+remained there until Grant had closed the window again. Then, and not
+till then, did the murderer strike, probably stifling her with his free
+hand. He had the implement in his pocket. The rope was secreted among
+the bushes. He could carry through the whole wretched crime in little
+more than a minute. And his psychology went far deeper than Peters gave
+him credit for. He had weighed up the situation to a nicety. No matter
+who found the body, Mr. Grant was saddled with a responsibility which
+might well prove disastrous, and was almost sure to affect his
+relations with the Martin household. For instance, nothing short of a
+miracle could have stopped Robinson from arresting him on a charge of
+murder.”
+
+“You, then, are a miracle?” put in Hart, pointing the pipe at the
+little man.
+
+“To the person of ordinary intelligence—yes.”
+
+“After that,” said Winter, “there is nothing more to be said. Let’s see
+who secures the pocket marvel as a partner at auction.”
+
+
+As a fitting end to the strange story of wayward love and maniacal
+frenzy which found an unusual habitat in a secluded hamlet like
+Steynholme, a small vignette of its normal life may be etched in. The
+trope is germane to the scene.
+
+On a wet afternoon in October Hobbs and Elkin had adjourned to the Hare
+and Hounds. Tomlin was reading a newspaper spread on the bar counter.
+He was alone. The day was Friday, and the last “commercial” of the week
+had departed by the mid-day train.
+
+“Wot’s yer tonic?” demanded the butcher.
+
+“A glass of beer,” threw Elkin over his shoulder. He had walked to the
+window, and was gazing moodily at the sign of the “plumber and
+decorator” who had taken Siddle’s shop. The village could not really
+support an out-and-out chemist, so a local grocer had elected to stock
+patent medicines as a side line.
+
+Tomlin made play with a beer-pump.
+
+“Where’s yer own?” inquired Hobbs hospitably.
+
+Elkin came and drank. After an interlude, Tomlin ran a finger down a
+column of the newspaper.
+
+“By the way, Fred, didn’t you tell me about that funny little chap,
+Furno, the ’tec, buyin’ some pictures of yours?” he said.
+
+“I did. Had him there, anyhow,” chuckled Elkin.
+
+“How much did you stick ’im for?”
+
+“Three guineas.”
+
+“They can’t ha’ bin this lot, then, though I’ve a notion it wur the
+same name, ‘Aylesbury Steeplechase.’”
+
+“What are you talking about?”
+
+“This.”
+
+Tomlin turned the paper, and Elkin read:
+
+At their monthly art sale on Wednesday Messrs. Brown, Jenkins and Brown
+disposed of an almost unique set of colored prints, by F. Smyth, dated
+1841. The series of six represented various phases of the long defunct
+Aylesbury Steeplechase, “The Start,” “The Brook,” “The In-and-Out,” and
+so on to “The Finish.” It is understood that this notable series,
+produced during the best period of the art, and at the very zenith of
+Smyth’s fame, were acquired recently by a Sussex amateur at a low
+price. Bidding began at fifty guineas, and rose quickly to one hundred
+and twenty, at which figure Messrs. Carnioli and Bruschi became the
+owners.
+
+Elkin read the paragraph twice, until the words burnt into his brain.
+
+“No,” he said thickly. “They’re not mine. No such luck!”
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Postmaster's Daughter, by Louis Tracy
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10110 ***
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+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10110 ***</div>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" />
+</div>
+
+<h1>The Postmaster&rsquo;s Daughter</h1>
+
+<h2>by Louis Tracy</h2>
+
+<p class="center">
+<b>1916</b>
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+Also by this author: <i> Number Seventeen, The Wheel of Fortune, The Terms of
+Surrender, The Wings of the Morning, &amp;c.</i>
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+
+<table summary="" style="">
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap01">I. The Face at the Window</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap02">II. P. C. Robinson &ldquo;Takes a Line&rdquo;</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap03">III. The Gathering Clouds</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap04">IV. A Cabal</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap05">V. The Seeds of Mischief</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap06">VI. Scotland Yard Takes a Hand</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap07">VII. &ldquo;Alarums and Excursions&rdquo;</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap08">VIII. An Interrupted Symposium</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap09">IX. He Whom the Cap Fits&mdash;</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap10">X. The Case Against Grant</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap11">XI. P. C. Robinson Takes Another Line</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap12">XII. Wherein Winter Gets To Work</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap13">XIII. Concerning Theodore Siddle</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap14">XIV. On Both Sides of the River</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap15">XV. A Matter of Heredity</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap16">XVI. Furneaux Makes a Successful Bid</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap17">XVII. An Official Housebreaker</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap18">XVIII. The Truth at Last</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap01"></a>Chapter I.<br />
+The Face at the Window</h2>
+
+<p>
+John Menzies Grant, having breakfasted, filled his pipe, lit it, and strolled
+out bare-headed into the garden. The month was June, that glorious rose-month
+which gladdened England before war-clouds darkened the summer sky. As the hour
+was nine o&rsquo;clock, it is highly probable that many thousands of men were
+then strolling out into many thousands of gardens in precisely similar
+conditions; but, given youth, good health, leisure, and a fair amount of money,
+it is even more probable that few among the smaller number thus roundly favored
+by fortune looked so perplexed as Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moreover, his actions were eloquent as words. A spacious French window had been
+cut bodily out of the wall of an old-fashioned room, and was now thrown wide to
+admit the flower-scented breeze. Between this window and the right-hand angle
+of the room was a smaller window, square-paned, high above the ground level,
+and deeply recessed&mdash;in fact just the sort of window which one might
+expect to find in a farm-house built two centuries ago, when light and air were
+rigorously excluded from interiors. The two windows told the history of <i>The
+Hollies</i> at a glance. The little one had served the needs of a
+&ldquo;best&rdquo; room for several generations of Sussex yeomen. Then had come
+some iconoclast who hewed a big rectangle through the solid stone-work,
+converted the oak-panelled apartment into a most comfortable dining-room, built
+a new wing with a gable, changed a farm-yard into a flower-bordered lawn, and
+generally played havoc with Georgian utility while carrying out a determined
+scheme of landscape gardening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Happily, the wrecker was content to let well enough alone after enlarging the
+house, laying turf, and planting shrubs and flowers. He found <i>The
+Hollies</i> a ramshackle place, and left it even more so, but with a new note
+of artistry and several unexpectedly charming vistas. Thus, the big double
+window opened straight into an irregular garden which merged insensibly into a
+sloping lawn bounded by a river-pool. The bank on the other side of the stream
+rose sharply and was well wooded. Above the crest showed the thatched roofs or
+red tiles of Steynholme, which was a village in the time of William the
+Conqueror, and has remained a village ever since. Frame this picture in
+flowering shrubs, evergreens, a few choice firs, a copper beech, and some
+sturdy oaks shadowing the lawn, and the prospect on a June morning might well
+have led out into the open any young man with a pipe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But John Menzies Grant seemed to have no eye for a scene that would have
+delighted a painter. He turned to the light, scrutinized so closely a strip of
+turf which ran close to the wall that he might have been searching for a lost
+diamond, and then peered through the lowermost left-hand pane of the small
+window into the room he had just quitted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The result of this peeping was remarkable in more ways than one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A stout, elderly, red-faced woman, who had entered the room soon after she
+heard Grant&rsquo;s chair being moved, caught sight of the intent face. She
+screamed loudly, and dropped a cup and saucer with a clatter on to a Japanese
+tray.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant hurried back to the French window. In his haste he did not notice a long
+shoot of a Dorothy Perkins rose which trailed across his path, and it struck
+him smartly on the cheek.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid I startled you, Mrs. Bates,&rdquo; he said, smiling so
+pleasantly that no woman or child could fail to put trust in him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You did that, sir,&rdquo; agreed Mrs. Bates, collapsing into the chair
+Grant had just vacated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Like most red-faced people, Mrs. Bates turned a bluish purple when alarmed, and
+her aspect was so distressing now that Grant&rsquo;s smile was banished by a
+look of real concern.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m very sorry,&rdquo; he said contritely. &ldquo;I had no notion
+you were in the room. Shall I call Minnie?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Minnie, it may be explained, was Mrs. Bates&rsquo;s daughter and assistant, the
+two, plus a whiskered Bates, gardener and groom, forming the domestic
+establishment presided over by Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nun-no, sir,&rdquo; stuttered the housekeeper. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s stupid
+of me. But I&rsquo;m not so young as I was, an&rsquo; me heart jumps at little
+things.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant saw that she was recovering, though slowly. He thought it best not to
+make too much of the incident; but asked solicitously if he might give her some
+brandy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bates remarked that she was &ldquo;not so bad as that,&rdquo; rose
+valiantly, and went on with her work. Her employer, who had gone into the
+garden again, saw out of the tail of his eye that she vanished with a
+half-laden tray. In a couple of minutes the daughter appeared, and finished the
+slight task of clearing the table; meanwhile, Grant kept away from the small
+window. Being a young man who cultivated the habit of observation, he noticed
+that Minnie, too, cast scared glances at the window. When the girl had finally
+quitted the room, he laughed in a puzzled way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I dreaming, or are there visions about?&rdquo; he murmured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Urged, seemingly, by a sort of curiosity, he surveyed the room a second time
+through the same pane of glass. Being tall, he had to stoop slightly. Within,
+on the opposite side of the ledge, he saw the tiny brass candlestick with its
+inch of candle which he had used over-night while searching for a volume of
+Scott in the book-case lining the neighboring wall. Somehow, this simplest of
+domestic objects brought a thrill of recollection.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, dash it all!&rdquo; he growled good-humoredly, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+getting nervy. I must chuck this bad habit of working late, and use the blessed
+hours of daylight.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet, as he sauntered down the lawn toward the stream, he knew well that he
+would do nothing of the sort. He loved that time of peace between ten at night
+and one in the morning. His thoughts ran vagrom then. Fantasies took shape
+under his pen which, in the cold light of morning, looked unreal and nebulous,
+though he had the good sense to restrain criticism within strict limits, and
+corrected style rather than matter. He was a writer, an essayist with no slight
+leaven of the poet, and had learnt early that the everyday world held naught in
+common with the brooding of the soul.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he was no long-haired dreamer of impossible things. Erect and
+square-shouldered, he had passed through Sandhurst into the army, a profession
+abandoned because of its humdrum nature, when an unexpectedly &ldquo;fat&rdquo;
+legacy rendered him independent. He looked exactly what he was, a healthy,
+clean-minded young Englishman, with a physique that led to occasional bouts of
+fox-hunting and Alpine climbing, and a taste in literature that brought about
+the consumption of midnight oil. This latter is not a mere trope. Steynholme is
+far removed from such modern &ldquo;conveniences&rdquo; as gas and electricity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At present he had no more definite object in life than to watch the trout
+rising in the pool. He held the fishing rights over half a mile of a noted
+river, but, by force of the law of hospitality, as it were, the stretch of
+water bordering the lawn was a finny sanctuary. Once, he halted, and looked
+fixedly at a dormer window in a cottage just visible above the trees on the
+opposite slope. Such a highly presentable young man might well expect to find a
+dainty feminine form appearing just in that place, and eke return the greeting
+of a waved hand. But the window remained blank&mdash;windows refused to yield
+any information that morning&mdash;and he passed on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lawn dipped gently to the water&rsquo;s edge, until the close-clipped turf
+gave way to pebbles and sand. In that spot the river widened and deepened until
+its current was hardly perceptible in fine weather. When the sun was in the
+west the trees and roofs of Steynholme were so clearly reflected in the mirror
+of the pool that a photograph of the scene needed close scrutiny ere one could
+determine whether or not it was being held upside down. But the sun shone
+directly on the water now, so the shelving bottom was visible, and
+Grant&rsquo;s quick eye was drawn to a rope trailing into the depths, and
+fastened to an iron staple driven firmly into the shingle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was so surprised that he spoke aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What in the world is that?&rdquo; he almost gasped; a premonition of
+evil was so strong in him that he actually gazed in stupefaction at a blob of
+water and a quick-spreading ring where a fat trout rose lazily in midstream.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somehow, too, he resisted the first impulse of the active side of his
+temperament, and did not instantly tug at the rope.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instead, he shouted:&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hi, Bates!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An answering hail came from behind a screen of laurels on the right of the
+house. There lay the stables, and Bates would surely be grooming the cob which
+supplied a connecting link between <i>The Hollies</i> and the railway for the
+neighboring market-town.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates came, a sturdy block of a man who might have been hewn out of a Sussex
+oak. His face, hands, and arms were the color of oak, and he moved with a
+stiffness that suggested wooden joints.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Evidently, he expected an order for the dogcart, and stood stock still when he
+reached the lawn. But Grant, who had gathered his wits, summoned him with
+crooked forefinger, and Bates jerked slowly on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What hev&rsquo; ye done to yer face, sir?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was surprised. He expected no such question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So far as I know, I&rsquo;ve not been making any great alteration in
+it,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it&rsquo;s all covered wi&rsquo; blood,&rdquo; came the disturbing
+statement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A handkerchief soon gave evidence that Bates was not exaggerating.
+Miss&mdash;or is it Madam?&mdash;Dorothy Perkins can scratch as well as look
+sweet, and a thorn had opened a small vein in Grant&rsquo;s cheek which bled to
+a surprising extent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it is nothing,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I remember now&mdash;a rose
+shoot caught me as I went back into the dining-room a moment ago. I shouted for
+you to come and see <i>this.</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon the two were examining the rope and the staple.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now who put <i>that</i> there?&rdquo; said Bates, not asking a question
+but rather stating a thesis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was not here yesterday,&rdquo; commented his master, accepting all
+that Bates&rsquo;s words implied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir, that it wasn&rsquo;t. I was a-cuttin&rsquo; the lawn till nigh
+bed-time, an&rsquo; it wasn&rsquo;t there then.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was himself again. He stooped and grabbed the rope.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Suppose we solve the mystery,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No need to dirty your hands, sir,&rdquo; put in Bates. &ldquo;Let I haul
+&rsquo;un in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a few seconds the oaken tint in his face grew many shades lighter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good Gawd!&rdquo; he wheezed. At the end of the rope was the body of a
+woman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There are few more distressing objects than a drowned corpse. On that bright
+June morning a dreadful apparition lost little of its grim repulsiveness
+because the body was that of a young and good-looking woman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If one searched England it would be difficult to find two men of differing
+temperaments less likely to yield to the stress of even the most trying
+circumstance than Grant and Bates, yet, during some agonized moments the one,
+of tried courage and fine mettle, was equally horrified and shaken as the
+other, a gnarled and hard-grained rustic. It was he from whom speech might
+least be expected who first found his tongue. Bates, who had stooped,
+straightened himself slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By gum!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;this be a bad business, Mr. Grant. Who is
+she? She&rsquo;s none of our Steynholme lasses.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still Grant uttered no word. He just looked in horror at the poor husk of a
+woman who in life had undoubtedly been beautiful. She was well but quietly
+dressed, and her clothing showed no signs of violence. The all-night soaking in
+the river revealed some pitiful little feminine secrets, such as a touch of
+make-up on lips and cheeks, and the dark roots of abundant hair which had been
+treated chemically to lighten its color. The eyes were closed, and for that
+Grant was conscious of a deep thankfulness. Had those sightless eyes stared at
+him he felt he would have cried aloud in terror. The firm, well-molded lips
+were open, as though uttering a last protest against an untimely fate. Of
+course, both men were convinced that murder had been done. Not only were arms
+and body bound in a manner that was impossible of accomplishment by the dead
+woman herself, but an ugly wound on the smooth forehead seemed to indicate that
+she had been stunned or killed outright before being flung into the river.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, the rope and the staple suggested an outlandish, maniacal disposal of
+the victim. Here was no effort at concealment, but rather a making sure, in
+most brutal and callous fashion, that early discovery must be unavoidable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The bucolic mind works in well-scored grooves. Receiving no assistance from his
+master, Bates pulled the body a little farther up on the strip of gravel so
+that it lay clear of the water.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I mum fetch t&rsquo; polis,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The phrase, with its vivid significance, seemed to galvanize Grant into a
+species of comprehension.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he agreed, speaking slowly, as though striving to measure
+the effect of each word. &ldquo;Yes, go for the police, Bates. This foul crime
+must be inquired into, no matter who suffers. Go now. But first bring a rug
+from the stable. You understand? Your wife, or Minnie, must not be told till
+later. They must not see. Mrs. Bates is not so well to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not so well! Her ate a rare good breakfast for a sick &rsquo;un!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates was recovering from the shock, and prepared once more to take an interest
+in the minor features of existence. Among these he counted ability to eat as a
+sure sign of continued well-being in man or beast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, too, was slowly regaining poise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hardly know what I am saying,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;At any rate,
+bring a rug. I&rsquo;ll mount guard till you return with the policeman. There
+can be no doubt, I suppose, that this poor creature is dead.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dead as a stone,&rdquo; said Bates with conviction. &ldquo;Why,
+her&rsquo;s bin in there hours,&rdquo; and he nodded toward the water.
+&ldquo;Besides, if I knows anythink of a crack on t&rsquo;head, her wur outed
+before she went into t&rsquo;river.... But who i&rsquo; t&rsquo;world can she
+be?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t fetch that rug I&rsquo;ll go for it myself,&rdquo;
+said Grant, whereupon Bates made off.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was soon back again with a carriage rug, which Grant helped him to spread
+over the dripping body. Then he hastened to the village, taking a path that
+avoided the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lawn and river bank of <i>The Hollies</i> could only be overlooked from the
+steep wooded cliff opposite, and none but an adventurous boy would ever think
+of climbing down that almost impassable rampart of rock, brushwood, and
+tree-roots. At any rate, when left alone with the ghastly evidence of a
+tragedy, Grant troubled only to satisfy himself that no one was watching from
+the house. Assured on that point, he lifted a corner of the rug, and,
+apparently, forced himself to scrutinize the dead woman&rsquo;s face. He seemed
+to search therein for some reassuring token, but found none, because he shook
+his head, dropped the rug, and walked a few paces dejectedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, hardly knowing what he was about, he relighted his pipe, but had hardly
+put it in his mouth before he knocked out the tobacco.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Clearly, he was thinking hard, mapping out some line of conduct, and the
+outlook must have been dark indeed, judging by his somber and undecided aspect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+More than once he looked up at the attic window of the cottage which had drawn
+his eyes before tragedy had come so swiftly to his very feet. But, if he hoped
+to see anyone, he was disappointed, though, in the event, it proved that his
+real fear was lest the person he half expected to see should look out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was not disturbed in that way, however. Fish rose in the river; birds sang
+in the trees; a water-wagtail skipped nimbly from rock to rock in the shallows;
+honey-laden bees hummed past to the many hives in the postmaster&rsquo;s
+garden. These were the normal sights and sounds of a June morning&mdash;that
+which was abnormal and almost grotesque in its horror lay hidden beneath the
+carriage rug.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To and fro he walked in that trying vigil, carrying the empty pipe in one hand
+while, with the other, he dabbed the handkerchief at the cut on his face. He
+was aware of some singular change in the quality of the sunlight pouring down
+on lawn and river and trees. Five minutes earlier it had spread over the
+landscape a golden bloom of the tint of champagne; now it was sharp and cold, a
+clear, penetrating radiance in which colors were vivid and shadows black. He
+was in no mood to analyze emotions, or he might have understood that the fierce
+throbbing of his heart had literally thinned the blood in his veins and thus
+affected even his sight. He only knew that in this crystal atmosphere the major
+issues of life presented themselves with a new and crude force. At any rate, he
+made up his mind that the course suggested by truth and honor was the only one
+to follow, and that, in itself, was something gained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By the time Bates returned, accompanied by the village policeman, and two other
+men carrying a stretcher, Grant was calmer, more self-contained, than he had
+been since that hapless body was dragged from the depths. He was not
+irresponsive, therefore, to the aura of official importance which enveloped the
+policeman; he sensed a certain uneasiness in Bates; he even noted that the
+stretcher was part of the stock in trade of Hobbs, the local butcher, and
+ordinarily bore the carcase of a well-fed pig.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+These details were helpful. Naturally, Bates had explained his errand, and the
+law, in the person of the policeman, was prepared for all eventualities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is a bad business, Mr. Grant,&rdquo; began the policeman, producing
+a note-book, and moistening the tip of a lead pencil with his tongue. Being a
+Sussex man, he used the same phrase as Bates. In fact, Grant was greeted by it
+a score of times that day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; agreed Grant. &ldquo;I had better tell you that I have
+recognized the poor lady. Her name is Adelaide Melhuish. Her residence is in
+the Regent&rsquo;s Park district of London.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson, the policeman, permitted himself to look surprised. He was, in fact,
+rather annoyed. Bates&rsquo;s story had prepared him for a first-rate detective
+mystery. It was irritating to have one of its leading features cleared up so
+promptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; he said, drawing a line under the last entry in the
+note-book, and writing the date and hour in heavy characters beneath.
+&ldquo;Married or single?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Married, but separated from her husband when last I had news of
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And when was that, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nearly three years ago.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you have not seen her since?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t see her last night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant positively started, but he looked at the policeman squarely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is strange you should ask me that,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Last night,
+while searching for a book, I saw a face at the window. It was that
+window,&rdquo; and four pairs of eyes followed his pointing finger. &ldquo;The
+face, I now believe, was that of the dead woman. At the moment, as it vanished
+instantly, I persuaded myself that I was the victim of some trick of the
+imagination. Still, I opened the other window, looked out and listened, but
+heard or saw nothing or no one. As I say, I fancied I had imagined that which
+was not. Now I know I was wrong.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About what o&rsquo;clock would this be, Mr. Grant?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shortly before eleven. I came in at a quarter past ten, and began to
+work. After writing steadily for a little more than half an hour, I wanted to
+consult a book, and lighted a candle which I keep for that purpose. I found the
+book, and was about to blow out the candle when I saw the face.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson wrote in his note-book:&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Called to <i>The Hollies</i> to investigate case of supposed murder.
+Body of woman found in river. Mr. Grant, occupying <i>The Hollies</i>, says
+that woman&rsquo;s name is Adelaide Melhuish&rdquo;&mdash;at this point he
+paused to ascertain the spelling&mdash;&ldquo;and he saw her face at a window
+of the house at 10.45 P.M., last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sir, and what next?&rdquo; he went on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It seems to me that the next thing is to have the unfortunate lady
+removed to some more suitable place than the river bank,&rdquo; said Grant,
+rather impatiently. &ldquo;My story can wait, and so can Bates&rsquo;s. He
+knows all that I know, and has probably told you already how we came to
+discover the body. You can see for yourself that she must have been murdered.
+It is an extraordinary, I may even say a phenomenal crime, which certainly
+cannot be investigated here and now. I advise you to have the body taken to the
+village mortuary, or such other place as serves local needs in that respect,
+and summon a doctor. Then, if you and an inspector will call here, I&rsquo;ll
+give you all the information I possess, which is very little, I may add.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson began solemnly to jot down a summary of Grant&rsquo;s words, and
+thereby stirred the owner of <i>The Hollies</i> to a fury which was repressed
+with difficulty. Realizing, however, the absolute folly of expressing any
+resentment, Grant turned, and, without meaning it, looked again in the
+direction of the cottage on the crest of the opposite bank. This time a girl
+was leaning out of the dormer window. She had shaded her eyes with a hand,
+because the sun was streaming into her face, but when she saw that Grant was
+looking her way she waved a handkerchief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He fluttered his own blood-stained handkerchief in brief acknowledgment, and
+wheeled about, only to find P. C. Robinson watching him furtively, having
+suspended his note-taking for the purpose.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap02"></a>Chapter II.<br />
+P. C. Robinson &ldquo;Takes a Line&rdquo;</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It will help me a lot, sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if you tell me now
+what you know about this matter. If, as seems more than likely, murder has been
+done, I don&rsquo;t want to lose a minute in starting my inquiries. In a case
+of this sort I find it best to take a line, and stick to it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His tone was respectful but firm. Evidently, P. C.  Robinson was not one to be
+trifled with. Moreover, for a sleuth whose maximum achievement hitherto had
+been the successful prosecution of a poultry thief, it was significant that the
+unconscious irony of &ldquo;a case of this sort&rdquo; should have been lost on
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you really insist on conducting your investigation while the body is
+lying here?&rdquo; demanded Grant, deliberately turning his back on the girl in
+the distant cottage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not that, sir&mdash;not altogether&mdash;but I must really ask you to
+clear up one or two points now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For goodness&rsquo; sake, what are they?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sir, in the first place, how did you come to find the body?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I walked out into the garden after finishing breakfast a few minutes
+ago, and noticed the rope attached to the staple, just as you see it
+now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you walk straight here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. Not exactly. I was&mdash;er&mdash;curious about the face I saw, or
+thought I saw, last night, and looked into the room through the same window. By
+doing so I scared Mrs. Bates, who was clearing the table, and she
+screamed&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Her would, too,&rdquo; put in Bates. &ldquo;Her&rsquo;d take &rsquo;ee
+for Owd Ben&rsquo;s ghost.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You shut up, Bates,&rdquo; said the policeman. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
+interrupt Mr. Grant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was conscious of an undercurrent of suspicion in the constable&rsquo;s
+manner. He was wroth with the man, but recognized that he had to deal with
+narrow-minded self-importance, so contrived again to curb his temper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not acquainted with old Ben or his ghost,&rdquo; he said quietly.
+&ldquo;I can only tell you that I went inside to reassure Mrs. Bates, and then
+strolled slowly to this very spot. Naturally, I could not miss the rope and the
+staple. To my mind, it was not intended that I or anyone else should miss them.
+I regarded them as so peculiar that I shouted for Bates. He came at once, and
+drew the body out of the water.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you recognized the dead woman as the one you saw last night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At about ten minutes to eleven?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it likely, sir, that any other person saw her in these grounds a bit
+earlier?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sir, I can&rsquo;t put it much plainer. Could anybody else have
+seen her here, say about 10.15?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant met the policeman&rsquo;s inquiring glance squarely before he answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is possible, of course,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but most
+unlikely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Were you alone here at that hour?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again Grant sought and held that inquisitive gaze, held it until Robinson
+affected to consult his notes. There was a moment of tense silence. Then the
+reply came with an icy stubbornness that was not to be denied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I decline absolutely to be cross-examined about my movements. If you are
+unable or unwilling to order the removal of the body, I&rsquo;ll telegraph to
+the chief of police at Knolesworth, and ask him to act. Further, I shall
+request Dr. Foxton to examine the poor lady&rsquo;s injuries. It strikes me as
+a monstrous proceeding that you should attempt to record my evidence at this
+moment, and I refuse to become a party to it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, then, Robinson, stop yer Sherlock Holmes work, an&rsquo; help me to
+lift this poor woman on to the stretcher,&rdquo; said Bates gruffly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The policeman&rsquo;s red face grew a shade deeper with annoyance, but he had
+the sense to avoid a scene. He was not popular in the village, and was well
+aware that the two rustics pressed into service as stretcher-bearers would
+joyfully retail the fact that he had been &ldquo;set down a peg or two by Mr.
+Grant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do all that&rsquo;s necessary in that way, sir,&rdquo; he
+said stiffly. &ldquo;I suppose you have no objection to my askin&rsquo; if you
+noticed any strange footprints on the ground hereabouts?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That was the first thing I looked for, both here and outside the
+window&mdash;the latter, of course, for another reason. I found none. These
+stones would show no signs. The ground is so dry that even the five men now
+present leave no traces, but I remember seeing in the bed of the stream certain
+marks which, unfortunately, were obliterated when Bates hauled the body ashore.
+They were valueless, however&mdash;shapeless indentations in the mud and
+sand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Were they wide apart or close together, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite irregular. No one could judge by the length of the stride whether
+they were made by the feet of a man or a woman, if that is what you have in
+mind ... but, really&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant&rsquo;s impatient motion was not to be misunderstood. Robinson stooped,
+removed the rug, and unfastened the rope, after noting carefully how it was
+tied, a point which he called on the others to observe as well. Then he and the
+villagers went away with their sad burden, the rug being requisitioned once
+more to hide that wan face from the vivid sunshine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates had a trick of grasping a handful of his short whiskers when puzzled; he
+did so now; it seemed to be an unconscious effort to pull his jaws apart in
+order to emit speech.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve a sort of idee, sir,&rdquo; he said slowly, &ldquo;that
+Robinson saw Doris Martin on the lawn with &rsquo;ee last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant turned on his henchman in a sudden heat of anger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Martin&rsquo;s name must be kept out of this matter,&rdquo; he
+growled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Sussex is not easily browbeaten when it thinks itself in the right.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All very well a-sayin&rsquo; that, sir, but a-doin&rsquo; of it is a
+bird of another color,&rdquo; argued Bates firmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How did you know that Miss Martin was here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bless your heart, sir, how comes it that us Steynholme folk know
+everythink about other folk&rsquo;s business? Sometimes we know more&rsquo;n
+they knows themselves. You&rsquo;ve not walked a yard wi&rsquo; Doris that the
+women&rsquo;s tittle-tattle hasn&rsquo;t made it into a mile.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No man, even the wisest, likes to be told an unpalatable truth. For a few
+seconds, Grant was seriously annoyed with this village Solon, and nearly
+blurted out an angry command that he should hold his tongue. Luckily, since
+Bates was only trying to be helpful, he was content to say sarcastically:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course, if you are so well posted in my movements last night, you can
+assure the coroner and the Police that I did not strangle some strange woman,
+tie a rope around her, and throw her in the river.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Me an&rsquo; my missis couldn&rsquo;t help seein&rsquo; you an&rsquo;
+Doris a-lookin&rsquo; at the stars through a spyglass when us were goin&rsquo;
+to bed,&rdquo; persisted Bates. &ldquo;We heerd your voices quite plain. Once
+&rsquo;ee fixed the glass low down, an&rsquo; said, &lsquo;That&rsquo;s
+serious. It&rsquo;s late to-night.&rsquo; An&rsquo; I tell &rsquo;ee straight,
+sir, I said to the missis:&mdash;&lsquo;It will be serious, an&rsquo; all, if
+Doris&rsquo;s father catches her gallivantin&rsquo; in our garden wi&rsquo; Mr.
+Grant nigh on ten o&rsquo;clock.&rsquo; Soon after that &rsquo;ee took Doris as
+far as the bridge. The window was open, an&rsquo; I heerd your footsteps on the
+road. You kem&rsquo; in, closed the window, an&rsquo; drew a chair up to the
+table. After that, I fell asleep.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perturbed and anxious though he was, Grant could hardly fail to see that Bates
+meant well by him. The mental effort needed for such a long speech said as
+much. The allusion to Sirius, amusing at any other time, was now most valuable,
+because an astronomical almanac would give the hour at which that brilliant
+star became visible. Other considerations yielded at once, however, to the fear
+lest Robinson and his note-book were already busy at the post office. Without
+another word, he hurried away by the side-path through the evergreens, leaving
+Bates staring after him, and, with more whisker-pulling, examining the rope and
+staple, which, by the policeman&rsquo;s order, were not to be disturbed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant reached the highroad just as Robinson and the men with the stretcher were
+crossing a stone bridge spanning the river about a hundred yards below <i>The
+Hollies</i>. A slight, youthful, and eminently attractive female figure,
+walking swiftly in the opposite direction, came in sight at the same time, and
+Grant almost groaned aloud when the newcomer stood stock still and looked at
+the mournful procession. He, be it remembered, was somewhat of an idealist and
+a poet; it grieved his spirit that those two women, the quick and the dead,
+should meet on the bridge. He took it as a portent, almost a menace, he knew
+not of what. He might have foreseen that unhappy eventuality, and prevented it,
+but his brain refused to work clearly that morning. A terrible and bizarre
+crime had bemused his faculties. He seemed to be in a state of waking
+nightmare.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was stung into impetuous action by seeing the policeman halt and exchange
+some words with the girl. He began to run, with the quite definite if equally
+mad intent of punching Robinson into reasonable behavior. He was saved from an
+act of unmitigated folly by the girl herself. She caught sight of him,
+apparently broke off her talk with the policeman abruptly, and, in her turn,
+took to her heels.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus, on that strip of sun-baked road, with its easy gradient to the crown of
+the bridge, there was the curious spectacle offered by two men jogging along
+with a corpse on a stretcher, a young man and a young woman running towards
+each other, and a discomfited representative of the law, looking now one way
+and now the other, and evidently undecided whether to go on or return.
+Ultimately, it would seem, Robinson went with the stretcher-bearers, because
+Grant and the girl saw no more of him for the time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant had received several shocks since rising from the breakfast-table, but it
+was left for Doris Martin, the postmaster&rsquo;s daughter, to administer not
+the least surprising one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Though almost breathless, and wide-eyed with horror, her opening words were
+very much to the point.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How awful!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Why should any-one in Steynholme
+want to kill a great actress like Adelaide Melhuish?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, the name of the dead woman was literally the last thing Grant expected to
+hear from this girl&rsquo;s lips, and the astounding fact momentarily banished
+all other worries.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You knew her?&rdquo; he gasped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, not exactly. But I couldn&rsquo;t avoid recognizing her when she
+asked for her letters, and sent a telegram.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Robinson told me she was dead. I see now what is puzzling
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is not quite that. I mean, why didn&rsquo;t you tell me she was in
+Steynholme? Has she been staying here any length of time?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl&rsquo;s pretty face crimsoned, and then grew pale.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&mdash;had no idea&mdash;she was&mdash;a friend of yours, Mr.
+Grant,&rdquo; she stammered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She used to be a friend, but I have not set eyes on her during the past
+three years&mdash;until last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Last night!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;After you had gone home. I was doing some work, and, having occasion to
+consult a book, lighted a candle, and put it in the small window near the
+bookcase. Then I fancied I saw a woman&rsquo;s face, <i>her</i> face, peering
+in, and was so obsessed by the notion that I went outside, but everything was
+so still that I persuaded myself I was mistaken.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, is that what it was?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant threw out his hands in a gesture that was eloquent of some feeling
+distinctly akin to despair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t usually speak in enigmas, Doris,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;What in the world do you mean by saying:&mdash;&lsquo;Oh, is that what
+it was?&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl&mdash;she was only nineteen, and never before had aught of tragic
+mystery entered her sheltered life&mdash;seemed to recover her self-possession
+with a quickness and decision that were admirable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no enigma,&rdquo; she said calmly. &ldquo;My room overlooks
+your lawn. Before retiring for the night I went to the window, just to have
+another peep at Sirius and its changing lights, so I could not help seeing you
+fling open the French windows, stand a little while on the step, and go in
+again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, you saw that? Then I have one witness who will help to dispel that
+stupid policeman&rsquo;s notion that I killed Miss Melhuish, and hid her body
+in the river at the foot of the lawn, hid it with such care that the first
+passerby must find it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Every human being has three distinct personalities. Firstly, there is the man
+or woman as he or she really is; secondly, there is the much superior
+individual as assessed personally; thirdly, and perhaps the most important in
+the general scheme of things, there is the same individuality as viewed by
+others. For an instant, the somewhat idealized figure which John Menzies Grant
+offered to a pretty and intelligent but inexperienced girl was in danger of
+losing its impressiveness. But, since Grant was not only a good fellow but a
+gentleman, his next thought restored him to the pedestal from which, all
+unknowing, he had nearly been dethroned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is a nice thing to say,&rdquo; he cried, with a short laugh of
+sheer vexation. &ldquo;Here am I regarding you as a first-rate witness in my
+behalf, whereas my chief worry is to keep you out of this ugly business
+altogether. Forgive me, Doris! Never before have I been so bothered. Honestly,
+I imagined I hadn&rsquo;t an enemy in the world, yet someone has tried
+deliberately to saddle me with suspicion in this affair. Not that I would give
+real heed to that consideration if it were not for the unhappy probability
+that, strive as I may, your name will crop up in connection with it. What sort
+of fellow is this police constable? Do you think he would keep his mouth shut
+if I paid him well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was certainly far from being in his normal state of mind, or he would
+have caught the tender gleam which lighted the girl&rsquo;s eyes when she
+understood that his concern was for her, not for himself. As it was, several
+things had escaped him during that brief talk on the sunlit road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On her part, Doris Martin was now in full control of her emotions, and she
+undoubtedly took a saner view of a difficult situation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Robinson is a vain man,&rdquo; she said thoughtfully. &ldquo;He will not
+let go the chance of notoriety given him by the murder of a well-known actress.
+Was she really murdered? Robinson said so when I met him on the bridge.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid he is justified in that belief, at any rate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Mr. Grant, what have we to conceal? I was in your garden at a
+rather late hour, I admit, but one cannot watch the stars by day, and a big
+telescope with its tripod is not easily carried about. Of course, father will
+be vexed, because, as it happens, I did not tell him I was coming out. But that
+cannot be helped. As it happens, I can fix the time you opened your window
+almost to a minute, because the church clock had chimed the quarter just before
+you appeared.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, however, was not to be soothed by this matter-of-fact reasoning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am vexed at the mere notion of your name, and possibly your portrait,
+appearing in the newspapers,&rdquo; he protested. &ldquo;Miss Melhuish was a
+celebrated actress. The press will make a rare commotion about her death. Look
+at the obvious questions that will be raised. What was she doing here? Why was
+she found in the river bordering the grounds of my house? Don&rsquo;t you see?
+I had to decide pretty quickly whether or not I would admit any previous
+knowledge of her. I suppose I acted rightly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why hide anything, Mr. Grant? Surely it is always best to tell the
+truth!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked into those candid blue eyes, and drew from their limpid depths an
+element of strength and fortitude.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By Jove, Doris, small wonder if a jaded man of the world, such as I was
+when I came to Steynholme, found new faith and inspiration in friendship with
+you,&rdquo; he said gratefully. &ldquo;But I am wool-gathering all the time
+this morning, it would seem. Won&rsquo;t you come into the house? If we have to
+discuss a tragedy we may as well sit down to it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said, with the promptitude of one who had anticipated the
+invitation. &ldquo;I must hurry home. There are accounts to be made up. And
+Robinson and others will be telegraphing to Knoleworth and London. I must
+attend to all that, because dad gets flustered if several messages are handed
+in at the same time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come and have tea, then, about four o&rsquo;clock. The ravens will have
+fled by then.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The ravens?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The police, you dear child, and the reporters, and the
+photographers&mdash;the flock of weird fowl which gathers from all points of
+the compass when the press gets hold of what is called &lsquo;a first-rate
+story,&rsquo; By midday I shall be in the thick of it. But, thank goodness,
+they will know nothing to draw them your way until the inquest takes place, and
+not even then if <i>I</i> can manage it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t mind me, Mr. Grant. You must not keep anything back on my
+account. I&rsquo;ll try and come at four. But I may be very busy in the office.
+By the way, you ought to know. Miss Melhuish came here on Sunday evening. She
+arrived by the train from London. I&mdash;happened to notice her as she passed
+in the Hare and Hounds&rsquo; bus. She took a room there, at the inn, I mean,
+and came to the post office twice yesterday. When I heard her name I recognized
+her at once from her photographs. And&mdash;one more thing&mdash;I guessed
+there was something wrong when I saw you, and Robinson, and Bates, and the
+other men standing near a body lying close to the river. That is why I came
+out. Now I really must go. Good-by!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She hastened away. Grant stood in the road and looked after her. Apparently she
+was conscious that he had not stirred, because, when she reached the bridge,
+she turned and waved a hand to him. She was exceedingly graceful in all her
+movements. She wore a simple white linen blouse and short white skirt that
+morning, with brown shoes and stockings which harmonized with the deeper tints
+of her Titian red hair. As she paused on the bridge for a second or two,
+silhouetted against the sky, she suggested to Grant&rsquo;s troubled mind the
+Spirit of Summer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Returning to the house by way of the main gate, which gave on to the highway,
+he bethought him of Mrs. Bates and Minnie. They must be enlightened, and warned
+as to the certain influx of visitors. He resolved now to tackle a displeasing
+task boldly. Realizing that the worst possible policy lay in denying himself to
+the representatives of the press, who would simply ascertain the facts from
+other sources, and unconsciously adopt a critical vein with regard to himself,
+he determined to go to the other extreme, and receive all comers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of course, there would be reservations in his story. That is what every man
+decides who faces a legal inquiry as a novice. It is a decision too often
+regretted in the light of after events.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, P. C. Robinson was hard at work. In his own phrase, he &ldquo;took a
+line,&rdquo; and the trend of his thoughts was clearly demonstrated when a
+superintendent motored over from Knoleworth in response to a telegram. He told
+how the body had been found, and then went into details gathered in the
+interim.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Melhuish hadn&rsquo;t been in the village five minutes,&rdquo; he
+said, &ldquo;before she asked Mr. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds,
+where <i>The Hollies</i> was, and how long Mr. Grant had lived in the village.
+She went for a walk in the direction of his house almost at once. Tomlin
+watched her until she crossed the bridge. That was on Sunday evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Superintendent Fowler allowed his placid features to show a flicker of
+surprise. In that rural district an actual, downright murder was almost
+unknown. Even a case of manslaughter, arising out of a drunken quarrel between
+laborers at fair-time, did not occur once in five years.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, she came here on Sunday, did she?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir. Yesterday, too, she spoke of Mr. Grant to Hobbs, the butcher,
+and Siddle, the chemist.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two were closeted in the sitting-room of Robinson&rsquo;s cottage, which
+was situated on the main road near the bridge. It faced the short, steep hill
+overhanging the river. A triangular strip of turf formed the village green, and
+the houses of Steynholme clustered around this and a side road climbing the
+hill. From door and windows nearly every shop and residence in the village
+proper could be seen. In front of the Hare and Hounds had gathered a group of
+men, and it was easy to guess the topic they were discussing. The
+superintendent, who did not know any of them, had no difficulty in identifying
+Hobbs, who looked a butcher and was dressed like one, or Tomlin, who was either
+born an innkeeper or had been coached in the part by a stage expert. A thin,
+sharp-looking person, pallid and black-haired, wearing a morning coat and
+striped trousers, must surely be Siddle, while a fourth, the youngest there,
+and of rather sporting guise, was apparently a farmer of a horse-breeding turn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is that fellow in the leggings?&rdquo; inquired the superintendent
+irrelevantly. He was looking through the window, and Robinson considered that
+the question showed a lack of interest in his statement, though he dared not
+hint at such a thing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a Mr. Elkin, sir,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;As I was
+saying&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How does Mr. Elkin make a living?&rdquo; broke in the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He breeds hacks and polo ponies,&rdquo; said Robinson, rather shortly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, I thought so. Well, go on with your story.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson was irritated, and justly so. His superior had put him off his
+&ldquo;line.&rdquo; He took it up again sharply, leaving out of court for the
+moment the various rills of evidence which, in his opinion, united into a
+swift-moving stream.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The fact is, sir,&rdquo; he blurted out, &ldquo;there is an uncommonly
+strong case against Mr. John Menzies Grant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Phew!&rdquo; whistled the superintendent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think you&rsquo;ll agree with me, sir, when you hear what I&rsquo;ve
+gathered about him one way and another.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson was sure of his audience now. Quite unconsciously, he had applied the
+chief canon of realism in art. He had conveyed his effect by one striking note.
+The rest of the picture was quite subsidiary to the bold splurge of color
+evoked by actually naming the man he suspected of murdering Adelaide Melhuish.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap03"></a>Chapter III.<br />
+The Gathering Clouds</h2>
+
+<p>
+Thus, it befell that Grant was not worried by officialdom until long after his
+housekeeper and her daughter had recovered from the shock of learning that they
+were, in a sense, connected at first hand with a ghastly and sensational crime.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Like Bates and their employer, neither Mrs. Bates nor Minnie had heard or seen
+anything overnight which suggested that a woman was being foully done to death
+in the grounds attached to the house. As it happened, Minnie&rsquo;s bedroom,
+as well as that occupied by her parents, overlooked the lawn and river.
+Grant&rsquo;s room lay in a gable which commanded the entrance. He had chosen
+it purposely because it faced the rising sun. The other members of the
+household, therefore, though in bed, had quite as good an opportunity as he,
+working in the dining-room beneath, of having their attention drawn to sounds
+disturbing the peace of the night in a quiet and secluded spot. Moreover, none
+of them was asleep. Minnie Bates, in particular, said that the
+&ldquo;grandfather&rsquo;s clock&rdquo; in the hall struck twelve before she
+&ldquo;could close an eye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last, just as Grant was rising from an almost untasted luncheon, Mrs. Bates,
+with a voice of scare, announced &ldquo;the polis,&rdquo; and P. C.  Robinson
+introduced Superintendent Fowler. This time Grant did not resent questions. He
+expected them, and had made up his mind to give full and detailed answers. Of
+course, the finding of the body was again described minutely. The
+superintendent, a man of experience, one whose manner was not fox-like and
+irritating like his subordinate&rsquo;s, paid close attention to the face at
+the window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There seems to be little room for doubt that Miss Melhuish did enter
+your grounds about a quarter to eleven last night,&rdquo; he said thoughtfully.
+&ldquo;You recognized her at once, you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I imagined so. Until this horrible thing became known I had persuaded
+myself that the vision was a piece of sheer hallucination.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let us assume that the lady actually came here, and looked in.
+Evidently, her face was sufficiently familiar that you should know instantly
+who this unusual visitor was. I understand, though, that you had not the least
+notion she was staying in Steynholme?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not the least.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How long ago is it since you last saw her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nearly three years.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You were very well acquainted with her, then, or you could not have
+glanced up from your table, seen someone staring at you through a window, and
+said to yourself, as one may express it:&mdash;&lsquo;That is Adelaide
+Melhuish&rsquo;.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We were so well acquainted that I asked the lady to be my wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said the superintendent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His placid, unemotional features, however, gave no clew to his opinions. Not so
+P. C. Robinson, who tried to look like a judge, whereas he really resembled a
+bull-terrier who has literally, not figuratively, smelt a rat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Despite his earlier good resolutions, Grant was horribly impatient of this
+inquisition. He admitted that the superintendent was carrying through an
+unpleasant duty as inoffensively as possible, but the attitude of the village
+policeman was irritating in the extreme. Nothing would have tended so
+effectively to relieve his surcharged feelings as to supply P. C. Robinson then
+and there with ample material for establishing a charge of assault and battery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is not a remarkable fact, if regarded apart from to-day&rsquo;s
+tragedy,&rdquo; he said, and there was more than a hint of soul-weariness in
+his voice. &ldquo;Miss Melhuish was a very talented and attractive woman. I
+first met her as the outcome of a suggestion that one of my books should be
+dramatized, a character in the novel being deemed eminently suitable for her
+special r&ocirc;le on the stage. The idea came to nothing. She was appearing in
+a successful play at the time, and was rehearsing its successor. Meanwhile,
+I&mdash;fell in love with her, I suppose, and she certainly encouraged me in
+the belief that she might accept me. I did eventually propose marriage. Then
+she told me she was married already. It was a painful disillusionment&mdash;at
+the time. I only saw her, to speak to, once again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did she reveal her husband&rsquo;s name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes&mdash;a Mr. Ingerman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent looked grave. That was a professional trick of his. He had
+never before in his life heard of Mr. Ingerman, but encouraged the notion that
+this gentleman was thoroughly, and not quite favorably, known to him. Sometimes
+it happened that a witness, interpreting this sapient look by the light of his
+or her personal and intimate knowledge, would blurt out certain facts, good or
+bad as the case might be, concerning the person under discussion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Grant remained obstinately silent as to the qualities of this doubtful
+Ingerman, so Mr. Fowler scribbled the name in a note-book, and was particular
+as to whether it ended in one &ldquo;n&rdquo; or two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still, he carried other shots in his locker. In fact, Mr. Fowler, had he taken
+in youth to nicer legal subtleties than handcuffs and summonses, would have
+become a shrewd lawyer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll leave Mr. Ingerman for the moment,&rdquo; he said, implying,
+of course, that on returning to him there might be revelations. &ldquo;I gather
+that you and Miss Melhuish did not agree, shall I put it? as to the precise
+bearing of the marriage tie on your love affair?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid I don&rsquo;t quite follow your meaning,&rdquo; and
+Grant&rsquo;s tone stiffened ominously, but his questioner was by no means
+abashed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have no great acquaintance with the stage or its ways, but I have
+always understood that divorce proceedings among theatrical folk were, shall we
+say? more popular than, in the ordinary walks of life,&rdquo; said Mr. Fowler.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant&rsquo;s resentment vanished. The superintendent&rsquo;s calm method, his
+interpolated apologies, as it were, for applying the probe, were beginning to
+interest him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your second effort is more successful, superintendent,&rdquo; he said
+dryly. &ldquo;Miss Melhuish did urge me to obtain her freedom. It was, she
+thought, only a matter of money with Mr. Ingerman, and she would be given
+material for a divorce.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; murmured Fowler again, as though the discreditable
+implication fitted in exactly with the life history of a noted scoundrel in a
+written <i>dossier</i> then lying in his office. &ldquo;You objected, may I
+suggest, to that somewhat doubtful means of settling a difficulty?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Something of the kind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Assuredly, Grant did not feel disposed to lay bare his secret feelings before
+this persuasive superintendent and an absurdly conceited village constable.
+Love, to him, was an ideal, a blend of mortal passion and immortal fire. But
+the flame kindled on that secret altar had scorched and seared his soul in a
+wholly unforeseen way. The discovery that Adelaide Melhuish was another
+man&rsquo;s wife had stunned him. It was not until the fire of sacrifice had
+died into parched ashes that its earlier banality became clear. He realized
+then that he had given his love to a phantom. By one of nature&rsquo;s miracles
+a vain and selfish creature was gifted in the artistic portrayal of the finer
+emotions. He had worshiped the actress, the mimic, not the woman herself. At
+any rate, that was how he read the repellent notion that he should bargain with
+any man for the sale of a wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You might be a trifle more explicit, Mr. Grant,&rdquo; said the
+superintendent, almost reproachfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In what direction? Surely a three-years-old love affair can have little
+practical bearing on Miss Melhuish&rsquo;s death?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What, then, may I ask, could bear on it more forcibly? The lady
+admittedly visits you, late at night, and is found dead in a river bordering
+the grounds of your house next morning, all the conditions pointing directly to
+murder. Moreover&mdash;it is no secret, as the truth must come out at the
+inquest&mdash;she had passed a good deal of her time while in Steynholme,
+unknown to you, in making inquiries concerning you, your habits, your
+surroundings, your friends. Surely, Mr. Grant, you must see that the history of
+your relations with this lady, though, if I may use the phrase, perfectly
+innocent, may possibly supply that which is at present lacking&mdash;a clew,
+shall I term it, to the motive which inspired the man, or woman, who killed
+her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+P. C.  Robinson was all an eye and an ear for this verbal fencing-match. It was
+not that he admired his superior&rsquo;s skill, because such finesse was wholly
+beyond him, but his suspicious brain was storing up Grant&rsquo;s admissions
+&ldquo;to be used in evidence&rdquo; against him subsequently. His own brief
+record of the conversation would have been:&mdash;&ldquo;The prisoner, after
+being duly cautioned, said he kept company with the deceased about three years
+ago, but quarreled with her on hearing that she was a married woman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent seldom indulged in so long a speech, but he was determined
+to force his adversary&rsquo;s guard, and sought to win his confidence by
+describing the probable course to be pursued by the coroner&rsquo;s inquest.
+But Grant, like the dead actress, had two sides to his nature. He was both an
+idealist and a stubborn fighter, and ideality had been shattered for many a day
+by that grewsome object hauled in that morning from the depths of the river.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am willing to help in any shape or form, but can only repeat that Miss
+Melhuish and I parted as described. I should add that I have never, to my
+knowledge, met her husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He may be dead.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Possibly. You may know more about him than I.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Even then, we have not traveled far as yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fowler was puzzled, and did not hesitate to show it. He believed, not without
+reasonable cause, that this young man was concealing some element in the
+situation which might prove helpful in the quest for the murderer. He resolved
+to strike off along a new track.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am informed,&rdquo; he went on, speaking with a deliberateness meant
+to be impressive, &ldquo;that you did entertain another lady as a visitor last
+night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant allowed his glance to dwell on Robinson for an instant. Hitherto he had
+ignored the man. Now he surveyed him as if he were a viper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It will be a peculiarly offensive thing if the personality of a helpless
+and unoffending girl is brought into this inquiry,&rdquo; he cried.
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Brought in&rsquo; is too mild&mdash;I ought to say &lsquo;dragged
+in.&rsquo; As it happens, astronomy is one of my hobbies. Last evening, as the
+outcome of a chat on the subject, Doris Martin, daughter of the local
+postmaster, came here to view Sirius through an astronomical telescope. There
+is the instrument,&rdquo; and he pointed through P. C.  Robinson to a telescope
+on a tripod in a corner of the room. The gesture was eloquent. The burly
+policeman might have been a sheet of glass. &ldquo;As you see, it is a solid
+article, not easily lifted about. It weighs nearly a hundred-weight.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why is it so heavy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent had a knack of putting seemingly irrelevant questions.
+Robinson had been disconcerted by it earlier in the day, but Grant seemed to
+treat the interruption as a sensible one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For observation purposes an astronomical telescope is not of much use
+unless the movement of the earth is counteracted,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Usually, the dome of an observatory swings on a specially contrived
+axis, but that is a very expensive structure, so my telescope is governed by a
+clockwork attachment and moves on its own axis.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Fowler nodded. He was really a very well informed man for a country
+police-officer; he understood clearly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Martin came here about a quarter to ten,&rdquo; continued Grant,
+&ldquo;and left within three-quarters of an hour. She did not enter the house.
+She was watching Sirius while I explained the methods whereby the distance of
+any star from the earth is computed and its chemical analysis
+determined&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Most instructive, I&rsquo;m sure,&rdquo; put in the superintendent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled genially, so genially that Grant dismissed the notion that the other
+might, in vulgar parlance, be pulling his leg.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, that is the be-all and end-all of Miss Martin&rsquo;s presence. It
+would be cruel, and unfair, if a girl of her age were forced into a distasteful
+prominence in connection with a crime with which she is no more related than
+with Sirius itself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The older man shook his head in regretful dissent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is just where you and I differ,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That very
+point leads us back to your past friendship with the dead woman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely you see, Mr. Grant, that Miss Melhuish might be, probably was,
+watching your star-gazing, especially as your pupil chanced to be, shall I say,
+a remarkably attractive young lady ... No, no,&rdquo; for Grant&rsquo;s anger
+was unmistakable&mdash;&ldquo;It does no good to blaze out in protest. An
+unhappy combination of circumstances must be faced candidly. Here are you and a
+pretty girl together in a garden at a rather late hour, and a woman whom you
+once wanted to marry spying on you, in all likelihood. I&rsquo;ve met a few
+coroner&rsquo;s juries in my time, and not one of them but would deem the
+coincidence strange, to put it mildly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What in Heaven&rsquo;s name are you driving at?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must not impute motives, sir. I am seeking them, not supplying
+them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But what am I to say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you will now tell me just how Miss Melhuish and you
+parted.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The fencers were coming to close quarters. Even P. C. Robinson had to admit
+that his &ldquo;boss&rdquo; had cornered the suspect rather cleverly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant realized that there was no room for squeamishness in this affair. If he
+did not speak out now, his motives might be woefully misunderstood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We parted in wrath and tears,&rdquo; he said sadly. &ldquo;Miss Melhuish
+could not, or did not, appreciate my scruples. She professed to be in love with
+me. She even went so far as to threaten suicide. I&mdash;hardly believed in her
+sincerity, but thought it advisable to temporize, and asked for a few
+days&rsquo; delay before we came to a final decision. We met again, as I have
+said, and discussed matters in calmer mood. Ultimately, she professed agreement
+with my point of view, and we parted, ostensibly to remain good friends, but
+really to separate for ever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you. That&rsquo;s better. What <i>was</i> your point of view, Mr.
+Grant?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely I have made it clear. I could not regard my wife as purchasable.
+The proposed compact was, I believe, illegal. But that consideration did not
+sway me. I had been dreaming, and thought I was roaming in an enchanted garden.
+I awoke, and found myself in a morass.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent nodded again. Singularly enough, Grant&rsquo;s somewhat
+high-flown simile appeared to satisfy his craving for light.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mind telling me&mdash;is there another woman?&rdquo; he demanded,
+with one of those rapid transitions of topic in which he excelled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You see what I am aiming at. Let us suppose that Miss Melhuish never, in
+her own mind, abandoned the hope that some day the tangle would straighten
+itself. Women are constituted that way. If her husband is now dead, and she
+became free, she might wish to renew the old ties, but, being proud, would want
+to ascertain first whether or not any other woman had come into your
+life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I follow perfectly,&rdquo; said Grant, with some bitterness. &ldquo;She
+would be consumed with jealousy because my companion in the garden last night
+happened to be a charming girl of nineteen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is possible.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So she went off and got someone to kill her, and tie her body with a
+rope, and arrange a dramatic setting whereby it would be patent to the meanest
+intelligence that I was the criminal?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Fowler smiled, and looked fixedly at P. C.  Robinson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; he said, quite good-humoredly. &ldquo;That would be
+carrying realism to extremes. Still, I am convinced, Mr. Grant, that this
+mystery is bound up in some way with your romance of three years ago. At
+present, I admit, I am working in the dark.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He rose. Apparently, the interview was at an end. But, while pocketing his
+note-book, he said suddenly:&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The inquest will open at three o&rsquo;clock tomorrow. You will be
+present, of course, Mr. Grant?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose it is necessary.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes. You found the body, you know. Besides, you may be the only
+person who can give evidence of identity. In fact, you and the doctor will be
+the only witnesses called.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dr. Foxton?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has he made a post-mortem?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is doing so now. You see, there is clear indication that this
+unfortunate lady was struck a heavy blow, perhaps killed, before she was put in
+the river.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good Heavens! Somehow, I was so stunned that I never thought of looking
+for signs of any injury of that sort.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant&rsquo;s horror-stricken air was so spontaneous that it probably justified
+the severe test of that unexpected disclosure. He was so unnerved by it that
+the two policemen had gone before he could frame another question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once they were in the open road, and well away from <i>The Hollies</i>,
+Robinson ventured to open his mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a clever one is Mr. Grant,&rdquo; he said meaningly.
+&ldquo;You handled him a bit of all right, sir, but he didn&rsquo;t tell you
+everything he knew, not by long chalks.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent walked a few yards in silence. Even when he spoke, his gaze
+was introspective, and seemed to ignore his companion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m inclined to agree with you, Robinson,&rdquo; he said, speaking
+very slowly. &ldquo;We have a big case in our hands, a very big case. We must
+tread warily. You, in particular, mixing with the village folk, should listen
+to all but say nothing. Don&rsquo;t depend on your memory. Write down what you
+hear and see. People&rsquo;s actual words, and the exact time of an occurrence,
+often have an extraordinarily illuminating effect when weighed subsequently.
+But don&rsquo;t let Mr. Grant think you suspect him. There is no occasion for
+that&mdash;yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Fowler could be either blunt or cryptic in speech at will. In one mood he
+was the straightforward, outspoken official; in another the potential lawyer.
+P. C.  Robinson, though unable to describe his chief&rsquo;s erratic qualities,
+was unpleasantly aware of them. He was not quite sure, for instance, whether
+the superintendent was encouraging or warning him, but, being a dogged person,
+resolved to &ldquo;take his own line,&rdquo; and stick to it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant passed a distressful day. Work was not to be thought of, and reading was
+frankly impossible. His mind dwelt constantly on the tragedy which had come so
+swiftly and completely into his ordered life. He could not wholly discard the
+nebulous theory suggested by Superintendent Fowler, but the more he surveyed it
+the less reasonable it seemed. The one outstanding fact in a chaos of doubt was
+that someone had deliberately done Adelaide Melhuish to death. The murderer had
+been actuated by a motive. What was that motive? Surely, in a place like
+Steynholme no man could come and go without being seen, and the murderer must
+be a stranger to the district, because it was ridiculous to imagine that he was
+one of the residents.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet that was exactly what a dunderheaded policeman believed. P. C. Robinson had
+revealed himself by many a covert glance and prick-eared movement. Grant
+squirmed uneasily at the crass conceit, as there was no denying that
+circumstances tended towards a certain doubt, if no more, in regard to his own
+association with the crime.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The admission called for a fierce struggle with his pride, but he forced
+himself to think the problem out in all its bearings, and the folly of adopting
+the legendary policy of the chased ostrich became manifest. What, then, should
+he do? He thought, at first, of invoking the aid of a barrister friend, who
+could watch the inquest in his behalf.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nevertheless, he shrank from that step, which, to his super-sensitive nature,
+implied the need of legal protection, and he fiercely resented the mere notion
+of such a thing. But something must be done. Once the murderer was laid by the
+heels his own troubles would vanish, and the storm raised by the unhappy fate
+of Adelaide Melhuish would subside into a sad memory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was wrestling with indecision when a newspaper reporter called. Grant
+received the journalist promptly, and told him all the salient facts,
+suppressing only the one-time prospect of a marriage between himself and the
+famous actress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The reporter went with him to the river, and scrutinized the marks, now rapidly
+becoming obliterated, of the body having been drawn ashore.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The rope and iron staple, I understand, were taken from the premises of
+a man who lets boats for hire on the dam quarter of a mile away,&rdquo; he said
+casually.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was astounded at his own failure to make any inquiry whatsoever
+concerning this vital matter. He laughed grimly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can imagine the state of my mind,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;when I
+assure you that, until this moment, it never occurred to me even to ask where
+these articles came from or what had become of them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can sympathize with you,&rdquo; said the journalist. &ldquo;A brutal
+murder seems horribly out of place in this environment. It is a mysterious
+business altogether. I wonder if Scotland Yard will take it up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant surprised him by clapping him on the back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By Jove, my friend, the very thing! Of course, such an investigation
+requires bigger brains than our local police are endowed with. Scotland Yard
+<i>must</i> take it up. I&rsquo;ll wire there at once. If necessary, I&rsquo;ll
+pay all expenses.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The newspaper man had his doubts. The &ldquo;Yard,&rdquo; he said, acted in the
+provinces only if appealed to by the authorities directly concerned. But Grant
+was not to be stayed by a trifle like that. He hurried to the post office,
+hoping that Doris Martin might walk back with him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl and her father were busy behind the counter when he entered. He
+noticed that Doris was rather pale. She was about to attend to him, but Mr.
+Martin intervened. It struck Grant that the postmaster was purposely preventing
+his daughter from speaking to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For some inexplicable reason, he felt miserably tongue-tied, and was content to
+write a message to the Chief Commissioner of Police, London, asking that a
+skilled detective should be sent forthwith to Steynholme.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Martin read it gravely, stated the cost, and procured the requisite stamps.
+In the event, Grant quitted the place without exchanging a word with Doris,
+while her father, usually a chatty man, said not a syllable beyond what was
+barely needed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he passed down the hill and by the side of the Green he was aware of being
+covertly watched by many eyes. He saw P. C.  Robinson peering from behind a
+curtained window. Siddle, the chemist, came to the shop door, and looked after
+him. Hobbs, the butcher, ceased sharpening a knife and gazed out. Tomlin,
+landlord of the Hare and Hounds Inn, surveyed him from the &ldquo;snug.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+These things were not gracious. Indeed, they were positively maddening. He went
+home, gave an emphatic order that no one, except Miss Martin, if she called,
+was to be admitted and savagely buried himself in a treatise on earth-tides.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But that day of events had not finished for him yet. He had, perforce, eaten a
+good meal, and was thinking of going to the post office in order to clear up an
+undoubted misapprehension in Mr. Martin&rsquo;s mind, when Minnie Bates came
+with a card.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please, sir,&rdquo; said the girl, &ldquo;this gentleman is very
+pressing. He says he&rsquo;s sure you&rsquo;ll give him an interview when you
+see his name.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Grant looked, and read:&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<b>Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman</b>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Prince&rsquo;s Chambers, London, W.</i>
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap04"></a>Chapter IV.<br />
+A Cabal</h2>
+
+<p>
+Grant stared again at the card. A tiny silver bell seemed to tinkle a sort of
+warning in a recess of his brain. The name was not engraved in copper-plate,
+but printed in heavy type. Somehow, it looked ominous. His first impression was
+to bid Minnie send the man away. He distrusted any first impression. It was the
+excuse of mediocrity, a sign of weakness. Moreover, why shouldn&rsquo;t he meet
+Isidor G. Ingerman?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Show him in,&rdquo; he said, almost gruffly, thus silencing shy
+intuition, as it were. He threw the card on the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Ingerman entered. He did not offer any conventional greeting, but nodded,
+or bowed. Grant could not be sure which form of salutation was intended,
+because the visitor promptly sat down, uninvited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Minnie hesitated at the door. Her master&rsquo;s callers were usually cheerful
+Bohemians, who chatted at sight. Then she caught Grant&rsquo;s eye, and went
+out, banging the door in sheer nervousness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still Mr. Ingerman did not speak. If this was a pose on his part, he erred.
+Grant had passed through a trying day, but he owned the muscles and nerves of
+an Alpine climber, and had often stared calmly down a wall of rock and ice
+which he had just conquered, when the least slip would have meant being dashed
+to pieces two thousand feet below.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was some advantage, too, in this species of stage wait. It enabled him to
+take the measure of Adelaide Melhuish&rsquo;s husband, if, indeed, the visitor
+was really the man he professed to be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first sight, Isidor G. Ingerman was not a prepossessing person. Indeed, it
+would be safe to assume that if, by some trick of fortune, he and not Grant
+were the tenant of <i>The Hollies</i>, P. C.  Robinson would have haled him to
+the village lock-up that very morning. It was not that he was
+villainous-looking, but rather that he looked capable of villainy. He was a
+tall, slender, rather stooping man, with a decidedly well-molded, if hawk-like,
+face. His aspect might be described as saturnine. Possibly, when he smiled,
+this morose expression would vanish, and then he might even win a favorable
+opinion. He had brilliant black eyes, close set, and an abundant crop of black
+hair, turning gray, which, in itself, lent an air of distinction. His lips were
+thin, his chin slightly prominent. He was well dressed, and managed a hat,
+stick, and gloves with ease. Altogether, he reminded Grant of a certain notable
+actor who is invariably cast for the r&ocirc;le of a gentlemanly scoundrel, but
+who, in private life, is a most excellent fellow and good citizen. Oddly
+enough, Grant recognized in him, too, the type of man who would certainly have
+appealed to Adelaide Melhuish in her earlier and impressionable years.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, the visitor, finding that the clear-eyed young man seated in an easy
+chair (from which he had not risen) could seemingly regard him with blank
+indifference during the next hour, thought fit to say something.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is my name familiar to you, Mr. Grant?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The voice was astonishingly soft and pleasant, and the accent agreeably
+refined. Evidently, there were surprising points about Mr. Ingerman. Long
+afterwards, Grant learned, by chance, that the man had been an actor before
+branching off into that mysterious cosmopolitan profession known as &ldquo;a
+financier.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Grant. &ldquo;I have heard it very few times. Once,
+about three years ago, and today, when I mentioned it to the police.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other man&rsquo;s sallow cheeks grew a shade more sallow. Grant supposed
+that this slight change of color indicated annoyance. Of course, the
+association of ideas in that curt answer was intolerably rude. But Grant had
+been tried beyond endurance that day. He was in a mood to be brusque with an
+archbishop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We can disregard your confidences, or explanations, to the
+police,&rdquo; said Ingerman smoothly. &ldquo;Three years ago, I suppose, my
+wife spoke of me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you mean Miss Adelaide Melhuish&mdash;yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do mean her. To be exact, I mean the lady who was murdered outside
+this house last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant realized instantly that Isidor G. Ingerman was a foeman worthy of even a
+novelist&rsquo;s skill in repartee. Thus far, he, Grant, had been merely
+uncivil, using a bludgeon for wit, whereas the visitor was making play with a
+finely-tempered rapier.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now that you have established your identity, Mr. Ingerman, perhaps you
+will tell me why you are here,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have come to Steynholme to inquire into my wife&rsquo;s death.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A most laudable purpose. I was given to understand, however, that at one
+time you took little interest in her living. I have not seen Mrs. Ingerman for
+three years&mdash;until last night, that is&mdash;so there is a chance, of
+course, that husband and wife may have adjusted their differences. Is that
+so?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Until last night!&rdquo; repeated Ingerman, almost in a startled tone.
+&ldquo;You admit that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant turned and pointed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I saw, or fancied I saw, her face at that window,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;She looked in on me about ten minutes to eleven. I was hard at work, but
+the vision, as it seemed then, was so weird and unexpected, that I went
+straight out and searched for her. Perhaps &lsquo;searched&rsquo; is not quite
+the right word. To be exact, I opened the French window, stood there, and
+listened. Then I persuaded myself that I was imagining a vain thing, and came
+in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What was she doing here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She arrived in Steynholme on Sunday evening, I am told.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I heard that, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You imply that you did not meet her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No need to imply anything, Mr. Ingerman. I did not meet her. Beyond the
+fanciful notion that I had seen her ghost last night, the first I knew of her
+presence in the village was when I recognized her dead body this
+morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Strange as it may sound, I am inclined to believe you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant said nothing. He wanted to get up and pitch Ingerman into the road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But who else will take that charitable view?&rdquo; purred the other, in
+that suave voice which so ill accorded with his thin lips and slightly hooked
+nose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I really don&rsquo;t care,&rdquo; was the weary answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at the moment, perhaps. You have had a trying day, no doubt. My
+visit at its close cannot be helpful. But&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am feeling rather tired mentally,&rdquo; interrupted Grant, &ldquo;so
+you will oblige me by not raising too many points at once. Why should you
+imagine that conversation with you in particular should add to my supposed
+distress?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, then, may I ask, do you so obviously resent my questions? Who has
+so much right to put them as I?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant found that he must bestir himself. Thus far, the honors lay with this
+rather sinister-looking yet quiet-mannered visitor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sorry if anything I have said lends color to that belief,&rdquo; he
+answered. &ldquo;Candidly, I began by assuming that you forfeited any legal
+right years ago to interfere in behalf of Miss Melhuish, living or dead. Let
+us, at least, be candid with each other. Miss Melhuish herself told me that you
+and she had separated by mutual consent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Allow me to emulate your candor. The actual fact is that you weaned my
+wife&rsquo;s affections from me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is a downright lie,&rdquo; said Grant coolly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman&rsquo;s peculiar temperament permitted him to treat this grave insult
+far more lightly than Grant&rsquo;s harmless, if irritating, reference to the
+police.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let us see just what &lsquo;a lie&rsquo; signifies,&rdquo; he said,
+almost judicially. &ldquo;If a lady deserts her husband, and there is good
+reason to suspect that she is, in popular phrase, &lsquo;carrying on&rsquo;
+with another man, how can the husband be lying if he charges that man with
+being the cause of the domestic upheaval?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In this instance a hypothetical case is not called for. Three years ago,
+Mr. Ingerman, you had parted from your wife. Your name was never mentioned.
+Apparently, none in my circle had even heard of you. Miss Melhuish had won
+repute as a celebrated actress. I met her, in a sense, professionally. We
+became friends. I fancied I was in love with her. I proposed marriage. Then,
+and not until then, did the ghost of Mr.&rdquo;&mdash;Grant bent forward, and
+consulted the card&mdash;&ldquo;Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman intrude.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So marriage was out of the question?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you expect an answer&mdash;yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman rested the handle of his stick against his lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That isn&rsquo;t how the situation was represented to me at the
+time,&rdquo; he said thoughtfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was still sore with the recollection of the way in which the
+superintendent of police had forced him to confess the pitiful scheme whereby a
+woman in love had sought to gain her ends. He refused to sully her memory a
+second time that day, even to gain the upper hand in this troublesome
+controversy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I neither know nor care what representations may have been made to
+you,&rdquo; he retorted. &ldquo;I merely tell you the literal truth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Possibly. Possibly. It was not I who used the word &lsquo;lie,&rsquo;
+remember. But if you are ungracious enough to refuse to withdraw the offensive
+phrase, let it pass. We are not in France. This deadly business will be fought
+out in the law courts. I am here to-night of my own initiative. I thought it
+only fair and reasonable that you and I should meet before we are brought face
+to face at a coroner&rsquo;s inquest, and, it may be, in an Assize Court....
+No, no, Mr. Grant. Pray do not put the worst construction on my words.
+<i>Someone</i> murdered my wife. If the police show intelligence and reasonable
+skill, <i>someone</i> will be tried for the crime. You and I will certainly be
+witnesses. That is what I meant to convey. The doubt in my mind was
+this&mdash;whether to be actively hostile or passively friendly to the man who,
+next to me, was interested in the poor woman now lying dead in a wretched
+stable of this village.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The almost diabolical cleverness of this long speech, delivered without heat
+and with singularly adroit stress on various passages, was revealed by its
+effect on Grant. He was at once infuriated and puzzled. Ingerman was playing
+him as a fisherman humors a well-hooked salmon. The simile actually occurred to
+him, and he resolved to precipitate matters by coming straightway to the
+landing-net.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is your friendship purchasable?&rdquo; he inquired, making the rush
+without further preamble.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My wife was, I was led to believe,&rdquo; came the calm retort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant threw scruples to the wind now. Adelaide Mulhuish was being defamed, not
+by him, but by her husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We are at cross purposes,&rdquo; he said, weighing each word.
+&ldquo;Your wife, who knew your character fairly well, I am convinced, thought
+that you were open to receive a cash consideration for your connivance in a
+divorce.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She had told me plainly that she would never live with me again. I was
+too fair-minded a man to place obstacles in the way when she wished to regain
+her freedom.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So it was true, then. What was the price? One thousand&mdash;two? I am
+not a millionaire.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nor am I. As a mere matter of pounds, shillings, and pence, it was a
+serious matter for me when my wife&rsquo;s earnings ceased to come into the
+common stock.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My first, if rather vague, estimate of you was the correct one. You are
+a good bit of a scoundrel, and, if I guess rightly, a would-be
+blackmailer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are talking at random, Mr. Grant. The levying of blackmail connotes
+that the person bled desires that some discreditable, or dangerous, fact should
+be concealed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Such is not my position.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&mdash;I wonder.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can relieve you of any oppressive doubt. I informed the police some
+few hours ago that you have appeared already in a similar role.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, you did, did you?&rdquo; snarled Ingerman, suddenly abandoning his
+pose, and gazing at Grant with a curiously snakelike glint in his black eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. It interested them, I fancied.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was sure of his man now, and rather relieved that the battle of wits was
+turning in his favor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So you have begun already to scheme your defense?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hadn&rsquo;t you better go?&rdquo; was the contemptuous retort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You refuse to answer any further questions?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I refuse to buy your proffered friendship&mdash;whatever that may
+mean.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have I offered to sell it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I gathered as much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman rose. He was still master of himself, though his lanky body was taut
+with rage. He spoke calmly and with remarkable restraint.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go through what I have said, and discover, if you can, the slightest
+hint of any suggested condonation of your offenses, whether avowed or merely
+suspected. I shall prove beyond dispute that you came between me and my wife.
+Don&rsquo;t hug the delusion that your three years&rsquo; limit will save you.
+It will not. I wish you well of your attempt to prove that I was a consenting
+party to divorce proceedings. I came here to look you over. I have done so, and
+have arrived at a very definite opinion. I, also, have been interviewed by the
+police, and any unfavorable views they may have formed concerning me as the
+outcome of your<i> ex parte</i> statements are more than counteracted by the
+ugly facts of a ghastly murder. You were here shortly before eleven
+o&rsquo;clock last night. My wife was here, too, and alive. This morning she
+was found dead, by you. At eleven o&rsquo;clock last night I was playing bridge
+with three city men in my flat. When the news of the murder reached me to-day
+my first thought, after the shock of it had passed, was:&mdash;&lsquo;That
+fellow, Grant, may be innocently involved in a terrible crime, and I may figure
+as the chief witness against him.&rsquo; I am not speaking idly, as you will
+learn to your cost. Yet, when I come on an errand of mercy, you have the
+impudence to charge me with blackmail. You are in for a great awakening. Be
+sure of that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Isidor G. Ingerman walked out, leaving Grant uncomfortably aware that he
+had not seen the last of an implacable and bitter enemy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was something new and very disturbing for a writer to find himself in the
+predicament of a man with an absolutely clear conscience yet perilously near
+the meshes of the criminal law. He had often analyzed such a situation in his
+books, but fiction diverged so radically from hard fact that the sensation was
+profoundly disconcerting, to say the least.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He did not go to the post office. He was not equal to any more verbal
+fire-works that evening. So he lit a pipe, and reviewed Ingerman&rsquo;s
+well-rounded periods very carefully, even taking the precaution to jot down
+exact phrases. He analyzed them, and saw that they were capable of two
+readings. Of course, it could not be otherwise. The plausible rascal must have
+conned them over until this essential was secured. Grant even went so far as to
+give them a grudging professional tribute. They held a canker of doubt, too,
+which it was difficult to dissect. Their veiled threats were perplexing. While
+their effect, as apart from literal significance, was fresh in his mind, he
+made a few notes of different interpretations.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went to bed rather early, but could not sleep until the small hours.
+Probably his rest, such as it was, would have been even more disturbed had he
+been able to accompany Ingerman to the Hare and Hounds Inn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A small but select company had gathered in the bar parlor. The two hours
+between eight and ten were the most important of the day to the landlord, Mr.
+Tomlin. It was then that he imparted and received the tit-bits of local gossip
+garnered earlier, the process involving a good deal of play with shining
+beer-handles and attractively labeled bottles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But this was a special occasion. Never before had there been a Steynholme
+murder before the symposium. Hitherto, such a grewsome topic was supplied, for
+the most part, by faraway London. To-night the eeriness and dramatic intensity
+of a notable crime lay at the very doors of the village.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Tomlin was more portentous than usual; Hobbs, the butcher, more assertive,
+Elkin, the &ldquo;sporty&rdquo; breeder of polo ponies, more inclined to
+&ldquo;lay odds&rdquo; on any conceivable subject, and Siddle, the chemist, a
+reserved man at the best, even less disposed to voice a definite opinion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin was about twenty-five years of age, Siddle looked younger than his
+probable thirty-five years, while the others were on the stout and prosperous
+line of fifty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were discussing the murder, of course, when Ingerman entered, and ordered
+a whiskey and soda. Instantly there was dead silence. Looks and furtive winks
+were exchanged. There had been talk of a detective being employed. Perhaps this
+was he. Mr. Tomlin knew the stranger&rsquo;s name, as he had taken a room, but
+that was the extent of the available information.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A fine evenin&rsquo;, sir,&rdquo; said Tomlin, drawing a cork noisily.
+&ldquo;Looks as though we were in for a spell o&rsquo; settled weather.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; agreed Ingerman, summing up the conclave at a glance.
+&ldquo;Somehow, such a lovely night ill accords with the cause of my visit to
+Steynholme.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In-deed, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you and these other gentlemen may judge for yourselves. It will be
+no secret tomorrow. I am the husband of the lady who was found in the river
+outside Mr. Grant&rsquo;s residence this morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sensation, as the descriptive reporters put it. Mr. Tomlin was dumbly but
+unanimously elected chairman of the meeting, and was vaguely aware of his
+responsibilities. He drew himself a fresh glass of bitter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t tell me, sir!&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;Well, the idee!
+The pore lady&rsquo;s letters were addressed to Miss Adelaide Melhuish. Perhaps
+you don&rsquo;t know, sir, that she stayed here!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes. I was told that by the local police-constable. Have I, by any
+chance, been given her room?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir. Not likely. It&rsquo;s locked, and the police have the key till
+the inquest is done with.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As for the name,&rdquo; explained Ingerman, in his suave voice,
+&ldquo;that was a mere stage pseudonym, an adopted name. My wife was a famous
+actress, and there is a sort of tacit agreement that a lady in the theatrical
+profession shall be known to the public as &lsquo;Miss&rsquo; rather than
+&lsquo;Mrs.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, there!&rdquo; wheezed Tomlin. &ldquo;Who&rsquo;d ever ha&rsquo;
+thought it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The landlord was not quite rising to the occasion. He was, in fact, stunned by
+these repeated shocks. So Hobbs took charge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a sad errand you&rsquo;re on, sir,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Death comes to all of us, man an&rsquo; beast alike, but it&rsquo;s a
+terrible thing when a lady like Miss&mdash; Mrs. &mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ingerman is my name, but my wife will certainly be alluded to by the
+press as Miss Melhuish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When a lady like Miss Melhuish is knocked on the &rsquo;ead like
+a&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Hobbs hesitated again. He also felt that the situation was rather beyond
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But my wife was flung into the river and drowned,&rdquo; said Ingerman
+sadly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir. She was killed fust. It was a brutal business, so I&rsquo;m
+told.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mean that she was struck, her skull battered?&rdquo; came the
+demand, in an awed and soul-thrilling whisper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir. An&rsquo; the wust thing is, none of us can guess who could
+ha&rsquo; done it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lay yer five quid to one, Hobbs, that the police cop the scoundrel afore
+this day fortnight,&rdquo; cried Elkin noisily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Mr. Siddle put in a mild word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;let me remind you that we four will
+probably be jurors at the inquest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That was a sobering thought. Elkin subsided, and Hobbs looked critically at the
+remains of a gill of beer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman took stock of the chemist. He might easily induce the others to
+believe that Grant was the real criminal, but the quiet man in the black
+morning-coat and striped cloth trousers was of finer metal. He knew instantly
+that if he could persuade this one &ldquo;probable juror&rdquo; of
+Grant&rsquo;s guilt, the remainder would follow his lead like a flock of sheep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there was no need to hurry. Next day&rsquo;s inquest would be a mere
+formality. The real struggle would begin a week or a fortnight later.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have said a very wise thing, sir,&rdquo; he murmured appreciatively.
+&ldquo;Even my feelings must be kept under better control. But this is no
+ordinary murder. Before it is cleared up there will be astounding revelations.
+Mark the word&mdash;astounding.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hobbs, whose heavy cheeks were of a brick-red tint, almost startled the
+conclave by a sudden outburst which gave him an apoplectic appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re too kind&rsquo;earted, Siddle,&rdquo; he cried.
+&ldquo;Wot&rsquo;s the use of talkin&rsquo; rubbish. We all know where the body
+was found. We all know that Doris Martin an&rsquo; Mr. Grant were
+a&rsquo;sweet-&rsquo;eartin&rsquo; in the garden&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here, Hobbs, just keep Doris Martin&rsquo;s name out of it!&rdquo;
+shouted Elkin, smiting the table with his fist till the glasses danced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gentlemen!&rdquo; protested Siddle gently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all dashed fine, but I&rsquo;m not&mdash;&rdquo; blustered
+Elkin. He yielded to Ingerman&rsquo;s outstretched hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I seem to have brought discord into a friendly gathering,&rdquo; came
+the mournful comment. &ldquo;Such was far from being my intent. Landlord, the
+round is on me, with cigars. Now, let us talk of anything but this horror. If I
+forget myself again, pull me up short, and fine me another round.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle half rose, but thought better of it. Evidently, he meant to use his
+influence to stop foolish chatter.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap05"></a>Chapter V.<br />
+The Seeds of Mischief</h2>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman was a shrewder judge of human nature than the village chemist. As well
+try to stem the flowing tide as stop tongues from wagging when such a theme
+offered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tomlin created a momentary diversion by clattering in the bar. After this
+professional interlude, Ingerman ignored his own compact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure you local residents will be interested, at least, in
+hearing something of my wife&rsquo;s career,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;There never
+was a more lovable and gracious woman, and no couple could be more united than
+she and I till some three years ago. Then came a break. She was independent of
+me, of course. She was a celebrity, I a mere nobody, best known, if at all, as
+&lsquo;Miss Melhuish&rsquo;s husband.&rsquo; Nevertheless, we were devoted to
+each other until, to her and my lasting misfortune, a certain author wrote a
+book which, when dramatized, contained a part for which my wife&rsquo;s stage
+presence and talents seemed to be peculiarly suited.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle stirred uneasily, but the others were still as partridges in stubble.
+Ingerman did not intend to alarm the shy bird of the covey, however.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I name no names,&rdquo; he said solemnly. &ldquo;Nor am I telling you
+anything that will not be thoroughly exposed before the coroner and elsewhere.
+From that unhappy period dated our estrangement. My wife fell under a fatal
+influence which lasted, practically unchecked, until the day, if not the very
+hour, of her death. Do I blame her? No&mdash;a thousand times no! You see me, a
+plain man, considerably her senior. <i>I</i> had not the gift of writing
+impassioned love passages in which she could display her artistic genius. When
+I came home from the City, tired after the day&rsquo;s work, <i>she</i> was
+just beginning hers. You know what London fashionable life is&mdash;the
+theater, a supper, a dance, some great lady&rsquo;s &lsquo;reception,&rsquo;
+and the rest of it. Ah, me! The stage, and literature, and the arts generally
+are not for poor fellows moiling in a City office. You gentlemen, I take it,
+are all happily married&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not,&rdquo; said Elkin, &ldquo;but I&rsquo;ll lay you long
+odds I will be soon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For some reason, this remark produced a certain uneasiness among his friends.
+Tomlin stared at the ash of one of the cigars &ldquo;stood&rdquo; by this
+talkative Londoner; Hobbs, whose glass had reached a low level again, examined
+the dregs almost fiercely; and Siddle seemed to be about to say something, but,
+with his usual restraint, kept silent. Then Ingerman made a very shrewd guess,
+and wondered who Doris Martin was, and what Hobbs&rsquo;s cryptic allusion had
+meant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good luck to you, sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but&mdash;take no
+offense&mdash;don&rsquo;t marry an actress. There&rsquo;s an old adage,
+&lsquo;Birds of a feather flock together.&rsquo; I would go farther, and
+interpolate the word &lsquo;should.&rsquo; If Adelaide Melhuish had never met
+me, but had married the man who could write her plays, this tragedy in real
+life would never have been.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;D&mdash;n him,&rdquo; muttered Elkin fiercely. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s done
+for now, anyhow. He&rsquo;ll turn no more girls&rsquo; heads for a bit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;An&rsquo; five minutes since you yapped at me like a vicious fox-terrier
+for &rsquo;intin&rsquo; much the same thing,&rdquo; chortled Hobbs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle stood up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You ain&rsquo;t goin&rsquo;, Mr. Siddle?&rdquo; went on the butcher.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s &rsquo;ardly &rsquo;arf past nine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have some accounts to get out. It&rsquo;s near the half year, you
+know,&rdquo; and Siddle vanished unobtrusively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hobbs shook his head, and gazed at Elkin as though the latter was a refractory
+bullock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle&rsquo;s a fair-minded chap,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He can&rsquo;t
+stand &rsquo;earin&rsquo; any of us &rsquo;angin&rsquo; a man without a fair
+trial.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman had marked the chemist for more subtle treatment when an opportunity
+arose, or could be made. At present, he was not sorry such a restraining
+influence was removed. The next half hour should prove a golden one if well
+utilized. He was right. Before the inn was cleared, what between Elkin&rsquo;s
+savage comments and the other men&rsquo;s thinly-veiled allusions, he knew all
+that Steynholme could tell with regard to Grant and Doris Martin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant&rsquo;s first thought next morning was of the girl who had been thrust so
+prominently into his life by the death of another woman. That was, perhaps, the
+strangest outcome of the tragedy. Doris was easily the prettiest and most
+intelligent girl in the village, a rare combination in itself, even among young
+ladies of much higher social position than a postmaster&rsquo;s daughter. But
+her father was a self-educated man, whose life had been given to books, whose
+only hobby was the culture and study of bees. He had often refused promotion,
+solely because his duties at Steynholme were light, and permitted of many free
+hours. In his only child he found a quick pupil and a sympathetic helper. Of
+her own accord she took to poetry and music. In effect, had Doris Martin
+attended the best of boarding-schools and training colleges, she would have
+received a smattering of French and a fair knowledge of the piano or violin,
+whereas, after more humble tuition, it might fairly be said of her that few
+girls of her age had read so many books and assimilated their contents so
+thoroughly. From her mother she inherited her good looks and a small yearly
+income, just sufficient to maintain a better wardrobe than her father&rsquo;s
+salary would permit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, newly settled in Steynholme, found the postmaster and his daughter
+intellectually on a par with himself, and this claim could certainly not be
+made on behalf of the local &ldquo;society&rdquo; element. The three became
+excellent friends. Naturally, the young people spent a good deal of time
+together. But there had been no love-making&mdash;not a hint or whisper of it!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now, by cruel chance, their names were linked by scandal in its most
+menacing form, since there was no gainsaying the fact that Doris&rsquo;s
+star-gazing on that fatal Monday night was indissolubly bound up with the death
+of Adelaide Melhuish.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the first time, then, the notion peeped up in Grant&rsquo;s mind that the
+whirligig of existence might see Doris his wife. But the conceit resembled the
+Gorgon&rsquo;s teeth, which, when sown in the ground, sprang forth as armed
+men. The very accident which revealed a not unpleasing possibility had
+established a grave obstacle in the way of its ultimate realization. Already
+there was a cloud between him and the Martins, father and daughter. To what a
+tempest might not that cloud develop when the questionings and innuendoes of
+the inquest established an aura of suspicion and intrigue around a perfectly
+innocent meeting in the garden of <i>The Hollies</i>!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant ate his breakfast in wrath. In wrath, too, he glanced through the morning
+newspapers, and saw his own name figuring large in the &ldquo;story&rdquo; of
+the &ldquo;alleged&rdquo; murder. The reporters had missed nothing. They had
+even got hold of the &ldquo;peculiar coincidence&rdquo; of his (Grant&rsquo;s)
+glimpse of a face at the window. His play was recalled, and Adelaide
+Melhuish&rsquo;s success in the title-r&ocirc;le. Then Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman
+was introduced. He was described as &ldquo;a man fairly well known in the
+City.&rdquo; That was all. The press could say nothing as yet of marital
+disagreements, nor was any hint concerning Doris Martin allowed to appear. But
+these journalistic fire-works were only held in reserve. &ldquo;Dramatic and
+sensational developments&rdquo; were promised, and police activity in &ldquo;an
+unexpected direction&rdquo; fore-shadowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All of which, of course, was mere journalistic paraphrasing of circumstances
+already known to the writers, and none the less galling to Grant on that
+account.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And there was no answer from the Commissioner of Police at Scotland Yard. True,
+the overnight telegram might have reached the Department after office hours.
+Grant, like most members of the general public, held the vague belief that
+Government officials do very little work. Still, one might reasonably expect
+better things from the institution which was supposed to safeguard law-abiding
+citizens.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Calm analysis of Ingerman&rsquo;s nebulous threats had revealed a hostile force
+not to be despised. Possibly, the man was already in league with that
+narrow-minded village constable, so every passing hour made more urgent the
+need of a trained intelligence being brought to bear on the mystery of Adelaide
+Melhuish&rsquo;s killing. Grant racked his brains to discover who could
+possibly have a motive for committing the crime. Naturally, his thoughts flew
+to Ingerman. Surely that sinister-looking person should be forced to give an
+account of himself instead of, as was probable, being allowed to instill
+further nonsense into the suspicious mind of P. C.  Robinson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were two morning deliveries of London letters in Steynholme, one at eight
+and another at half past ten. Grant waited until the postman had left a
+publisher&rsquo;s circular (the only letter for <i>The Hollies</i> by the
+second mail). Then, in a fever of impatience, he jammed on a hat and went out.
+He would wait no longer. He would telegraph Scotland Yard again, and,
+incidentally, demand an audience at the post office.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No sooner had he entered the highroad than he saw P. C.  Robinson on guard.
+That important person was standing on the bridge, apparently taking the air. He
+was nibbling the chin-strap of his helmet; both thumbs were locked in his belt.
+From that strategic position three roads came under observation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a fine morning, and Grant&rsquo;s sense of humor was not proof against
+this open espionage. He smiled, and determined to take a rise out of
+&ldquo;Sherlock,&rdquo; as Bates had christened the policeman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The bridge lay a hundred yards to the left. The road was straight until it
+curved around the house and its shrubberies, so the view was blocked on that
+side. Grant filled and lighted a pipe with a deliberateness meant to be
+provoking, glancing several times doubtfully at P. C.  Robinson, who, of
+course, was grandly unaware of his presence. Then he strolled off to the right,
+and, when hidden, took to his heels for a hundred yards sprint. Turning into a
+winding bridle-path tucked between hedges of thorn and hazels, he walked to a
+point where it crossed a patch of furze. At a little distance a hand-bridge
+spanned the river, and gave access to the eastern end of the village by a steep
+climb of the wooded cliff. The path, in fact, was a short cut to that part of
+Steynholme.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sat on a hump of rock, and waited. It was a boyish trick, but very
+successful. Within three minutes, at the utmost, P. C.  Robinson hurried past,
+using a stalking, stealthy stride which was distinctly ludicrous.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The eyes of the two men met, but Grant alone was prepared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hello, Robinson!&rdquo; he cried cheerfully. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the
+rush? Surely our rural peace has not been disturbed again?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson knew he had been &ldquo;sold,&rdquo; but rose to the occasion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Excuse me, Mr. Grant,&rdquo; he puffed. &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t wait now.
+Have an appointment. I&rsquo;ll see you later.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Honor demanded that he should not relax that swift pace. Unhappily, the path up
+the cliff was visible throughout from Grant&rsquo;s rock, so, on reaching the
+summit, Robinson was a-boil in more ways than one. Moreover, peeping through
+the first screen of trees that offered, he had the mortification of seeing the
+man who had befooled him go back the way he came.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Purple-faced with heat and anger, the policeman forgot his surroundings, and
+glowered at Grant with real fury. So he heard no one approaching along the main
+road until he was hailed a second time with, &ldquo;Hello, Robinson!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned sharply. This was Mr. Elkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good morning!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Have you seen the
+superintendent?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? Mr. Fowler? No. Is <i>he</i> here so early?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must have missed him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;ll hardly find him on Bush Walk,&rdquo; which was the
+name of the path.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You never can tell,&rdquo; came the dark answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At any rate, the policeman elected to abandon his self-imposed vigil, and the
+two walked together into the village.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My! You look as though you&rsquo;d run a mile,&rdquo; commented Elkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This murder has kept me busy,&rdquo; growled the other, frankly mopping
+his forehead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay, that&rsquo;s so. And it isn&rsquo;t done with yet, by a long way.
+Pity you weren&rsquo;t in the Hare and Hounds last night. You&rsquo;d have
+heard something. There&rsquo;s a chap staying there, name of
+Ingerman&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve met him. The dead woman&rsquo;s husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, perhaps you&rsquo;ve got his yarn already?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It all depends what he said to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, he hinted things. Unless I&rsquo;m greatly mistaken, you&rsquo;ll
+soon be making an arrest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe I could put my hand on the murderer this very minute,&rdquo;
+said Robinson vindictively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin laughed, somewhat half-heartedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lay you fifty to one against the time,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+the only one near enough for that limit, you know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The policeman realized that he had allowed annoyance to shake his wits. He
+looked at Elkin rather sharply, and noticed that the horse-breeder seemed to be
+nervous and ill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t quite mean that I could grab my man this minute,&rdquo;
+he said, &ldquo;but, if I can guess him, it amounts to nearly the same thing.
+What have you been doing to yourself, Mr. Elkin? You look peeky to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Too much whiskey and tobacco. I&rsquo;ll call at Siddle&rsquo;s for a
+&lsquo;pick-me-up.&rsquo; Am I wanted for the jury?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I left a notice at your place last evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t get it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Been away?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. Fact is, I went home late, and didn&rsquo;t bother about letters
+this morning. What time is the inquest?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Three o&rsquo;clock, in the club-room of the Hare and Hounds.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will that fellow, Grant, be there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rather. Dr. Foxton warned him yesterday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good! What about Doris Martin? Will she be a witness?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were entering the village, and could see down the long, wide slope of the
+hill. Grant had just come into sight at its foot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Both men scowled at the distant figure, but neither passed any comment. They
+parted, the policeman walking straight on, Elkin bearing to the left. The
+chemist&rsquo;s shop stood exactly opposite the post office, so Elkin, arriving
+first, was aware of his unconscious rival&rsquo;s destination.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had not answered Mr. Siddle&rsquo;s greeting, but gazed moodily through a
+barricade of specifics piled in the window. Then he swore.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s wrong now?&rdquo; inquired the chemist quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That Grant. Got a nerve, hasn&rsquo;t he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t say, unless you explain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s just gone into the post office.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why shouldn&rsquo;t he? He wants stamps, may be; plenty of &rsquo;em, I
+should imagine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, you&rsquo;re a fish, Siddle. You aren&rsquo;t crazy about a girl,
+like I am. The sooner Grant&rsquo;s in jail the better I&rsquo;ll be
+pleased.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you take my advice, which you won&rsquo;t, I know, you will not utter
+that sort of remark publicly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t help it. Bet you a fiver I&rsquo;m engaged to Doris Martin
+within a week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Siddle took thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why so quickly?&rdquo; he asked, after a pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll catch her on the hop, of course. If she&rsquo;s engaged to me
+it&rsquo;ll help her a lot when this case comes into court.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot believe that Doris would accept any man for such a
+reason.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not &lsquo;any man.&rsquo; She knows I&rsquo;m after her. Will
+you take my bet, even money?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I don&rsquo;t bet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you needn&rsquo;t put a damper on me. In fact, you can&rsquo;t.
+Have you that last prescription of Dr. Foxton&rsquo;s handy? My liver wants a
+tonic.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The chemist thumbed a dog-eared volume, read an entry carefully, and retired to
+a dispensing counter in the rear of the shop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I send it?&rdquo; came his voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I&rsquo;ll wait. Give me a dose now, if you don&rsquo;t mind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For some reason, Fred Elkin was not himself that day. He was moody, and fretful
+as a sick colt. But he had diagnosed his ailment and its cause accurately; a
+discreet doctor was probably aware of his failings, and had considered them in
+the &ldquo;mixture.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The post office was not busy when Grant entered. A young man, a stranger, was
+seated at the telegraphist&rsquo;s desk, tapping a new instrument. The G. P.
+O., forewarned, had lent an expert to deal with press messages.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Martin, sorting some documents, came forward when he saw Grant. His kindly,
+somewhat pre-occupied face was long as a fiddle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good morning, Mr. Martin,&rdquo; said Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good morning. What can I do for you?&rdquo; was the stiff reply. Grant
+was in no mind to be rebuffed, however.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must have a word with you in private,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry&mdash;but my time is quite full.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, too, but the matter is urgent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The click of the sounder became less businesslike. There was an element in the
+tone of each voice that drew the London telegraphist&rsquo;s attention. Martin,
+usually the mildest-mannered man in Sussex, was obviously ill at ease. But he
+simply could not hold out against Grant&rsquo;s compelling gaze.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come into the back room,&rdquo; he said nervously. &ldquo;Call me if
+I&rsquo;m needed,&rdquo; he added, nodding to his assistant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant did not hesitate an instant when the postmaster reached the &ldquo;back
+parlor&rdquo; through another door. The open window, draped in clematis, gave a
+delightful glimpse of <i>The Hollies</i>. A window-box of mignonette filled the
+air with its delicate perfume. Grant hoped that Doris would be there, but the
+only signs of her recent presence were a hat and an open book on the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, Mr. Martin,&rdquo; he said gravely, &ldquo;you and I should have a
+serious talk. It is idle to deny that gossip is spreading broadcast certain
+malicious and absurd rumors which closely concern Doris and myself. To me these
+things are of slight consequence. To a girl of your daughter&rsquo;s age they
+are poisonous. If you, her father, know the whole truth, you can regulate your
+actions so as to defeat the scandalmongers. That is why I am here to-day. That
+is why I came here yesterday, but your attitude took me aback, and I was idiot
+enough to go without a word of explanation. I was too shaken then to see my
+clear course, and follow it regardless of personal feelings. This morning I am
+master of myself, and I insist that you listen now while I tell you exactly
+what occurred on Monday night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely&mdash;these matters&mdash;are&mdash;for the authorities,&rdquo;
+stammered the older man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? Your daughter&rsquo;s good name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Martin reddened. His agitation was pitiful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is hardly in question, sir,&rdquo; he said brokenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am speaking of the tongue of slander. Heaven help and direct me! I
+would suffer death rather than see Doris subjected to the leers and innuendoes
+of every lout in the village.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant&rsquo;s earnestness could hardly fail to impress his friend. But Martin
+had either made up his mind or been warned not to discuss the murder, and
+adhered loyally to that line of conduct. He retreated toward the door leading
+to the post office proper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is too late to interfere now,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What on earth do you mean?&rdquo; demanded Grant, yielding to a gust of
+anger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The whole&mdash;of the circumstances&mdash;are being inquired into by
+the police,&rdquo; came the hesitating answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has that prying scoundrel, Robinson, dared to cross-examine
+Doris?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He came here, of course, but Scotland Yard has taken up the
+inquiry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A detective&mdash;here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. He is with Doris in the garden at this moment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant knew the topography of the house. Without asking permission, he tore
+through yet a third door leading to a kitchen and scullery, nearly upsetting a
+tiny maid who had her ear or eye to the key-hole, and raced into the garden in
+which the postmaster kept his bees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris, standing with her hands behind her back, was looking at The Hollies, and
+deep in conversation with an alert and natty little man who was evidently
+absorbed in what she was saying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, in a whirl of fury, was only conscious that Doris&rsquo;s companion was
+slight, almost diminutive, of frame, very erect, and dressed in a well-fitting
+blue serge suit, neat brown boots and straw hat, when the two heard his
+footsteps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was flustered. Her Romney face held a look of scare.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, here is Mr. Grant!&rdquo; she said, striving vainly to speak with
+composure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little man pierced Grant with an extraordinarily penetrating glance from
+very bright and deeply-recessed black eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, Mr. Grant, is it!&rdquo; he chirped pleasantly. &ldquo;Good morning!
+So <i>you&rsquo;re</i> the villain of the piece, are you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap06"></a>Chapter VI.<br />
+Scotland Yard Takes a Hand</h2>
+
+<p>
+It was a singular greeting, to say the least, and the person who uttered it was
+quite as remarkable as his queer method of expressing himself seemed to
+indicate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, though in a fume of hot anger, had the good sense to choke back the
+first impetuous reprimand trembling on his lips. In fact, wrath quickly
+subsided into blank incredulity. He saw before him, not the conventional
+detective who might be described as a superior Robinson&mdash;not even the
+sinewy, sharp-eyed, and well-spoken type of man whom he had once heard giving
+evidence in a famous jewel-robbery case&mdash;but rather one whom he would have
+expected to meet in the bar of a certain well-known restaurant in Maiden Lane,
+a corner of old London where literally all the world&rsquo;s a stage, and all
+the men and women merely players.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During his theatrical experiences he had come across scores of such men, dapper
+little fellows, wizened of face yet curiously youthful in manner; but they,
+each and all, were labeled &ldquo;low comedian.&rdquo; Certainly, a rare
+intelligence gleamed from this man&rsquo;s eyes, but that is an attribute not
+often lacking in humorists who command high salaries because of their facility
+in laughter-making. This man, too, had the wide, thin-lipped, mobile mouth of
+the actor. His ivory-white, wrinkled forehead and cheeks, the bluish tint on
+jaws and chin, his voice, his perky air, the very tilt of his straw hat, were
+eloquent of the footlights. Even his opening words, bizarre and cheerfully
+impertinent, smacked of &ldquo;comic relief.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I figure prominently in this particular &lsquo;piece,&rsquo;&rdquo;
+snapped Grant. &ldquo;May I ask your name, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A wise precaution with suspicious characters,&rdquo; rejoined the other,
+smiling. Grant was suddenly reminded of a Japanese grinning at a joke, but he
+bent over a card which the stranger had whisked out of a waistcoat pocket. He
+read:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<b>Mr. Charles F. Furneaux</b>,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Criminal Investigation Department</i>,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<b>New Scotland Yard, S.W</b>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He could not control himself. He gazed at Mr. Charles F. Furneaux with a
+surprise that was not altogether flattering.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did the Commissioner of Police send <i>you</i> in response to my
+telegram?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is what lawyers call a leading question,&rdquo; came the prompt
+retort. &ldquo;And I hate lawyers. They darken understanding, and set honest
+men at loggerheads.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it happens to be very much to the point at this moment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Mr. Grant, if you really press for an answer, it is
+&lsquo;Yes&rsquo; and &lsquo;No.&rsquo; The Commissioner received a certain
+telegram, but he may have acted on other grounds. Even Commissioners can be
+creatures of impulse, or expediency, just as the situation demands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are here, at any rate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is what legal jargon terms an admitted fact.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you had better begin by assuming that I am no villain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is assumed. It couldn&rsquo;t well be otherwise after the excellent
+character you have been given by this young lady.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She, at least, will speak well of me, I do believe,&rdquo; said Grant,
+with a strange bitterness, for his heart was sore because of the seeming
+defection of his friend, the postmaster. &ldquo;What I actually had in mind was
+the stupidity of the local policeman, who is convinced that I am both a
+criminal and a fool.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The two are often synonymous,&rdquo; said Furneaux dryly. &ldquo;But I
+acquitted you on both counts, Mr. Grant, on hearing, and even seeing, how you
+spent Monday evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, who had cooled down considerably, found a hint of badinage in this
+comment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have evidently been told that Miss Martin and I were star-gazing in
+the garden of my house,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It happens to be true.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes. There was a very fine cluster of small stars in Canis Major,
+south of Sirius, that night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know something about the constellations, then?&rdquo; was the
+astonished query.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Enough for the purposes of Scotland Yard,&rdquo; smirked Furneaux, who
+had checked P. C.  Robinson&rsquo;s one-sided story by referring to
+Whitaker&rsquo;s Almanack. &ldquo;It may relieve your mind if I tell you that I
+have never seen a real live astronomer in the dock. Venus and Mars are often in
+trouble, but their devoted observers seldom, if ever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant warmed to this strange species of detective, though, if pressed for an
+instant decision, he would vastly have preferred that one of more orthodox
+style had been intrusted with an inquiry so vital to his own happiness and good
+repute. Eager, however, to pour forth his worries into any official ear, he
+brought back the talk to a definite channel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you come to my place?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;I have much to say.
+Let me assure you now, in Miss Martin&rsquo;s presence, that she is no more
+concerned in this ghastly business than any other young lady in the
+village.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But she is interested. And <i>you</i> are. And I am. Why not discuss
+matters here, for the present, I mean? We have a glorious view of your house
+and grounds. We can see without being seen. None can overhear. I advise both of
+you to go thoroughly into this matter here and now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux spoke emphatically. Even Doris put in a timid plea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps that would be the best thing to do,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Mr.
+Furneaux has been most sympathetic. I am sure he understands things already in
+a way that is quite wonderful to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The very sound of her voice was comforting. Grant might have argued with the
+detective, but could not resist Doris. Without further demur he went through
+the whole story, giving precise details of events on the Monday night. Then the
+recital widened out into a history of his relations with Adelaide Melhuish. He
+omitted nothing. Doris gasped when she heard Superintendent Fowler&rsquo;s
+version of the view a coroner&rsquo;s jury might take of her presence in the
+garden of <i>The Hollies</i> at a late hour. But Grant did not spare her. He
+reasoned that she ought to be prepared for an ordeal which could not be
+avoided. He was governed by the astute belief that his very outspokenness in
+this respect would weaken the inferences which the police might otherwise draw
+from it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux uttered never a word. He was a first-rate listener, though his
+behavior was most undetective-like, since he hardly looked at Grant or the
+girl, but seemed to devote his attention almost exclusively to the scenic
+panorama in front.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, when Grant came to the somewhat strenuous passage-at-arms of the
+previous night between Ingerman and himself, the little man broke in at once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Isidor G. Ingerman?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Is he a tall, lanky,
+cadaverous, rather crooked person, with black hair turning gray, and an
+absurdly melodious voice?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have described him without an unnecessary word,&rdquo; said Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux clicked his tongue in a peculiar fashion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go on!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a regular romance&mdash;quite
+in your line, Mr. Grant, of course, but none the less enthralling because, as
+you so happily phrased Miss Martin&rsquo;s lesson in astronomy, it happens to
+be true.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was scrupulously fair to Ingerman. He admitted the
+&ldquo;financier&rsquo;s&rdquo; adroitness of speech, and made clear the fact
+that if the visit had the levying of blackmail for its object such a possible
+outcome was only hinted at vaguely. Being a novelist, one whose temperament
+sought for sunshine rather than gloom in life, he wound up in lighter vein. The
+ruse which tricked P. C.  Robinson into a breathless scamper of nearly a mile
+on a hot day in June was described with gusto. Doris, who knew the village
+constable well, laughed outright, while Furneaux cackled shrilly. None who
+might be watching the little group in that delightful garden, with its scent of
+old-world flowers and drone of bees, could have guessed that a grewsome tragedy
+formed their major theme.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl was the first to realize that even harmless merriment was in ill
+accord with the presence of death, for the body of Adelaide Melhuish lay within
+forty yards of the place where they stood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I leave you now?&rdquo; she inquired. &ldquo;Father may be wanting
+help in the office.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shan&rsquo;t detain you more than a few seconds,&rdquo; said Furneaux
+briskly. &ldquo;On Monday evening you two young people parted at half past ten.
+How do you fix the time?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris answered without hesitation:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The large window of Mr. Grant&rsquo;s study was open, and we both heard
+a clock in the hall chime the half-hour. I said, &lsquo;Goodness me, is that
+half past ten?&rsquo; and started for home at once. Mr. Grant came with me as
+far as the bridge. When I reached my room, in exactly five minutes after
+leaving <i>The Hollies</i>, I stood at the open window&mdash;that
+window&rdquo;&mdash;and she pointed to a dormer casement above the
+sitting-room&mdash;&ldquo;and looked out. It was a particularly fine night,
+mild, but not very clear, as a slight mist often rises from the river after a
+hot day in summer. I may have been there about ten minutes, no longer, when I
+saw the study window of <i>The Hollies</i> thrown open, and Mr. Grant&rsquo;s
+figure was silhouetted by the lamp behind him. He seemed to be listening for
+something, so I, who must have heard any unusual sound, listened too. There was
+nothing. I could hear the ripple of the river beneath the bridge, so everything
+was very still. After a minute, or two, perhaps&mdash;no longer&mdash;Mr. Grant
+went in, and closed the window. Then I went to bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did Mr. Grant draw any blind or curtains?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There are muslin curtains attached to each side of the window. One
+cannot see into the room from a distance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux measured an imaginary line drawn from Doris&rsquo;s bedroom to the
+edge of the cliff, and prolonged it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nor can you see the river or foot of the lawn from your room,&rdquo; he
+commented.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. In winter I can just make out the edge of the lawn. When the trees
+are in leaf, all the lower part is hidden.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You had actually retired to rest about eleven, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So if Mr. Grant came out again you would not know?&rdquo; Doris blushed
+furiously, but her reply was unfaltering.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I would have known during the next half-hour, at least,&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;An inclined mirror hangs in my room. I use it sometimes for adjusting a
+hat. The square of light from Mr. Grant&rsquo;s room is reflected in it, and
+any sudden increase in the illumination caused by opening the window or pulling
+the curtains aside would certainly have caught my eye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have an unshakable witness in Miss Martin,&rdquo; said Furneaux,
+stabbing a finger at Grant. &ldquo;Now, I&rsquo;ll hurry off. You and I, Mr.
+Grant, meet at Philippi, otherwise known as the crowner&rsquo;s quest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Any benevolent intent he may have had in leaving these young people together
+was, however, frustrated by Doris, whose composure seemed to have fled since
+her statement about the mirror. She resolutely accompanied the detective, and
+Grant had to follow. All three passed into the post office, Doris using the
+private door. Mr. Martin looked up from his desk when they appeared, and
+requested his daughter to check a bundle of postal orders. The pretext was
+painfully obvious, but Grant was not so wishful now to clear up matters with
+Doris&rsquo;s father, as the girl herself might be trusted to pass on an
+accurate account of the affair from beginning to end.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was about to reach the street quick on Furneaux&rsquo;s heels when the
+little man turned suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By the way, don&rsquo;t you want a shilling&rsquo;s worth of
+stamps?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant smiled comprehension, and went back to the counter, where Doris herself
+served him. She did not try to avoid his glance, but rather met it with a
+baffling serenity oddly at variance with her momentary loss of self-possession
+in the garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he entered the street the detective had vanished.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked down the hill at a rapid pace, disregarding the eyes peeping at him
+through open doorways, over narrow window-curtains, and covertly staring when
+people passed in the roadway. The sensitive side of his temperament shrank from
+this thinly-veiled hostility. He was by way of being popular in Steynholme, yet
+not a soul spoke to him. Before he reached the bridge, the other side of him,
+the man of action, of cool resource in an emergency, rose in rebellion against
+the league of silly clodhoppers. Back he strode to the post office and dashed
+off a telegram. It ran:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Walter Hart, Savage Club, Adelphi, London. Come here and help to lay a
+ghost.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He signed it in full, name and address. Doris was gone, but her father received
+it, and read the text in a bewildered way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I find myself deserted by my Steynholme friends so I am trying to import
+one stanch one,&rdquo; said Grant, almost vindictively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Martin murmured the cost, and Grant stormed out again. This time, passing the
+Hare and Hounds, he looked at door and windows. He caught a face scowling at
+him over a brown wire blind bearing the words &ldquo;Wines and Spirits&rdquo;
+on it in letters of dull gold. It was a commonplace type of face,
+small-featured, ginger-moustached, and crowned by a billy-cock hat set at a
+rakish angle. Its most marked characteristic was the positive hatred which
+glowed in the sharp, pale-blue eyes. Grant wondered who this highly censorious
+young man might be. At any rate, he meant to ascertain whether or not the
+critic was susceptible of satire at his own expense. He walked up to the
+window, elevated his eyebrows at the frowning person within, pretended to read
+the words on the screen, looked again at the man inside, and shook his head
+gravely in the manner of one who has accurately determined cause and effect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fred Elkin was quick-witted enough to appreciate Grant&rsquo;s unspoken
+comment. He was also unmannerly enough to put out his tongue. Then Grant
+laughed, and turned on his heel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Siddle, quietly observant of recent comings and goings, was standing at the
+door of the shop, and missed no item of this dumb show. He raised both hands in
+silent condemnation of Elkin&rsquo;s childishness, whereupon the horse-dealer
+jerked a thumb toward Grant&rsquo;s retreating figure, and went through a rapid
+pantomime of the hanging process. His crony disapproved again, and went in.
+Now, both those men were on the jury panel, so, to all appearance, Grant would
+be judged by at least one deadly enemy, whose animosity might or might not be
+fairly balanced by the chemist&rsquo;s impartial mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tenant of <i>The Hollies</i> actually dreaded the loneliness of his
+dwelling now, though it was that very quality which had drawn him to Steynholme
+a year earlier. Work or reading was equally out of the question that day. He
+sought the industrious Bates, who was trenching celery in the kitchen garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have &rsquo;ee made out owt about un, sir?&rdquo; inquired that hardy
+individual, pausing to spit on the handle of his spade.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Grant. &ldquo;The thing is a greater mystery than
+ever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m thinkin&rsquo; her mun ha&rsquo; bin killed by a loony,&rdquo;
+announced Bates.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Something of the kind, no doubt. But why are the little less dangerous
+loonies of Steynholme united in the belief that I am the guilty one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ax me another,&rdquo; growled Bates.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is spreading this rumor? Robinson?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;E dussen&rsquo;t, sir. &rsquo;E looks fierce, but
+&rsquo;e&rsquo;ll &rsquo;old &rsquo;is tongue. T&rsquo;super will see to
+that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Someone is talking. That is quite certain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a chap in the &rsquo;Are an&rsquo; &rsquo;Ounds&mdash;kem
+&rsquo;ere last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ingerman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay, sir, that&rsquo;s the name. &rsquo;E&rsquo;s makin&rsquo; a song of
+it, I hear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anybody else?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fred Elkin is gassin&rsquo; about. Do &rsquo;ee know un? Breeds
+&rsquo;osses at Mount Farm, a mile that-a-way,&rdquo; and Bates pointed to the
+west.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant hazarded a guess, and described the face of condemnation seen at the inn.
+Bates nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s un,&rdquo; he said. Then he drove the spade into the rich
+loam. &ldquo;They do say,&rdquo; he added, apparently as an after-thought,
+&ldquo;as Fred Elkin is mighty sweet on Doris, but her&rsquo;ll &rsquo;ave nowt
+to do wi&rsquo; un.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant whistled softly. This explanation threw light on a dark place.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The plot thickens,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Mr. Elkin becomes more
+interesting than he looks. Are there other disappointed swains in the
+offing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has Miss Martin any other suitors?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lots of &rsquo;em &rsquo;ud be after her like wasps round a plum-tree if
+she&rsquo;d give &rsquo;em &rsquo;alf a chance. But <i>you</i> put a stopper on
+&rsquo;em.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates was blunt of speech, though a philosopher withal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Elkin is my only serious rival, then?&rdquo; laughed Grant, passing off
+as a joke a thrust which was shrewder than the gardener knew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;E &rsquo;as plenty of brass, but I reckon nowt on
+&rsquo;im,&rdquo; was the contemptuous answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, he is not a likely person to kill a woman he had never before
+seen. Miss Martin will marry whom she chooses, no doubt. The present problem is
+to find out who murdered Miss Melhuish. Now, had <i>I</i> been the victim you
+would be thinking hard, Bates.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I tell &rsquo;ee, sir, it wur a loony.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nor was Bates to be moved from that opinion. He held to it, through thick and
+thin, for many days.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant wandered into the front garden. His eyes rose involuntarily to the
+distant post office, and he noticed at once that the dormer window was closed.
+Yet Doris shared his own love of fresh air, and that window had always been
+open till that very hour. Somehow, this simple thing seemed to shut him out of
+her life. He walked to the river, and gazed at the spot where the body was
+drawn ashore. In the absence of rain the water ran clear as gin, and the marks
+made by the feet of Adelaide Melhuish&rsquo;s murderer were still perceptible.
+If only those misshapen blotches could reveal their secret! If only some
+Heaven-sent ray of intuition would enable him to put the police on the track of
+the criminal! Theoretically, a novelist and essayist should be a first-rate
+detective, yet, brought face to face with an actual felony, here was one who
+perforce remained blind and dumb.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet he was not blameworthy for failing to solve a mystery which was rapidly
+establishing a record for bewildering elements. Wherein he did err most
+lamentably was in his reading of a woman&rsquo;s heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No answering telegram came from his friend in London. The day wore slowly till
+it was time to attend the inquest. He found a crowd gathered in front of the
+Hare and Hounds. Superintendent Fowler was there, and quite a number of
+policemen, whose presence was explained when a buzz of excitement heralded
+Grant&rsquo;s arrival. He decided not to stand this sort of persecution a
+moment longer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before the superintendent could interfere, he leaped on to a set of stone
+mounting-steps which stood opposite the door. Instantly, seeing that he was
+about to speak, the angry murmuring of the mob was hushed. He looked into a
+hundred stolid faces, and stretched out his right hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot help feeling,&rdquo; he said, in slow, incisive accents which
+carried far, &ldquo;that a set of peculiar circumstances has led you Steynholme
+folk to suspect me of being responsible, in some way, for the death of the lady
+whose body was found in the river near my house. Now, I want to tell you that I
+am not only an innocent but a much-maligned man. The law of the land will
+establish both facts in due season. But I want to warn some of you, too, I
+shall not trouble to issue writs for libel. If any blackguard among you dares
+to insult me openly, I shall smash his face.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He knew when to stop. Superintendent Fowler&rsquo;s nudge was not called for,
+as the orator simply met the scrutiny of all those eyes without another word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Curiously enough, the sense of justice is inherent in every haphazard gathering
+of the public. Grant&rsquo;s soldierly bearing, his calm defiance of hostile
+opinion, the outspoken threat which he so plainly meant, won instant favor.
+Someone shouted, &ldquo;Hear, hear!&rdquo; and the crowd applauded. From that
+moment he had little to complain of in the attitude of the community as a
+whole. There were subtle and dangerous enemies to be fought and conquered, but
+Steynholme looked on, keen to learn of any new sensation, of course, but
+placidly content that the final verdict should be left in the hands of the
+authorities.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap07"></a>Chapter VII.<br />
+&ldquo;Alarums and Excursions&rdquo;</h2>
+
+<p>
+The inquest was surprisingly tame after the stirring events which had led up to
+it. Indeed, save for two incidents, the proceedings were almost dull.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The coroner, a Knoleworth solicitor named Belcher, prided himself on conducting
+this <i>cause célèbre</i> with as little ostentation as he would have displayed
+over an ordinary inquiry. Messrs. Siddle, Elkin, Tomlin and Hobbs, with eight
+other local tradesmen and farmers, formed the jurors, and the chemist was
+promptly elected foreman; no witnesses were ordered out of court; the
+formalities of &ldquo;swearing in&rdquo; the jury and &ldquo;viewing&rdquo; the
+body were carried through rapidly. Almost before Grant had time to assimilate
+these details Superintendent Fowler, who marshalled the evidence, called his
+name. The coroner&rsquo;s officer tendered him a well-thumbed Bible, while the
+coroner himself administered the oath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant eyed the somewhat soiled volume, and opened it before putting it to his
+lips. The action probably did not please the jury. Elkin nudged Tomlin, and
+sniggered at the rest of his colleagues, as much as to say: &ldquo;What did I
+tell you? The cheek of him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin, by the way, looked ill. When his interest flagged for an instant his
+haggard aspect became more noticeable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman was there, of course. Furneaux sat beside Mr. Fowler. A stranger, whom
+Grant did not recognize, proved to be the County Chief Constable. There was a
+strong muster of police, and the representatives of the press completely
+monopolized the scanty accommodation for the public. To Grant&rsquo;s relief,
+Doris Martin was not in attendance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He told the simple facts of the finding of Adelaide Melhuish&rsquo;s corpse. A
+harmless question by the coroner evoked the first &ldquo;scene&rdquo; which set
+the reporters&rsquo; pencils busy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you recognize the body!&rdquo; inquired Mr. Belcher.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you can give the jury her name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before Grant could answer, Ingerman sprang up, his sallow face livid with
+passion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I protest, sir, against this man being permitted to identify my
+wife,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was either deeply moved, or proved himself an excellent actor. His
+flute-like voice vibrated with an intense emotion. Thus might Mark Antony have
+spoken when vowing that Brutus was an honorable man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; demanded the coroner sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Isidor George Ingerman, husband of the deceased lady,&rdquo; came the
+clear-toned reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sit down, sir, and do not interrupt the court again,&rdquo; said
+the coroner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I demand, sir, that you note my protest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sit down! Were you any other person I would have you removed. As it is,
+I am prepared to regard your feelings to the extent of explaining that the
+witness is not identifying the body but relating a fact within his own
+knowledge.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman bowed, and resumed his seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For some reason, Grant stared blankly at Furneaux. The latter did not meet his
+glance, but put a finger on those thin lips. It might, or might not, be a
+warning to repress any retort he had in mind. At any rate, obeying a nod from
+the coroner, he merely said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She was a well-known actress, Miss Adelaide Melhuish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Belcher&rsquo;s pen hesitated a little. Then it scratched on. Undoubtedly,
+he was himself exercising the restraint he meant to impose on others.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are quite sure?&rdquo; he said, after a pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you, Mr. Grant. Wait here until you sign your deposition. Of
+course, you are aware that this inquiry will stand adjourned, and the whole
+matter will be gone into fully at a later date.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I have been informed, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman was the next witness. <i>He</i>, like a good democrat, kissed the
+cover of the Bible. The coroner began by giving him some advice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is a purely formal inquiry, to permit of a death certificate being
+issued. You will oblige me, therefore, by answering my questions without
+introducing any extraneous subject.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman adhered to these instructions. Having already shot a
+carefully-prepared bolt, he meant avoiding any further conflict with the
+authorities. His evidence was brief and to the point. The deceased was his
+wife. They were married at a London registrar&rsquo;s office on a given date,
+six years ago. His wife acted under her maiden name. There was no family.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The court was well lighted by four long windows in the eastern wall, which each
+witness faced, so Grant was free to study his avowed enemy at leisure. He
+thought he made out a crafty underlook in Ingerman which he had failed to
+detect the previous night. That slow, smooth voice seemed to weigh each
+syllable. Such a man would never blurt out an unconsidered admission. He was a
+foe to be reckoned with. The subtle malignancy of that well-timed outburst was
+proof positive in that respect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The jury, apparently, attached much weight to his words. On some faces there
+was an expectancy which merged into marked disappointment when his evidence
+came to an end. The foreman alone displayed the judicial attitude warranted by
+the oath he had taken. Somehow, Grant had faith in Mr. Siddle. The man looked
+intellectual. When spoken to in his shop his manner was invariably reserved.
+But that was his general repute in Steynholme&mdash;a quiet, uninterfering
+person, who had come to the village a young man, yet had never really entered
+into its life. For instance, he neither held nor would accept any public
+office. At first, people wondered how he contrived to eke out a living, but
+this puzzle was solved by his admitted possession of a small annuity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dr. Foxton, general practitioner, who held undisputed sway in the district,
+told how he had conducted an autopsy on the body of the deceased. He found a
+deep, incised wound on the back of the skull, a wound which would have caused
+death in any event. The instrument used must have been a heavy and blunt one.
+Miss Melhuish was dead or dying when thrown into the river. The body was well
+nourished, and the vital organs sound. Undoubtedly she had been murdered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates followed, and evoked a snigger by the outspokenness of blunt Sussex.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hauled &rsquo;um in,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; knew it wur a
+dead &rsquo;un by the feel of the rope.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The coroner was not curious. He merely wished to put on record the time and
+manner in which Mr. Grant summoned assistance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then P. C. Robinson entered the box, and contrived to bring about the second
+&ldquo;incident.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He told how, &ldquo;from information received,&rdquo; he went to <i>The
+Hollies</i>, and found Mr. Grant standing near the river with a dead body at
+his feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One side of Mr. Grant&rsquo;s face was covered with blood,&rdquo; he
+went on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If the policeman was minded to create a sensation, he certainly succeeded. A
+slight hum ran through the court, and then all present seemed to restrain their
+breathing lest a word of the evidence should be lost. The mention of
+&ldquo;blood&rdquo; in a murder case was a more adroit dodge than Robinson
+himself guessed, perhaps. Few of his hearers troubled to reflect that a smudge
+of fresh gore on Grant&rsquo;s cheek could hardly have any bearing on the death
+of a woman whose body had admittedly lain all night in the river. It sufficed
+that Robinson had introduced a touch of the right color into the inquiry. Even
+the coroner was worried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well!&rdquo; he said testily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I took down his statement, sir,&rdquo; said the witness, well knowing
+that he had wiped off Grant&rsquo;s morning score in the matter of Bush Walk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind his statement. That must await the adjourned hearing. What
+did you do with the body?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Took it to the stable of the Hare and Hounds, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where it was viewed recently by the jury?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is the body identified by Mr. Ingerman as that of his wife?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That will do.... Superintendent Fowler, will this day week at ten
+o&rsquo;clock suit you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said the superintendent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then the inquest stands adjourned until that day and hour. Gentlemen of
+the jury, you must be here punctually.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t we ask any questions?&rdquo; cried Elkin, in an injured
+tone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. You cannot,&rdquo; snapped the coroner emphatically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After a few formalities, which included the reading and signing of the
+depositions, the courthouse emptied. The whole thing was over in half an hour.
+Grant, determined to have a word with the representative of Scotland Yard, went
+openly to Furneaux, and asked him to come to The Hollies and join him in a cup
+of tea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; was the curt answer. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m busy. I&rsquo;ll see
+you later.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was difficult to reconcile the detective&rsquo;s present stand-off manner
+with his earlier camaradie, to say nothing of the seemingly friendly hint
+conveyed by the signal to pass no comment on Ingerman&rsquo;s interruption.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rather sick at heart, Grant went out into the sunshine. He was snap-shotted a
+dozen times by press photographers. One man, backing impudently in front of him
+in order to secure a sharp focus, tripped over the raised edge of a cartway
+into a yard, and sat down violently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The onlookers laughed, but Grant helped the photographer to rise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you want a really good picture of the Steynholme murderer, come to my
+place, and I&rsquo;ll give you one,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The pressman was grateful, because Grant&rsquo;s action had tended to mitigate
+his discomfiture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No one but a fool thinks of you as a murderer, Mr. Grant,&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;What I really want is a portrait of &lsquo;the celebrated&rsquo;
+author in whose grounds the body was found.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come along, then, and I&rsquo;ll pose for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The photographer was surprised, but joyfully accepted the gifts the gods gave.
+He could not guess that his host was pining for human companionship. He could
+not fathom Grant&rsquo;s disappointment, on reaching <i>The Hollies</i>, at
+finding no telegram from a trusted friend, Walter Hart. And he was equally
+unconscious of the immense service he rendered by compelling his host to talk
+and act naturally. He enlightened Grant, too, in the matter of inquests.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Next week there will be a gathering of lawyers,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;The police will be represented, probably by the Treasury, if the case is
+thought sufficiently important. That chap, Ingerman, too, will employ a
+solicitor, I expect, judging from his attitude to-day. In fact, any one whose
+interests are affected ought to secure legal assistance. One never knows how
+these inquiries twist and turn.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Grant, smiling at the journalist&rsquo;s tact.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll order tea to be got ready while you&rsquo;re taking your
+pictures. By the way, what sort of detective is Mr. Charles F. Furneaux?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A pocket marvel,&rdquo; was the enthusiastic answer.
+&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you heard of him before? Well, you wouldn&rsquo;t, unless
+you followed famous cases professionally. He seldom appears in the
+courts&mdash;generally manages to wriggle out of giving direct evidence. But
+I&rsquo;ve never known him to fail. He either hangs his man or drives him to
+suicide. If I committed a crime, and was told that Furneaux was after me,
+I&rsquo;d own up and save trouble, because I wouldn&rsquo;t have the ghost of a
+chance of winning clear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He strikes one as too flippant for a detective.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Lots of people have thought that, and they&rsquo;re either
+disappearing in quicklime beneath some corridor of a prison, or doing time at
+Portland. I wonder if Winter also is coming down on this job.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is &lsquo;Winter&rsquo;?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Chief Inspector at the &lsquo;Yard.&rsquo; A big, cheerful-looking
+fellow&mdash;from his appearance might be a gentleman-farmer and J. P., with a
+taste for horses and greyhounds. He and Furneaux are called the Big &rsquo;Un
+and the Little &rsquo;Un, and each is most unlike the average detective. But
+Heaven help any wrong-doer they set out to trail! They&rsquo;ll get him, as
+sure as God made little apples.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then the sooner Mr. Winter visits Steynholme the better I shall be
+pleased. This tragedy is becoming a perfect nightmare. You heard that
+fat-headed policeman speak of my face being covered with blood. He did it
+purposely. I made a fool of him this morning, so he paid me out, the literal
+truth being that a branch of that Dorothy Perkins rose there caught my cheek as
+I entered this room on Tuesday morning&mdash;before I discovered the
+body&mdash;and broke the skin. I suppose the cut is visible still? I saw it
+to-day while shaving.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the other, chortling over the &ldquo;copy&rdquo; his
+colleagues were missing. &ldquo;The mark is there right enough. Queer how
+inanimate objects like a rose-tree can make mischief. I remember a case in
+which a chestnut in a man&rsquo;s pocket sent him to penal servitude. There was
+absolutely no evidence against him, except a possible motive, until that
+chestnut was found and proved to be one of a particular species, grown only in
+a certain locality.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How fortunate that the Dorothy Perkins is popular!&rdquo; laughed Grant.
+&ldquo;Will your paper publish photographs of the principals in this
+affair?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I expect so. I&rsquo;ve a fine collection&mdash;the jury, all in a
+row&mdash;and you, making that speech to the mob.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! Will that appear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By Jove, yes, sir. It was wired off before the inquest opened.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant reddened slightly. His own impetuous action had blurted out to the whole
+world that which Steynholme was only thinking. No wonder Furneaux had warned
+him to go slow. Perhaps the little man was annoyed because of his challenge to
+the village crowd? Well, be it so. He meant, and would live up to, every word
+of it!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The afternoon dragged after the pressman&rsquo;s departure. What Grant really
+hungered for was a heart-to-heart talk between Doris Martin and himself. But,
+short of a foolish attempt to carry the post office by storm, he saw no means
+of realizing his desire. He must, perforce, await the less troubled hours of
+the morrow or next day. Doris would surely give her father an exact account of
+the conversation between Grant, Furneaux, and herself that morning, and that
+greatly perplexed man could hardly fail to see how unjust was the tittle-tattle
+of the village.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So, avoiding Mrs. Bates, whose fell intent it was to ask him what he wanted for
+dinner, he struck off along the road to Knoleworth, walked eight miles in two
+hours, and reached <i>The Hollies</i> about seven o&rsquo;clock, rather
+inclined for a meal and much more contented with life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Minnie announced that a gentleman &ldquo;who brought a bag&rdquo; had been
+awaiting him since half-past five, and was now asleep on the lawn! A glance at
+the aforesaid bag, still reposing in the entrance hall, sent Grant quickly into
+the garden. A long, broad-shouldered person was stretched on a wicker chair,
+and evidently enjoying a nap. A huge meerschaum pipe and tobacco pouch lay on
+the grass. The newcomer&rsquo;s face was covered by a broad-brimmed, decidedly
+weather-beaten slouch hat, which, legend had it, was purchased originally in
+South America in the early nineties, and had won fame as the only one of its
+kind ever worn in the Strand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hullo! Wally! Glad to see you!&rdquo; shouted Grant joyously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sleeper stirred.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, not another drop!&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;You fellows must have
+heads of triple brass and stomachs of leather!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get up, you rascal, or I&rsquo;ll spill you out of the chair!&rdquo;
+said Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A lazy hand removed the hat, and a pair of peculiarly big and bright eyes gazed
+up into his.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s you, is it?&rdquo; drawled a quiet voice. &ldquo;Why the
+blazes did you send for me? And, having sent, why wake me out of the best sleep
+I&rsquo;ve had for a week?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But why didn&rsquo;t you let me know you were coming? I would have met
+the train.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did. Here&rsquo;s the telegram. That pink-cheeked maid of yours nearly
+had a fit when I opened it to show her that I was expected.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You wired from Victoria, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would you have preferred Charing Cross, or the Temple? Isn&rsquo;t
+Victoria respectable?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant laughed as they shook hands. Hart was the most casual adventurer in
+existence. His specialty was revolutions. Wherever the flag of rebellion was
+raised against a government, thither went Walter Hart post-haste by train,
+steamer, or on horseback. He had been sentenced to death five times, and
+decorated by successful Jack Cades twice as often.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m a sort of outlaw. That&rsquo;s why I sought your help,&rdquo;
+explained Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know all about you, Jack,&rdquo; said Hart slowly, picking up the pipe
+and filling it from the pouch. The meerschaum was carved to represent the head
+of a grinning negro, and was now ebon black from use.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I felt like a pint of Sussex ale after a hot journey in the train, so
+hied me to the village inn, where several obliging gentlemen told me your real
+name. Two of them, Ingerman and Elkin, apparently make a hobby of enlightening
+strangers as to your right place in society.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must interview Elkin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not worth while, my boy. Ingerman is the crafty one. I thought I might
+be doing you more harm than good, or I would have given him a thick ear this
+afternoon ... Oh, by the way, what time is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seven o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A little fellow named Furneaux is coming here to dinner at seven-thirty.
+Said he would drop in by the back door, and mutter &lsquo;Hush! I&rsquo;m
+Hawkshaw, the detective.&rsquo; He resembles a cock-sparrow, so I asked him why
+he didn&rsquo;t fly in through an attic window. He took my point at once, and
+remarked that he wanted none of my lip, or he would ask me officially what
+became of Don Ramon de Santander&rsquo;s big pink pearl. It&rsquo;s a queer
+yarn. There was a bust-up in Guatemala&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here, Wally,&rdquo; broke in Grant anxiously. &ldquo;Are you
+serious? Did Furneaux really say he was coming here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He did, and more&mdash;he expressed a partiality for a chicken roasted
+on a spit. You have a spit in your kitchen, he says, and a pair of chickens in
+your larder.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How did you contrive to meet him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a poor guesser, Jack. <i>He</i> met <i>me</i>. &lsquo;That
+you, Mr. Hart?&rsquo; he said. &lsquo;Mr. Grant&rsquo;s house is the first on
+the right across the bridge. Tell him&rsquo;&mdash;and the rest of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you warned Mrs. Bates?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Bates being?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My housekeeper.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir. If she&rsquo;s anything like your housemaid, I&rsquo;m glad I
+didn&rsquo;t, or I should have been chucked into the road. I had the deuce of a
+job to reach the lawn. Had I ordered dinner I might now have been in the
+village lockup.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant hurried away, and placated Mrs. Bates after a stormy interlude. Precisely
+at 7.30 p. m. Minnie came and said that &ldquo;Mr. Hawkshaw&rdquo; had arrived.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bring him out here,&rdquo; said Grant. &ldquo;Fetch some sherry and
+glasses, and give us five minutes&rsquo; notice before dinner is served.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Please, sir,&rdquo; tittered Minnie, &ldquo;the gentleman prefers to
+stay indoors. He said his complexion won&rsquo;t stand the glare.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; smiled Grant, rising. &ldquo;Put the sherry and
+bitters on the sideboard.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Say,&rdquo; murmured Hart, &ldquo;is this chap really a
+detective?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. He stands high at Scotland Yard.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never more than five feet four, I&rsquo;ll swear. But I wouldn&rsquo;t
+have missed this for a pension. I have a revolver in my hip pocket, of course.
+One would feel lonely without it, even in England. But I hope you can stage a
+few knives and daggers, and a red light. I can cut masks out of a strip of
+black velvet. That girl will have a piece stowed away somewhere.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two entered the dining-room study, where the table was now laid for dinner.
+Furneaux was seated on the edge of a chair in the darkest corner. His eyes
+gleamed at them strangely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can you trust Bates?&rdquo; he said to Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a wholly unexpected question, and Grant answered sharply:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course, I can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell him to make sure that no one trespasses on your lawn between now
+and ten o&rsquo;clock. Close that window, draw the blind and curtains, and
+block that small window, the one through which you saw the ghost.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ye gods!&rdquo; cackled Hart ecstatically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why all these precautions?&rdquo; demanded Grant, rather amused now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m supposed to be on the very verge of arresting you, and it
+would weaken the faith of my allies if I were seen drinking your wines and
+eating your chicken.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By the way, how did you know I had chickens in store, and a spit on
+which to roast them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I looked you over at five-thirty this morning, having traveled from
+London by the mail train. I must lecture you on your inefficient
+window-catches, Mr. Grant. Several self-respecting burglars of my acquaintance
+would give your house the go-by as being too easy. And, one other matter. I
+suggest that any man who mentions the Steynholme murder again before the coffee
+arrives shall be fined a sovereign for each offense, such fine, or fines, to
+form a fund for the relief of his hearers. <i>Cré nom d&rsquo;un pipe</i>!
+Three intelligent men can surely discuss more interesting topics while they
+eat!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap08"></a>Chapter VIII.<br />
+An Interrupted Symposium</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have a cigarette,&rdquo; said Grant to Furneaux, when the blinds were
+drawn, a lamp lighted, and the sherry dispensed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The self-invited guest took one. He sniffed it, broke the paper wrapping, and
+crumbled some of the tobacco between finger and thumb.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, those Greeks!&rdquo; he said sadly. &ldquo;They simply can&rsquo;t
+go straight. This brand of Turk used to be made of a tobacco grown on a slope
+above Salonica. A strip of sun-baked soil built up a reputation which is now
+being bartered for filthy lucre by the use of Egyptian
+&lsquo;fillings.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a connoisseur, Mr. Hawknose&mdash;try these,&rdquo; said
+Hart, proffering a case, from which the detective drew a cigarette, throwing
+the other one aside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why &lsquo;Hawknose&rsquo;?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A blend. First syllable of Hawkshaw and second of Furneaux&mdash;the
+latter Anglicized, of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And vulgarized.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You prefer Furshaw, perhaps?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Either effort is feeble for a man who can write about South America, and
+be lucid. Do you smoke this stuff, may I ask?&rdquo; While talking, he had
+smelt and destroyed the second cigarette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If it&rsquo;s a fair question, what the devil do <i>you</i>
+smoke?&rdquo; cried Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing. I&rsquo;m a non-smoker. My profession demands a clear
+intellect, not a brain atrophied by nicotine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Piffle! Carlyle and Bismarck were smokers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who reads Carlyle now-a-days? And what modern German pays heed to
+Bismarck&rsquo;s dogmas? Look at that pipe of yours. It was once a pure ivory
+white. Now it is black&mdash;soiled by tobacco juice. Your lungs are slowly
+emulating it, and your wits will cloud in time. Read Tolstoi, Mr. Hart. He will
+teach you how nicotine deadens the conscience.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At last I know why I smoke like a Thames tug,&rdquo; laughed Hart,
+&ldquo;but I&rsquo;m blest if I can understand why <i>you</i> make such a study
+of the vile weed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Most criminals are addicted to the habit. I classify them by their brand
+of tobacco. For instance, a clever forger would never descend to thick twist,
+while a swell mobsman would turn with horror from a woodbine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Minnie entered, and nodded, whereupon Grant led the others upstairs to wash.
+From the bathroom he looked out over a darkening landscape. Doris&rsquo;s
+dormer window was open. She was leaning on the sill, but he could not tell
+whether or not her eyes were turned his way. Her attitude was pensive,
+disconsolate, curiously forlorn for a girl normally high-spirited. He was on
+the point of signaling to her when he remembered Furneaux&rsquo;s presence.
+There was something impish, almost diabolically clever, in that little
+man&rsquo;s characteristics which induced wariness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dinner was a marvel, considering the short notice given to the cook.
+Luckily, Mrs. Bates, a loyal soul, had resolved to tempt her employer&rsquo;s
+appetite that evening. Village gossip had it that the police were about to
+arrest him, and she was determined he should enjoy at least one good meal
+before being haled to prison. Hence, the materials were present. The rest was a
+matter of quantities, and Sussex seldom stints itself in that respect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The chatter round the table was light and amusing. The three were well matched
+conversationally. Furneaux evidently held the opinion once expressed by a
+notable Walrus&mdash;that the time had come
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<i>To talk of many things:<br />
+Of shoes&mdash;and ships&mdash;and sealing-wax&mdash;<br />
+Of cabbages&mdash;and kings.</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was in excellent form, and the others played up to him. Hart&rsquo;s slow
+drawl was ever trenchant and witty, and Grant forgot his woes in congenial
+company. As for the mercurial detective himself, it might be said of him as of
+the school-master of Auburn:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<i>And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,<br />
+That one small head could carry all he knew.</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was he who dropped them with a bounce from the realm of fancy to the
+unpleasing region of ugly fact. No sooner had Minnie cleared the table, and
+brought in the coffee, than he whisked around on Grant as though hitherto he
+had been only awaiting an opportunity of scarifying him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he said, propping an elbow on the table, and supporting his
+chin on a clenched fist, &ldquo;the embargo is off the Steynholme affair.
+<i>You</i> didn&rsquo;t kill Adelaide Melhuish, Mr. Grant. Who did?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish I could tell you,&rdquo; was the emphatic answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you suspect anybody? You needn&rsquo;t fear the libel law in
+confiding your secret thought to me, and I assume that Mr. Hart is
+trustworthy&mdash;where his friends are concerned?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why that unkind differentiating clause, my pocket Vidocq?&rdquo; put in
+Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because two Kings and a baker&rsquo;s dozen of Presidents have, at
+various times, sent most unflattering reports to this country about you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must have annoyed &rsquo;em most damnably.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You had. I congratulate you, but Heaven only knows where I may convoy
+you some day on an extradition warrant....Proceed, Mr. Grant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I assure you, on my honor, that the only reasonable suggestion I can
+make is that put forward by my gardener to-day,&rdquo; said Grant. &ldquo;He
+thinks that the murder must have been committed by a lunatic. I can offer no
+other hypothesis.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your gardener may be right. But what lunatic, barring yourself and the
+horse-coper, Elkin, is in love with Doris Martin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Like Elkin the previous night, Grant struck the table till things rattled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Keep her name out of it,&rdquo; he cried fiercely. &ldquo;You are a man
+of the world, not a suspicious idiot of the Robinson type. You heard to-day the
+full and true explanation of her presence here on Monday night. It was a sheer
+accident. Why harp on Doris Martin rather than any member of the Bates
+family?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who, may I ask, is Doris Martin?&rdquo; put in Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Steynholme postmaster&rsquo;s daughter,&rdquo; said Furneaux.
+&ldquo;A remarkably pretty and intelligent girl. If her father was a peer she
+would be the belle of a London season. As it is, her good looks seem to have
+put a maggot in more than one nut in this village.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart waved the negro&rsquo;s head in the air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The lunatic theory for mine,&rdquo; he declared. &ldquo;If one
+woman&rsquo;s lovely face could bring a thousand ships to Ilion, why should not
+another&rsquo;s drive men to madness in Steynholme?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well phrased, sir,&rdquo; cackled Furneaux delightedly.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wangle that in on a respected colleague of mine, who is a
+whale at deducing a proposition from given premises, but cannot induce a
+general fact from particular instances to save his life ... Now, stifle your
+romantic frenzy, Mr. Grant, and listen to me. If you were minded to instruct me
+in the art of writing good English, I would sit at your feet an attentive
+disciple. When I, Furneaux, of the &lsquo;Yard,&rsquo; lay down a first
+principle in the investigation of crime, I expect deference on your part. I
+tell you unhesitatingly that if Doris Martin didn&rsquo;t exist, Adelaide
+Melhuish would be alive now. That, as a thesis, is nearly as certain a thing as
+that the sun will rise to-morrow. I go farther, and hazard the guess, not the
+fixed belief, though my guesses are usually borne out by events, that if Doris
+Martin had not been in this garden at half past ten on Monday night, Adelaide
+Melhuish would not have been killed some twenty minutes later. It is useless
+for you to fume and rage in vain effort to disprove either of these presumptive
+facts. You are simply beating the air. This mystery centers in and around the
+postmaster&rsquo;s daughter. Come, now, you are a reasonable person. Admit the
+cold, hard truth, and then give play to your fancy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Hart, brandishing his pipe again, &ldquo;I suggest that
+you and I, here and now, form a mutual admiration society.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is a cruel and bitter thing that an innocent girl should be dragged
+into association with a foul crime,&rdquo; said Grant stubbornly. &ldquo;I am
+not disputing the force of your acumen, Mr. Furneaux. My only desire is to
+shield the good name of a very charming young lady.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s done can&rsquo;t be undone,&rdquo; countered the detective,
+well knowing that Grant confessed himself beaten.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But what is all the bother about? You heard from Miss Martin&rsquo;s own
+lips absolutely the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Put her in the
+witness-box, and what more can she tell you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not worrying about her appearance in the witness-box,&rdquo; said
+Furneaux dryly. &ldquo;Long before that stage is reached I shall be hunting a
+star burglar, or, perhaps, looking into the Foreign Office <i>dossier</i> of
+our worthy friend here, as to-day&rsquo;s papers hint at trouble in Venezuela.
+No, sir. The county police will get all the credit. P. C.  Robinson will be
+swanking about then, telling the yokels what <i>he</i> did. I, with Olympic
+nod, say, &lsquo;There&rsquo;s your man!&rsquo; and the handcuffs&rsquo;
+brigade do the rest. So far as I can foresee, Miss Martin&rsquo;s name may be
+spared any undue prominence in this inquiry. I go even farther, and promise
+that anything I can do in that way shall be done.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is very kind and considerate of you,&rdquo; said Grant gratefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t halloo till you&rsquo;re out of the wood.&rdquo; said
+Furneaux, sitting back suddenly and nursing his left knee with clasped hands.
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t control other people&rsquo;s actions, you know. What I
+insist on to-night is that you shall envisage this affair in its proper light.
+We have a long way to travel before counsel rises with his smug &lsquo;May it
+please you, me lud, and gentlemen of the jury.&rsquo; But, having persuaded you
+to agree that, willy nilly, Miss Doris is the hub of our little universe for
+the hour, I now swear you and this fire-eater in as assistants. There must be
+no more speeches, no punching of heads, very little love-making, and that by
+order&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has the postmaster&rsquo;s daughter a delectable sister, O Liliputian
+cop?&rdquo; demanded Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. Two of &rsquo;em would have caused a riot long since. Mr. Grant will
+do all, and more than all, necessary in that direction.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant leaned forward. He spoke very earnestly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want you to believe me when I tell you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that I
+never gave serious thought to the notion of marrying Miss Martin until such a
+possibility was suggested last night by that swab, Ingerman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, Ingerman! You kept a record of what he said, I gather?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, here it is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant rose, and went to a writing-desk with nests of drawers which stood
+against the wall on the left of the door. He never used it for its primary
+purpose. When the table was laid for meals, Minnie or her mother had orders to
+remove all papers and books to the top of the desk. The house contained no
+other living-room of size. The hall was spacious; a smoking den next the
+dining-room had degenerated into a receptacle of guns, fishing-rods,
+golf-clubs, Alpenstocks, skis and other such sporting accessories. The
+remainder of the ground-floor accommodation was given up to the Bateses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unlocking a drawer, Grant produced a notebook, which he handed to Furneaux. The
+detective laid it on the table. He was sitting with his back to the large
+window. Hart faced him. Grant&rsquo;s chair was between the two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By the way, as you&rsquo;re on your feet, Mr. Grant,&rdquo; said
+Furneaux, &ldquo;you might just show me exactly where you were standing when
+you saw the face at the window.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For the love of Mike, what&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; gurgled Hart.
+&ldquo;&lsquo;The face at the window&rsquo;; &lsquo;the postmaster&rsquo;s
+daughter.&rsquo; How many more catchy cross-heads will you bring into the
+story?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Poor Adelaide Melhuish undoubtedly came here on Monday night and looked
+in at me while I was at work,&rdquo; said Grant sadly. &ldquo;You know the
+history of my calf love three years ago, Wally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I ever forget it? You bored me stiff about it. Then, when the
+crash came, you walked me off my legs in the Upper Engadine. Ugh! That night on
+the Forno glacier. It gives me a chill to think of it now. Furneaux, pass the
+port. Your name is wrongly spelt. It should be <i>fourneau</i>, not Furneaux. A
+little oven. Hot stuff. Got me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My <i>dear</i> Hart, you flatter me,&rdquo; retorted the detective
+instantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How long am I to pose here?&rdquo; snapped Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sorry,&rdquo; said Furneaux. &ldquo;These interruptions are banal. Is
+that where you were?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I had my hand outstretched for a book. It&rsquo;s dark in this
+corner. When I want to find a book I light a candle, which is always placed on
+the ledge of the window for the purpose. The blind was not drawn that night. It
+seldom is. I had the book in my hand, and had found the required passage when I
+chanced to look at the window and saw <i>her</i> face.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mind reconstructing the scene. This lamp was on the table, I
+suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, pull up the blind, light your candle, and find the book. Act the
+whole incident, in fact.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant obeyed. He held the candlestick until he had picked out the particular
+volume; then he placed it in the recess of the window, and searched through the
+pages of the book.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux bent forward so as to watch the rehearsal and catch the effect of the
+light externally. The hour was not so late as when Adelaide Melhuish, or her
+ghost, gazed in through one of those narrow panes, but the night was dark
+enough to lend the necessary <i>vraisemblance</i>. Hart, deeply interested,
+looked on with rapt, eager eyes. For a full minute the tableau remained thus.
+Then, with a rapidity born of many a close &rsquo;scape in wild lands, Hart
+drew a revolver from a hip pocket, and fired at the window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He alone was in a position to see through all parts of it. Grant was still
+thumbing a small brown volume in the manner of one who knew that a certain
+passage would be found therein but was ignorant of its exact place in the text.
+Furneaux, intent on his every movement, had only a side-long view of the
+window, which, it will be remembered, formed a tiny rectangle in a thick wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The revolver was a heavy-caliber weapon, and the explosion blew out the lamp.
+The flame of the candle flickered, owing either to the passage of the bullet or
+the disturbance of the air. But it burnt steadily again within the fifth part
+of a second, and they all saw a starred hole in the center pane of glass of the
+second tier from the bottom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What fool&rsquo;s game are you playing?&rdquo; shrilled Furneaux,
+nevertheless active as a wildcat in his spring to the French window, there to
+snatch at the blind and turn the knob which controlled a lever bolt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Laying another ghost&mdash;one with whiskers,&rdquo; said Hart coolly.
+&ldquo;I got him, too, I think.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must be mad, mad!&rdquo; shrieked the detective, tearing open the
+window, and vanishing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For Heaven&rsquo;s sake, Wally, no more shooting!&rdquo; cried Grant,
+running after Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Minnie and her mother appeared at the dining-room door. Finding the place in
+semi-obscurity, and reeking with gunpowder, they screamed loudly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You Steynholme folk are all on the jump,&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;Cheer
+up, fair dames! Thunder relieves the atmosphere, you know, and one live
+cartridge is often more effective than an ocean of talk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bub-bub-but who&rsquo;s shot, sir?&rdquo; gasped Minnie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A ghost, a most scoundrelly apparition, with fearsome eyes, offensive
+whiskers, and a hat which is a base copy of mine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Owd Ben!&rdquo; sighed Mrs. Bates, collapsing straightway in a faint.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Luckily, Minnie caught her mother and broke her fall, because the housekeeper
+was large and solid, and might have been seriously injured otherwise. Hart was
+distressed by this development, but, being eminently a ready person in an
+emergency, he rose to the occasion by extracting the empty case from the
+revolver, and holding it to the poor woman&rsquo;s nostrils, while supporting
+her with an arm and a knee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is far more effective than burnt brown paper, Minnie,&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;Now, don&rsquo;t get excited, but mix some brandy and water, and
+we&rsquo;ll have your mother telling us who Owd Ben is, or was, before Hawk-eye
+comes back to disturb us. Judging by the noises I hear, he&rsquo;s busy
+outside.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s father!&rdquo; shrieked Minnie hysterically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good Lord! Has your father&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For an instant, Hart was nearly alarmed, but Grant&rsquo;s voice came
+authoritatively:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right, Bates. Let go, I tell you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Phew!&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;I was on the point of confusing your
+respected dad with Owd Ben ... That&rsquo;s it, ma! Sniff hard! As a cook
+you&rsquo;re worth your weight in gold, which is some cook.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Furneaux, seeing that no dead body was stretched on the strip of
+grass beneath the window, dashed into the shrubbery to the right, and was
+clutched in a mighty embrace by an older but much more powerful man in Bates,
+who had hurried from the front of the house on hearing the pistol-shot. Most
+fortunately, the gardener, deeming his vigil a needless one, had not armed
+himself with a stick, or the consequences might have been grave. As it was, no
+one except Hart had been vouchsafed sight or sound of the latest specter,
+which, however, had left a very convincing souvenir of its visit in the shape
+of a soft felt hat with two bullet holes through the crown.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux, quivering with silent wrath, soon abandoned the search when this
+<i>pièce de conviction</i> was found at the root of the Dorothy Perkins
+rose-tree. Seeing the lamp relighted, he peremptorily bade Grant and Bates come
+in with him. He closed the window, adjusted the blind again, and poured
+generous measures of port wine into two glasses. Handing one to Bates, he took
+the other himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Friend,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;some men have fame thrust upon them, but
+you have achieved it. To-night you pierced the heel of Achilles. Here&rsquo;s
+to you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dunno wot &rsquo;ee&rsquo;s saying mister, but &lsquo;good
+health&rsquo;,&rdquo; said Bates, swigging the wine with gusto.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, for your master&rsquo;s sake, not a word to a soul about this
+hubbub.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Right you are, sir! But that there pryin&rsquo; Robinson wur on t&rsquo;
+bridge five minutes since. And, by gum, here he is!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A determined knock and ring came at the front door. Minnie, helped by Hart, had
+just escorted Mrs. Bates to the kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let <i>me</i> go!&rdquo; said Furneaux, darting out into the hall. He
+opened the door, and thrust his face into the police-constable&rsquo;s,
+startling the latter considerably. Before Robinson could utter a syllable, the
+detective hissed a question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did anyone cross the bridge after that shot was fired?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nun&mdash;No, sir,&rdquo; stuttered the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You saw no one running along the road?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Saw nothing, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. Glad to find you&rsquo;re on the job. Don&rsquo;t let on you
+met me here. Good-night!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mighty is Scotland Yard with the provincial police. Robinson was back on his
+self-imposed beat before he well realized that he knew neither why nor by whom
+nor by what sort of weapon the commotion had been created. But he was quite
+sure the noise came from the garden front of Mr. Grant&rsquo;s house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That little hop-o&rsquo;-me-thumb thinks he&rsquo;s smart, dam
+smart,&rdquo; he communed angrily, &ldquo;but I&rsquo;ve taken a line of me
+own, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll stick to it, though the Yard sends down twenty
+men!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He heard footsteps coming down a paved footpath which ran like a white riband
+through the cobble-beaded width of the high-street, and withdrew swiftly to the
+shelter of a disused tannery adjoining the village end of the bridge. A cloaked
+female figure sped past. Though the night was rather dark for June, he had no
+difficulty in recognizing Doris Martin&rsquo;s graceful movements. No other
+girl in Steynholme walked like her. She was slim enough to dispense with tight
+corsets, and tall enough to wear low-heeled shoes, nor did she need to pinch
+her toes in order to gain the semblance of small feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After her went Robinson, keyed to exultation by this outcome of his
+watchfulness. She was going to <i>The Hollies</i>, of course. The road led to
+Knoleworth, and no young woman of her age in the village would dream of taking
+a lonely walk in the country at ten o&rsquo;clock at night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a man of his height and somewhat ponderous build, the policeman followed
+with real stealth. Thus, when she turned in at the gate, he was there by the
+time she had reached the front door. He heard her pull the bell. Curiously
+enough, to his thinking, Furneaux again appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Mr. Grant at home?&rdquo; he heard Doris say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Will you come in?&rdquo; replied the detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is he&mdash;is all well here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite, I assure you. But <i>do</i> come in. I&rsquo;ll escort you home.
+I&rsquo;m going to the inn in five minutes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris, after hesitating a little, entered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson crept on tiptoe over a stretch of gravel, and took to the shrubbery.
+It was high time, he thought, that the local constabulary learnt what was going
+on in that abode of mystery.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap09"></a>Chapter IX.<br />
+How Whom the Cap Fits&mdash;</h2>
+
+<p>
+Several minutes had elapsed between the two unexpected visits. During those
+minutes a somewhat acrimonious discussion broke out in the dining-room. Bates
+went to reassure his wife, and Hart sauntered back from the kitchen. He was
+received by Furneaux and Grant more in sorrow than in anger, a pose on their
+part which he blandly disregarded. He helped himself to the remains of the
+decanter of port.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The next point of vital interest in the narrative is to establish, by
+such evidence as is available, who Owd Ben is, or was,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I
+presume, since he had attained local celebrity as a ghost, he has passed over,
+as the spiritists say.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sit down!&rdquo; cried Furneaux savagely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart sat down, and began filling that portentous pipe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You fellows merely ran into each other outside, I take it,&rdquo; he
+said, apparently by way of a chatty remark. &ldquo;The crack of the pistol-shot
+and the supposed resurrection of Owd Ben threw Mrs. Bates temporarily off her
+balance, so I helped in reviving her. Between such a cook and such a ghost, who
+would hesitate?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Furneaux was really irritated, he swore in French.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>&ldquo;Nom d&rsquo;un bon petit homme gris!&rdquo;</i> he almost squealed,
+&ldquo;why did you whip out that infernal revolver? You spoiled everything,
+everything! Have you no sense in that picturesque head of yours? Your skull is
+big enough to hold brains, not soap-bubbles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did your French father marry a Jap?&rdquo; inquired Hart, with sudden
+interest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now you&rsquo;re insulting my mother,&rdquo; yelped the detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not I. You know nothing about the finest race of little women in the
+world, or you would not even imagine such rubbish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But why, why, didn&rsquo;t you tell me that you saw someone
+outside?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t have believed me. The goblin was disappearing. I had
+to shoot quick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why shoot at all?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sir, there are certain manifestations I object to on principle. What
+self-respecting ghost ever wore whiskers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This was no ghost. You shot the man&rsquo;s hat off.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then what the blazes are you growling at? Had I, in blood-curdling
+whisper, told you that once again there was a face at the window, you would
+have scoffed at me. The ill-looking scamp caught my eye after his first glance
+at Grant. He was mizzling when I fired. You would have sat there and argued
+about hypnosis, with our worthy author&rsquo;s skilled support. And there would
+have been no hat! I do an admirable bit of trick shooting, yet I am only
+reviled for my dexterity. Really, Charles Fran&ccedil;ois!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah! You remember, at last,&rdquo; and the detective smiled sourly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Parfaitement</i>! as they say in Paris, where you and I met once,
+though &rsquo;twas in a crowd. But <i>I</i> didn&rsquo;t steal the blessed
+pearl. I believe it was that blatant patriot, Domengo Suarez.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got <i>some</i> brains, then. Why not use them? Don&rsquo;t
+you see what a fix we three would have found ourselves in had you shot the
+man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, consider, Carlo mio! A spook with whiskers! What court would find
+me guilty? Let me produce the authentic record of Owd Ben, and I have no doubt
+but that the Lord Chief Justice himself would have potted his representative.
+He&rsquo;d be bound to confess it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux was cooling down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve shaken my confidence,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Unless I have
+your promise that you will never do such a thing again while in my company, I
+shall ban you from this inquiry with bell, book, and candle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. It&rsquo;s a bargain. Now let us ponder Exhibit A.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stretched a long arm over the table, and took the hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Put it on!&rdquo; commanded the detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart did so, and scowled frightfully. Furneaux bent forward and squinted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Notice the line of those bullet-holes,&rdquo; he said to Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Any man wearing that hat must have had his scalp ploughed up,&rdquo;
+said Grant instantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, we know that nothing of the kind happened. Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was perched on top of a wig,&rdquo; drawled Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux was slightly disappointed&mdash;there was no denying it. Being a vain
+little person, he liked to show off in a minor matter such as this.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he admitted, &ldquo;and what&rsquo;s the corollary?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That the wearer is probably a clean-shaven person with thin hair, a
+daring scoundrel who is well posted in the leading characteristics of Owd Ben.
+Charles le Petit, time is now ripe for details of that hairy goblin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where did you dig him up from, anyhow?&rdquo; said the detective
+testily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Bates recognized him from my vivid description.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Her husband can tell us the story,&rdquo; put in Grant.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll fetch him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had not moved ere the front door bell rang a second time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here is Owd Ben himself, I expect,&rdquo; said Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If it&rsquo;s that Robinson&mdash;&rdquo; growled Furneaux vexedly,
+hastening to forestall Minnie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But it was Doris Martin, and very pretty she looked as she entered the room,
+her high color being the joint outcome of a rapid walk and a very natural
+embarrassment at finding the frankly admiring eyes of a stranger fixed on her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t quite know why I&rsquo;m here,&rdquo; she said, with a
+nervous laugh, addressing Grant directly. &ldquo;You will think I am always
+gazing in the direction of <i>The Hollies</i>, but my room commands this house
+so fully that I cannot help seeing or hearing anything unusual. A few minutes
+ago I heard what I thought was a muffled gunshot. I looked out, and saw your
+window thrown open, though the light was dim, and only a candle was showing in
+the smaller window. I was alarmed, so came to inquire what had happened.
+You&rsquo;ll pardon me, I&rsquo;m sure.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Say you don&rsquo;t, Jack, I implore you, and let me apologize for
+you,&rdquo; pleaded Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doris, this is my good friend, Wally Hart,&rdquo; smiled Grant.
+&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you sit down? We have an exciting story for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Father will be horribly anxious if he knows I have gone out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nevertheless, there was sufficient spice of Mother Eve in Doris that she should
+take the proffered chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sorry to interrupt,&rdquo; broke in Furneaux. &ldquo;Did you meet P. C. 
+Robinson!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You came by way of the bridge?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no other way, unless one makes a detour by Bush Walk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective whirled round on Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What room is over this one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Minnie&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s in the kitchen, with her mother. See that she doesn&rsquo;t
+come upstairs while I&rsquo;m absent. You three keep on talking.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; said Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris, more self-possessed now, read the meaning of the quip promptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Grant has often spoken of you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You talk, and
+we&rsquo;ll listen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not so, divinity,&rdquo; came the retort. &ldquo;I may be a parrot, but
+I don&rsquo;t want my neck wrung when you&rsquo;ve gone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t encourage him, Doris,&rdquo; said Grant, &ldquo;or
+you&rsquo;ll be here till midnight.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If that&rsquo;s the best you can do, you had better leave the recital to
+me,&rdquo; laughed Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had stolen noiselessly to the bedroom overhead. The
+casement window was open&mdash;he had noted that fact while in the garden. He
+peeped out, and was just in time to see Robinson emulating a Sioux Indian on
+the war-path. The policeman removed his helmet, and was about to peer
+cautiously through the small window. The detective&rsquo;s blood ran cold. What
+if Hart discovered yet another ghost?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Robinson&mdash;go home!&rdquo; he said, in sepulchral tones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The constable positively jumped. He gaped on all sides in real terror. He, too,
+had heard hair-raising tales of Owd Ben.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go home!&rdquo; hissed Furneaux, leaning out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the other looked up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s you, sir!&rdquo; he gasped, sighing with relief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Man, you&rsquo;ve had the closest shave of your life! There&rsquo;s a
+fellow below there who shoots at sight.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I&rsquo;m on duty, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be in Kingdom Come if you gaze in at that window. Be
+off!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Robinson, you and I will quarrel if you don&rsquo;t do as I bid you. And
+that would be a pity, because I want to inform Mr. Fowler that he has a
+particularly smart man in Steynholme.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well, sir, if <i>you&rsquo;re</i> satisfied, I <i>must</i>
+be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And away went the eavesdropper, crushed, still tingling with that fear of the
+supernatural latent in every heart, but far from convinced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux tripped downstairs. The routing of Robinson had put him into a real
+good humor. He found the three in the dining-room gazing spell-bound at the
+felt hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, young lady, you&rsquo;re coming with me,&rdquo; he said, grinning
+amiably. &ldquo;The Sussex constabulary is quelled for the hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, Mr. Furneaux, I recognize that hat!&rdquo; said Doris, and it was
+notable that even Hart remained silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective looked at her strangely, but put no question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am almost sure it belongs to our local Amateur Dramatic
+Society,&rdquo; went on the girl. &ldquo;It was worn by Mr. Elkin last
+November. He played a burlesque of Svengali. I was Trilby, and caught a horrid
+cold from walking about without shoes or stockings.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t tell me any more,&rdquo; was Furneaux&rsquo;s surprising
+comment. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do the rest. But let me remark, Miss Martin, that I
+experienced great difficulty, not so long ago, in persuading friend Grant that
+you were the only important witness this case has provided thus far. Playing in
+a burlesque, were you? We&rsquo;ve been similarly engaged to-night. The farce
+must stop now. It makes way for grim tragedy. Not one word of to-night&rsquo;s
+events to anyone, please.... Are you ready?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris stood up. Hart thrust the negro&rsquo;s head at the detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fouché,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;do you honestly mean slinging your hook
+without making any inquiry as to Owd Ben?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, the ghost!&rdquo; said Doris eagerly. &ldquo;The Bateses would think
+of him, of course. An old farmer named Ben Robson used to live in this house
+about the time of Napoleon. He was suspected by the authorities to be an agent
+of the smugglers, and the story goes that his own daughter quarreled with him
+and betrayed him. He narrowly escaped hanging, owing to his age, I believe, and
+was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. At last he was released, being
+then a very old man, and he came straight here and strangled his daughter. It
+is quite a terrible story. He was found dead by her side. Then people
+remembered that she had spoken of someone scaring her by looking in through
+that small window some nights previously. Naturally, a ghost was soon
+manufactured. I really wonder why the man who rebuilt and renamed the place in
+the middle of last century didn&rsquo;t have the window removed
+altogether.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Glad I began the work of demolition tonight,&rdquo; said Hart, and, for
+once, his tone was serious.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why did you never tell me that scrap of history, Doris?&rdquo; inquired
+Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You liked the place so much that father and I agreed not to mar your
+enthusiasm by recalling an unpleasant legend,&rdquo; she said frankly.
+&ldquo;Not that what I&rsquo;ve related isn&rsquo;t true. The record appears in
+a Sussex Miscellany of those years.... Oh, my goodness, can it be eleven
+o&rsquo;clock!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The hall clock had no doubt on the point. Furneaux pocketed the written notes
+regarding Ingerman, and grabbed the hat off the table. Grant, for some reason,
+was aware that the detective repressed an obvious reference to the last
+occasion on which the girl had heard that same clock announce the hour.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux would allow no other escort. He and Doris made off immediately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they were gone, Hart stared fixedly at an empty decanter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dim recollection of your port, Jack, is that it was a wine of many
+virtues and few vices,&rdquo; he mused aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant took the hint, and went to a cellar. Returning, he found his crony poring
+over the book which, singularly enough, figured prominently on each occasion
+when the specter-producing window was markedly in evidence. Hart glanced up at
+his host, and nodded cheerfully at a dust-laden bottle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is there in &lsquo;The Talisman&rsquo; which needed so much
+research?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Some lines by Sir David Lindsay, quoted by Scott,&rdquo; was the answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are these they?&rdquo; And Hart read:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<i>One thing is certain in our Northern land;<br />
+Allow that birth, or valor, wealth, or wit,<br />
+Give each precedence to their possessor,<br />
+Envy, that follows on such eminence,<br />
+As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck&rsquo;s trace,<br />
+Shall pull them down each one.</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Love isn&rsquo;t mentioned. The fair Doris will be true. You&rsquo;re in
+luck, my boy. But somebody is out for your blood, and here is clear warning.
+Gee whizz! If I remain in Steynholme a week I shall become an occultist. What
+is a lyme-hound?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Lyme,&rsquo; or &lsquo;leam,&rsquo; is the old-time word for
+&lsquo;leash.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good!&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;That will appeal to Furneaux. Have him in
+to dinner every day, Jack. He&rsquo;s a tonic!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux, for some reason known only to himself, did not accompany Doris to the
+post office. Once they were across the bridge, and the broad village street,
+more green than roadway, was seen to be empty, he tapped her on the shoulder
+and said pleasantly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Run away home now, little girl. Sleep well, and don&rsquo;t worry. The
+tangle will right itself in time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Poor Mr. Grant is suffering,&rdquo; she ventured to murmur.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And a good thing, too. It will steady him. Hurry, please. I&rsquo;ll
+wait here till you are behind a locked door.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No one in Steynholme will hurt me,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You never can tell. I&rsquo;m not taking any chances to-night,
+however.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Doris sped swiftly up the hill. Arrived at her house, she waved a hand to
+the detective, who flourished his straw hat in response. A fine June night in
+England is never really dark, so the two could not only see each other but,
+when Doris disappeared, Furneaux, turning sharply on his heel, was able to make
+out the sudden straightening of a pucker in the blind of a ground-floor room in
+P. C.  Robinson&rsquo;s abode.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective walked straight there, and tapped lightly on the window.
+Robinson, after an affected delay, came to the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there?&rdquo; he demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As if you didn&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; laughed Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson turned a key, and looked out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s you, sir?&rdquo; he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll get tired of saying that before I quit Steynholme,&rdquo;
+said the detective. &ldquo;May I come in? No, don&rsquo;t show a light here.
+Let&rsquo;s chat in the back kitchen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was just going to have a bite of supper, sir,&rdquo; began Robinson
+apologetically. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s laid in the kitchen. On&rsquo;y bread and
+cheese an&rsquo; a glass of beer. Will you join me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With pleasure, if I hadn&rsquo;t stuffed myself at Grant&rsquo;s place.
+Nice fellow, Grant. Pity you and he don&rsquo;t seem to get on together. Of
+course, we policemen cannot allow friendship to interfere with duty, but,
+between you and me, Robinson&mdash;strictly in confidence&mdash;Grant had no
+more to do with the actual murder of Miss Melhuish than either of us
+two.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson had turned up a lamp, and hospitably installed Furneaux in his own
+easy-chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The &lsquo;actual murder,&rsquo; you said, sir?&rdquo; he repeated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. It was his presence at <i>The Hollies</i> which brought an
+infatuated woman there, and thus directly led to her death. That is all. Grant
+is telling the truth. I assure you, Robinson, I never allow myself to break
+bread with a man whom I may have to convict. So, I&rsquo;ll change my mind, and
+take a snack of your bread and cheese.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The village constable, by no means a fool, grinned at the implied tribute. What
+he did not appreciate so readily was the fact that his somewhat massive form
+was being twiddled round the detective&rsquo;s little finger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Right you are, sir,&rdquo; he cried cheerily. &ldquo;But, if Mr. Grant
+didn&rsquo;t kill Miss Melhuish, who did!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In all probability, the man who wore that hat,&rdquo; chirped Furneaux,
+taking a nondescript bundle from a coat pocket, and throwing it on the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson started. This June night was full of weird surprises. He set down a
+jug of beer with a bang&mdash;his intent being to fill two glasses already in
+position, from which circumstance even the least observant visitor might deduce
+a Mrs. Robinson, <i>en negligé</i>, hastily flown upstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He examined the hat as though it were a new form of bomb.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By gum!&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;Are these bullet-holes?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They are.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;An&rsquo; is this what someone fired at?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But how in thunder&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He checked himself in time. He did not want to admit that he had been watching
+the only recognized road to Grant&rsquo;s house all the evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite so!&rdquo; chortled Furneaux, with admirable misunderstanding.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re quick on the trigger, Robinson&mdash;almost as quick as
+that friend of Grant&rsquo;s who arrived by the 5.30 from London. You perceive
+at once that no ordinary head could have worn that hat without having its hair
+combed by the same bullet. It was stuck on to a thick wig. Now, tell me the
+man, or woman, in Steynholme, who wears a wig and a hat like that, and you and
+I will guess who killed Miss Melhuish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson suspected that, as he himself would have put it, his leg was being
+pulled rather violently. Furneaux read his face like a printed page. Chewing,
+much against his will, a mouthful of bread and cheese, he mumbled in solemn,
+broken tones:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Think&mdash;Robinson. Don&rsquo;t&mdash;answer&mdash;offhand.
+Has&mdash;anybody&mdash;ever worn&mdash;such things&mdash;in a play?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the policeman was convinced, galvanized by memory, as it were.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By gum!&rdquo; he cried again. &ldquo;Fred Elkin&mdash;in a charity
+performance last winter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux choked with excitement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A horsey-looking chap, on to-day&rsquo;s jury,&rdquo; he gurgled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The scoundrel!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No wonder he looked ill.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No wonder, indeed. How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill
+deeds done!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, sir&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson was flabbergasted. He could only murmur &ldquo;Fred Elkin!&rdquo; in a
+dazed way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have a drink,&rdquo; said Furneaux sympathetically. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+wet my whistle, too. Only half a glass, please. Now, we mustn&rsquo;t jump to
+conclusions. This Elkin looks a villain, but may not be one. That is to say,
+his villainy may be confined to dealings in nags. But you see, Robinson, what a
+queer turn this affair is taking. We must get rid of preconceived notions.
+Superintendent Fowler and you and I will go into this matter thoroughly
+to-morrow. Meanwhile, breathe not a syllable to a living soul. If I were you,
+I&rsquo;d let Mr. Grant understand that we regard him as rather outside the
+scope of our inquiry. This beer is very good for a country village. You know a
+good thing when you see it, I expect. Pity I don&rsquo;t smoke, or I&rsquo;d
+join you in a pipe. I must get a move on, now, or that fat landlord will be
+locking me out. Good night! Yes. I&rsquo;ll take the hat. <i>Good</i>
+night!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While walking up the hill Furneaux fanned himself with the straw hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One small bit of my brain is evidently a hereditary bequest from a
+good-natured ass!&rdquo; he communed. &ldquo;Here am I, Furneaux, plagued
+beyond endurance by a first-class murder case, and I must go and busy myself
+with the love affair of a postmaster&rsquo;s daughter and a feather-headed
+novelist!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Tomlin admitted him to the Hare and Hounds, he buttonholed the landlord,
+who, at that hour, was usually somewhat obfuscated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said the detective gravely, &ldquo;I am told that you
+Steynholme folk indulge occasionally in such frivolities as amateur
+theatricals?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Once in a way, sir. Once in a way. Afore I lock up the bar, will
+you&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not to-night. I&rsquo;ve mixed port and beer already, and I&rsquo;m only
+a little fellow. Now you, Mr. Tomlin, can mix anything, I fancy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve tried a few combinations in me time, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, about these theatrical performances&mdash;is there any scenery,
+costumes, &lsquo;props&rsquo; as actors call them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir. They&rsquo;re stored in the loft over the club-room&mdash;the
+room where the inquest wur held.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What, <i>here</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux&rsquo;s shrill cry scared Mr. Tomlin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Y-yes, sir,&rdquo; he stuttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that my candle?&rdquo; said the detective tragically.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m tired, dead beat. To-night, Mr. Tomlin, you are privileged to
+see the temporary wreck of a noble mind. God wot, &rsquo;tis a harrowing
+spectacle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux skipped nimbly upstairs. Tomlin proceeded to lock up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s good for trade,&rdquo; he mumbled, &ldquo;but I&rsquo;ll be
+glad when these &rsquo;ere Lunnon gents clears out. They worry me, they do.
+Fair gemme a turn, &rsquo;e did. A tec&rsquo;, indeed! He&rsquo;s nothin&rsquo;
+but a play-hactor hisself!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap10"></a>Chapter X.<br />
+The Case Against Grant</h2>
+
+<p>
+Next morning, after a long conference with Superintendent Fowler, from which,
+to his great chagrin, P. C. Robinson was excluded, Furneaux went to the post
+office, dispatched an apparently meaningless telegram to a code address, and
+exchanged a few orthodox remarks with Doris and her father about the continued
+fine weather. While he was yet at the counter, Ingerman crossed the road and
+entered the chemist&rsquo;s shop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me see,&rdquo; said the detective musingly, &ldquo;by committing a
+slight trespass on your left-hand neighbor&rsquo;s garden, can I reach the yard
+of the inn?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What the eye doesn&rsquo;t see the heart doesn&rsquo;t grieve
+over,&rdquo; smiled Doris. &ldquo;Mrs. Jefferson went to Knoleworth early
+to-day, and took her maid. By shopping at the stores there, they save their
+fares, and have a day out each week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I go that way, then?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Suppose you send that
+goggle-eyed skivvy of yours on an errand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was done, and Furneaux made the desired transit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, Tomlin, to whom the comings and goings of all and sundry formed the staple
+of the day&rsquo;s gossip, had seen the detective go out, but could &ldquo;take
+his sollum davy&rdquo; that the queer little man had not returned. He, too, had
+watched Ingerman going to Siddle&rsquo;s. Ten minutes later Elkin came down the
+hill, and headed for the same rendezvous. Five minutes more, and Hobbs, the
+butcher, joined the others. Tomlin was seething with curiosity, but there were
+some casual customers in the &ldquo;snug,&rdquo; so he could not abandon his
+post.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon, however, Ingerman led Elkin and Hobbs to the inn. Evidently, the
+&ldquo;financier&rdquo; had been making some small purchases. He was in high
+spirits. Ordering appetizers before the mid-day meal, he announced that he was
+returning to London that afternoon, but would be in Steynholme again for the
+adjourned inquest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No matter how my business suffers, I mean to see this affair
+through,&rdquo; he vowed. &ldquo;You gentlemen can pretty well guess my private
+convictions. You were good enough to give me your friendship, so I spoke as
+openly as one dares when no charge has actually been laid against any
+particular person.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; said Elkin, with whom sunshine seemed to disagree, because he
+looked miserably ill. &ldquo;We know what you mean, Mr. Ingerman. If the police
+were half sharp they&rsquo;d have nabbed their man before this ... Did you put
+any water in this gin, Tomlin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Water?&rdquo; wheezed Tomlin indignantly. <i>&ldquo;Water?&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, no offense. I can&rsquo;t taste anything. I believe I could
+swallow dope and not feel it on my tongue.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You do look bad, an&rsquo; no mistake, Fred,&rdquo; agreed Hobbs.
+&ldquo;Are you vettin&rsquo; yerself? Don&rsquo;t. Every man to his trade, sez
+I. Give Dr. Foxton a call.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m taking his medicine regular. Perhaps I need a change.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Ave a week-end in Lunnon,&rdquo; said Hobbs, with a broad wink.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Change of medicine, I mean. I&rsquo;m not leaving Steynholme till things
+make a move. My next trip to London will be my honeymoon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You look like a honeymooner, I don&rsquo;t think,&rdquo; guffawed Hobbs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t laugh if I told <i>you</i> what you really look
+like,&rdquo; cried Elkin angrily. &ldquo;Bet you a level fiver I&rsquo;m
+married this year. Now, put up or shut up!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux peeped in, through a door, always open, which led to the stairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can I have my account, Mr. Tomlin?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+going to town by the next train.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t mean to say, Mr. Furneaux, that you are abandoning the
+case so soon?&rdquo; broke in Ingerman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did I say that?&rdquo; inquired the detective meekly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. One can&rsquo;t help drawing inferences occasionally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Great mistake. Look at our worthy landlord. He&rsquo;s been drawing
+inferences as well as corks, and he&rsquo;s beat to the world.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tomlin was, indeed, gazing at his smaller guest open-mouthed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;S&rsquo;elp me!&rdquo; he gurgled. &ldquo;I could ha&rsquo;
+sworn&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bad habit,&rdquo; and Furneaux crooked a waggish forefinger at him.
+&ldquo;Even the wisest among us may err. Last night, for instance, I blundered.
+I really fancied I had a clew to the Steynholme murderer. And where do you
+think it ended? In the loft of your club-room, Mr. Tomlin. In a box of old
+clothes at that. Silly, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wot! Them amatoor play-hactin&rsquo; things?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exactly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin grunted, though intending to laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not so sharp for a London &rsquo;tec, I must say,&rdquo; he cried.
+&ldquo;Why, those props have been there since before Christmas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I know now,&rdquo; was the downcast reply. &ldquo;Twelve hours ago
+I thought differently. Didn&rsquo;t I, Mr. Tomlin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tomlin tried hard to look knowing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, is that wot you wur drivin&rsquo; at?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Dang
+me, mister, I could soon ha&rsquo; put you right &rsquo;ad you tole me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, well. Can&rsquo;t be helped. I may do better in London. What do
+<i>you</i> say, Mr. Ingerman? The City is the real mint of money and crime. Who
+knows but that a stroll through Cornhill may have some bearing on the
+Steynholme mystery?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May be you&rsquo;d get a bit nearer if you took a stroll along the
+Knoleworth Road, and not so very far, either,&rdquo; guffawed Elkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who knows?&rdquo; repeated Furneaux sadly. &ldquo;Good-day, gentlemen.
+Some of this merry party will meet again, of course, if not here, at the
+Assizes. Don&rsquo;t forget my bill. Mr. Tomlin. By the way, one egg at
+breakfast had seen vicissitudes. It shouldn&rsquo;t be rated too highly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m traveling by your train,&rdquo; cried Ingerman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I understood,&rdquo; said Furneaux over his shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was silence for a moment after he had gone. Ingerman looked thoughtful,
+even puzzled. He was casting back in his mind to discover just how and when the
+detective &ldquo;understood&rdquo; that his departure was imminent, since he
+himself had only arrived at a decision after leaving the chemist&rsquo;s.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That chap is no good,&rdquo; announced Elkin. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll back old
+Robinson against him any day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sh-s-sh! He may &rsquo;ear you,&rdquo; muttered the landlord.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t care if he does. Cornhill! What the blazes has Cornhill to
+do with the murder at <i>The Hollies</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman appreciated the value of that concluding phrase. Elkin had used it
+once before in Siddle&rsquo;s shop, and was quietly reproved by the chemist for
+his outspokenness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman, however, did not inform the company that his office lay in an alley
+off Cornhill. He elected to rub in Elkin&rsquo;s words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Siddle seemed to object to <i>The Hollies</i> being mentioned as the
+scene of the crime,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I wonder why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because he&rsquo;s an old molly-coddle,&rdquo; snapped the horse-dealer.
+&ldquo;Thinks everyone is like himself, a regular slow-coach.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tomlin closed the door into the passage, closed it for the first time in living
+memory, whereat Furneaux, on the landing above, grinned sardonically, and ran
+downstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wot&rsquo;s this about them amatoor clo&rsquo;es?&rdquo; he inquired
+portentously. &ldquo;Oo &rsquo;as the key of that box?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>I</i> have,&rdquo; said Elkin. &ldquo;I locked it after the last
+performance, and, unless you&rsquo;ve been up to any monkey tricks, Tomlin, the
+duds are there yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re bitin&rsquo; me &rsquo;ead off all the mornin&rsquo;,
+Fred,&rdquo; protested the aggrieved landlord. &ldquo;Fust, the gin was wrong,
+an&rsquo; now I&rsquo;m supposed to &rsquo;ave rummidged yur box. Wot
+for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux popped in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My bill ready?&rdquo; he squeaked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir. The train&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Leaves at two, but I&rsquo;m driving to Knoleworth with Superintendent
+Fowler.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The door closed behind him. Tomlin shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Box! Jack-in-the-box, I reckon,&rdquo; he said darkly, turning to a
+dog-eared ledger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Neither at Knoleworth nor Victoria did Ingerman catch sight of the detective,
+though he was anxious either to make the journey in the company of the
+representative of Scotland Yard or arrange an early appointment with him. True,
+he was not inclined to place the strange-mannered little man on the same high
+plane as that suggested by certain London journalists to whom he had spoken.
+But he wanted to win the confidence of &ldquo;the Yard&rdquo; in connection
+with this case, and the belief that he was being avoided was nettling. He found
+consolation, of a sort, in the illustrated papers. One especially contained two
+pages of local pictures. &ldquo;Mr. Grant addressing the crowd,&rdquo; with
+full text, was very effective, while there were admirable studies of <i>The
+Hollies</i> and the &ldquo;scene of the tragedy.&rdquo; His own portrait was
+not flattering. The sun had etched his Mephistophelian features rather sharply,
+whereas Grant looked a very fine fellow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman would have been more than surprised were he privileged to overhear a
+conversation which began and ended before he reached his flat in North
+Kensington.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux, who had jumped into the fore part of the train at Knoleworth, and was
+out in a jiffy at Victoria, handed his bag to a station detective, and turned
+into Vauxhall Bridge Road, one of the quietest of London&rsquo;s main
+thoroughfares. There he met a big man, dressed in tweeds, whose manifest
+concern at the moment seemed to center in a rather bad wrapping of a very good
+cigar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah! How goes it, Charles?&rdquo; cried the big man heartily, affecting
+to be aware of Furneaux&rsquo;s presence when the latter had walked nearly a
+hundred yards down a comparatively deserted street.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s wrong with the toofa?&rdquo; inquired Furneaux testily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My own carelessness. Stupid things, bands on cigars.... Well,
+what&rsquo;s the rush?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a train to Steynholme at five o&rsquo;clock. I want you to
+take hold. I must have help. Like your cigar, this case has come
+unstuck.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. James Leander Winter, Chief Inspector under the Criminal Investigation
+Department, whistled softly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tut, tut!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;One can never trust the newspapers.
+Reading this morning&rsquo;s particulars, it looked dead easy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me how it struck you. Sometimes the uninformed brain is vouchsafed
+a gleam of unconscious genius.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter appeared to be devoting his mind to circumventing the vagaries of a
+fragile tobacco-leaf. He was a man of powerful build, over forty, heavy but
+active, deep-chested, round-headed, with bulging blue eyes which radiated
+kindliness and strength of character. The press photographer described him
+accurately to Grant. The average Londoner would have taken him for a county
+gentleman on a visit to the Agricultural Show at Islington, with a morning at
+Tattersall&rsquo;s as a variant. Yet, Sam Weller&rsquo;s extensive and peculiar
+knowledge of London compared with his as a freshman&rsquo;s with a don&rsquo;s
+of a university. It would be hard to assess, in coin of the realm, the value of
+the political and social secrets stowed away in that big head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;First, I must put a question or two,&rdquo; he said, smiling at a baby
+which cooed at him from the shaded depths of a passing perambulator. &ldquo;Is
+there another woman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, the postmaster&rsquo;s daughter, Doris Martin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shy, pretty little bird, of course?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Everything that is good and beautiful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Grant a Lothario?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Excellent chap. Quarter of an hour before the murder he was giving Doris
+a lesson in astronomy in the garden of <i>The Hollies</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never heard it called <i>that</i> before.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This time the statement happens to be strictly accurate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Honest Injun?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure of it. If anything, the death of Adelaide Melhuish
+cleared the scales off their eyes. Those two have never kissed or
+squeezed&mdash;yet. They&rsquo;ll be starting quite soon now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How old is Doris?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nineteen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But a really good-looking girl of nineteen must have had admirers before
+Grant went to the village.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She had, and has. Having educated herself out of the rut, however, she
+left many runners at the post. One is persistent&mdash;a youngish horse-coper
+named Elkin. Adelaide Melhuish probably saw her with Grant. Neither Doris nor
+Grant knew that Adelaide Melhuish, as such, was in Steynholme. That is to say,
+the girl had seen Miss Melhuish in the post office, and recognized her as a
+famous actress, but that is all. And now I shan&rsquo;t tell you any more, or
+you&rsquo;ll know all that I know, which is too much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cigar was behaving itself at last, having burnt down to the fracture, so
+Winter&rsquo;s thoughts could be given exclusively to the less important matter
+of the Steynholme affair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To begin with,&rdquo; he said instantly. &ldquo;Ingerman can establish a
+cast-iron alibi.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I imagined. But he&rsquo;s a bad lot. I throw in that item
+gratuitously.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The oddly-assorted pair walked in silence until Vauxhall Bridge was in sight.
+Winter pulled out a watch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What time did you say my train left Victoria?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Plenty of time yet to make your guess and listen to further
+details,&rdquo; scoffed Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Frankly, I give it up. But, if I must share in the hunt, I tell you now
+that, metaphorically speaking, I shall cling to the postmaster&rsquo;s daughter
+till torn away by sheer force of evidence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux dug his colleague in the ribs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the effect of constant association with me, James,&rdquo;
+he cackled gleefully. &ldquo;Ten years ago you would have pounced on Elkin.
+You&rsquo;ve hit it! I&rsquo;m a prood mon the day. The pupil is equaling the
+master.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You little rat, I had hanged my first murderer before you knew the
+meaning of <i>habeas corpus</i>! Let&rsquo;s turn now, and get to
+business.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Few Treasury barristers, leading for the Crown, could have marshaled the facts
+with such lucidity and fairness as Furneaux during that saunter to Victoria
+Station.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice,&rdquo; said Othello to
+Lodovico, and these Scotland Yard men, charged with so great a responsibility,
+never forgot the great-hearted Moor&rsquo;s advice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Winter took his seat in the train at five o&rsquo;clock he could have
+drawn a plan of Steynholme, which he had never seen, and marked thereon the
+exact position of each house mentioned in this record. Moreover, he was
+acquainted with the chief characters by sight, as it were. And, finally, he and
+Furneaux had arranged a plan of campaign.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux refreshed a jaded intellect by an evening at the opera. Next morning,
+at eleven o&rsquo;clock, he was inquiring for Mr. Ingerman at an office in a
+certain alley off Cornhill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A smart youth interposed a printed formula between the visitor and a door
+marked &ldquo;Private.&rdquo; Furneaux wrote his name, and put
+&ldquo;Steynholme&rdquo; in the space reserved for &ldquo;business.&rdquo; He
+was admitted at once. Mr. Ingerman, apparently, was immersed in a pile of
+letters, but he swept them all aside, and greeted the caller affably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Glad to see you, Mr. Furneaux,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I missed you on
+the train yesterday. Did you&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nice quiet place you&rsquo;ve got here, Mr. Ingerman,&rdquo; interrupted
+the detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. But, as I was about to&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Artistically furnished, too,&rdquo; went on Furneaux dreamily.
+&ldquo;Oak, self-toned carpets and rugs, restful decorations. Those etchings,
+also, show taste in the selection. &lsquo;The Embankment&mdash;by Night.&rsquo;
+Fitting sequel to &lsquo;The City&mdash;by Day.&rsquo; I&rsquo;m a child in
+such matters, but, &rsquo;pon my honor, if tempted to pour out my hard-earned
+savings into the lap of a City magnate, I would disgorge here more readily than
+in some saloon-bar of finance, where the new mahogany glistens, and the
+typewriters click like machine-guns.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman was nettled. He glanced at his correspondence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have a somewhat far-fetched notion of my position,&rdquo; he said,
+with a staccato quality in his velvet voice. &ldquo;I am not a magnate, and I
+toil here to make, not to lose, money for my clients.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A noble ideal. Forgive me if my rhapsody took the wrong line.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I&rsquo;m sure you will forgive me if I now put the question which
+leads to the probable cause of your visit. Did you travel by the two
+o&rsquo;clock train yesterday?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I avoided you purposely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I ask, why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My mind was weary. I wanted my wits about me when I tackled you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman smiled, and leaned back, resting both elbows on the arms of the chair,
+and bringing the tips of his fingers together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Proceed,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You prefer that I should drag out a statement piecemeal rather than
+receive it <i>en bloc</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Put it that way, if you like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall even enjoy it. To clear the ground, are you the Isidor G.
+Ingerman who exploited the A1 Mine in Abyssinia?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman&rsquo;s finger-tips whitened under a sudden pressure, but his voice
+remained calm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;An unfortunate episode,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And the Aegean Transport Company, Limited?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Into which I was inveigled by Greeks. But why this history of ruined
+enterprises?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a sort of schooling. I have noticed that the smartest counsel
+invariably begin with a few fireworks in order to induce the proper frame of
+mind in a witness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does that mean that you want me to blurt out bitter and prejudiced
+accusations against Mr. Grant?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want to hear what you have to say about the death of your wife. You
+forced the cross-examining role on me. I&rsquo;m doing my best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman kept silent during many seconds. When he spoke, his cultured voice was
+suave as ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps it was my fault, Mr. Furneaux,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You gave
+me a strong hint. I should have taken it, and we might have started an
+interesting chat on pleasanter lines. So, with apologies for my insistence
+about the train, I make a fresh start. I believe firmly that Grant was directly
+concerned in the murder. And I shall justify my belief. Within the past
+fortnight a <i>rapprochement</i> between my wife and myself became possible. It
+was spoken of, even reduced to the written word. I have her letters. Mine
+should be found among her belongings. May I take it that they <i>have</i> been
+found?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah. So far, so good. My poor wife reached the parting of the ways. She
+saw that her life was becoming an empty husk. I think the theater was palling
+on her. But I see now that she still cherished the dream of winning the man she
+loved&mdash;not me, her husband, but that handsome dilettante, Grant. I take
+it, therefore, that she went to Steynholme to determine whether or not the
+glamour of the past was really dead. Unfortunately, she witnessed certain
+idyllic passages between her one-time lover and a charming village girl.
+Imagine the effect of this discovery on one of the artistic temperament.
+&lsquo;Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,&rsquo; and my unhappy wife would
+lash herself into an emotional frenzy. She would tear a passion to rags. Her
+very training on the stage would come to her aid in scathing
+words&mdash;perhaps threats. If Grant remained cold to her appeal the village
+beauty should be made to suffer. Then <i>he</i> would flame into storm. And so
+the upas-tree of tragedy spread its poisonous shade until reason fled, and some
+demon whispered, &lsquo;Kill!&rsquo; I find no flaw in my theory. It explains
+the inexplicable. Now, how does it strike you, Mr. Furneaux?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As piffle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that so? I have the advantage, of course, in knowing my wife&rsquo;s
+peculiarities. And I have made some study of Grant. He admits already that he
+is under suspicion. Why, if he is innocent? Mind you, I pay little heed to the
+crude disposal of the body. Horace, I think, has a truism that art lies in
+concealing art. My wife&rsquo;s presence in Steynholme was no secret. She would
+have been missed from the inn. Search would be made. The murder must be
+revealed sooner or later, and the murderer himself was aware that by no
+twisting or turning could his name escape association with that of his victim.
+Why not face the music at once? he would argue. The very simplicity of the
+means adopted to fasten a kind of responsibility on him might prove his best
+safeguard. Even now I doubt whether any jury will find him guilty on the
+evidence as it stands, but my duty to my unhappy wife demands that I shall
+strengthen the arm of justice by every legitimate means in my power.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that your case, Mr. Ingerman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At present, yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It assumes that the police adopt your view.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not necessarily. The police must do their work without fear or favor.
+But Grant can be committed for trial on a coroner&rsquo;s warrant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Grant is certainly in an awkward place.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only a little while ago you dismissed my theory of the crime as airy
+persiflage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That was before you quoted Horace. I have a great respect for Horace.
+His ode to the New Year is a gem.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would you care to see my wife&rsquo;s recent letters?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They are at my flat, I&rsquo;ll send you copies. The originals are
+always at your disposal for comparison, of course. Now may I, without offense,
+ask a question?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it wise that the emissary of Scotland Yard should leave
+Steynholme?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But didn&rsquo;t I tell you that I might obtain light in the
+neighborhood of Cornhill?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True. I could have given you the facts in Steynholme.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m a greater believer in what the theater people call
+&lsquo;atmosphere.&rsquo; Some of your facts, Mr. Ingerman, remind me of an
+expert&rsquo;s report in a mining prospectus. When tested by cyanide of
+potassium the gold in the ore often changes into iron pyrites. But don&rsquo;t
+hug the delusion that I shall neglect Steynholme. The murderer is there, not in
+London, and, unless my intellect is failing, he will be tried for his life at
+the next Lewes Assizes. Meanwhile, may I give you a bit of advice?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By all means.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Employ a sound lawyer, one who will avoid needless mud-slinging. Good
+day! Send those letters to the Yard by to-night&rsquo;s post if
+practicable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It shall be done.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the door closed on Furneaux, Ingerman smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve given that little Frenchman furiously to think,&rdquo; he
+murmured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the &ldquo;little Frenchman&rdquo; was smiling, too. He had elaborated the
+scheme already discussed with Winter. It was much to his liking, though
+unorthodox, rather crack-brained, more than risky, and altogether opposed to
+the instructions of the Police Manual. Each of these drawbacks was a
+commendation to Furneaux. In fact, the Steynholme mystery had taken quite a
+favorable turn during that talk with Ingerman.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap11"></a>Chapter XI.<br />
+P. C. Robinson Takes Another Line</h2>
+
+<p>
+About the time Furneaux was whisked past <i>The Hollies</i> in Superintendent
+Fowler&rsquo;s dogcart, Grant and Hart were finishing luncheon, and planning a
+long walk to the sea. Grant would dearly have liked to secure Doris&rsquo;s
+company, but good taste forbade that he should even invite her to share the
+ramble. Thus, the death of a woman with whom he had not exchanged a word during
+three years had already set up a barrier between Doris and himself. Though
+impalpable, it was effective. It could neither be climbed nor avoided. Quiet
+little Steynholme had suddenly become a rigid censor of morals and etiquette.
+Until this evil thing was annihilated by slow process of law, Doris and he
+might meet only by chance and never remain long together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the two were ready to start, Hart elected to dispense with his South
+American sombrero.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sensitive to ridicule,&rdquo; he professed. &ldquo;The village
+urchins will christen me &lsquo;Owd Ben,&rsquo; and the old gentleman&rsquo;s
+character was such that I would feel hurt. So, for to-day, I&rsquo;ll join the
+no hat brigade.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder if we&rsquo;ll meet Furneaux,&rdquo; said Grant, selecting a
+walking-stick. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s odd that we should have seen nothing of him
+this morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It would be still more odd if we had, remembering the precautions he
+took not to be observed coming here last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, that&rsquo;s so. I forgot to ask the reason. There was one, I
+suppose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of the best. That little man is a live wire of intelligence. He&rsquo;s
+wasted on Scotland Yard. He ought to be a dramatist or an ambassador.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quaint alternatives, those.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all. Each profession demands brains, and is at its best in
+coining cute phrases. I&rsquo;ve met scores of both tribes, and they&rsquo;re
+like as peas in a pod.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A bell rang.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the front door,&rdquo; said Grant. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
+Furneaux himself, I hope.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the visitor was P. C.  Robinson, who actually smiled and saluted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Glad I&rsquo;ve caught you before you went out, sir,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Mr. Furneaux asked me to tell you he had to hurry back to London. I was
+also to mention that he had got the whiskers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What whiskers? Whose whiskers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all he said, sir&mdash;he&rsquo;d got the whiskers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Owd Ben&rsquo;s whiskers, of course. How dense you are,
+Jack!&rdquo; put in Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, this was the first Robinson had heard of whiskers in connection with the
+crime. He remembered Elkin&rsquo;s make-up as Svengali, of course, and could
+have kicked himself for not associating earlier a set of sable whiskers with
+the black wig and the bullet-torn hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, Owd Ben! What figure did that redoubtable ghost cut in the mystery?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There are certain <i>lacunae</i> in your otherwise vigorous and
+thrilling story, constable,&rdquo; went on Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very likely, sir,&rdquo; agreed Robinson, much to the surprise of his
+hearers. He had not the slightest notion what a <i>lacuna</i>, or its plural,
+signified. He was only adopting Furneaux&rsquo;s advice, and trying to be
+civil.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, you see that, do you?&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;Well, fill &rsquo;em
+in. When, where, and how did the midget sleuth obtain the specter&rsquo;s hairy
+adornments?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The policeman, whose wits were thoroughly on the alert, realized that he had
+scored a point, though he knew not how.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He did not tell me, sir,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a rum
+business, that&rsquo;s what it is, no matter what way you look at it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, agreeably aware of the village constable&rsquo;s change of front,
+accepted the olive branch readily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;re just going for a walk,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;If you have
+ten minutes to spare, Mrs. Bates will find you some luncheon, I have no
+doubt.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sir, meals are a trifle irregular during a busy time like
+this,&rdquo; admitted Robinson, feeling that his luck was in, because tongues
+would surely be loosened in the kitchen to an official guest introduced by the
+master of the establishment. He was right. No member of the Bates family
+dreamed of reticence, now that the household was restored to favor with
+&ldquo;the force.&rdquo; Before Robinson departed, he was full of information
+and good food.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What more natural, then, an hour later, than that he should contrive to meet
+Elkin as the horse-dealer was taking home a lively two-year-old pony he had
+been &ldquo;lungeing&rdquo; on a strip of common opposite his house?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Each was eager to question the other, but Elkin opened fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything fresh?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You have a fair course now,
+Robinson. That little London &rsquo;tec has bunked home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has he?&rdquo; In the language of the ring, Robinson thought fit to spar
+for an opening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, none of your kiddin&rsquo;,&rdquo; said Elkin, stroking the nervous
+colt&rsquo;s neck. &ldquo;You know he has. You don&rsquo;t miss much
+that&rsquo;s going on. Bet you half a thick &rsquo;un you&rsquo;d have put
+someone in clink before this if the murder at <i>The Hollies</i> had been left
+in your hands.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s as may be, Mr. Elkin. But this affair seems to have gripped
+you for fair. You look thoroughly run down. Sleepin&rsquo; badly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rotten! Hardly got a wink last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You shouldn&rsquo;t be out so late. Why, on&rsquo;y a week ago you were
+in bed regular at 10.15.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That inquest broke up the day yesterday, so I was delayed at
+Knoleworth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What time did you reach home?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dashed if I know. After twelve before I was in bed. By the way,
+what&rsquo;s this about things missing from a box owned by the Amateur Dramatic
+Society? That silly josser of a detective&mdash;What&rsquo;s his name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Furneaux,&rdquo; said Robinson, who was clever enough not to appear too
+secretive, and was thanking his stars that Elkin had introduced the very topic
+he wanted to discuss.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay, Furneaux. I remember now. He worried old Tomlin last night about
+that box, which is kept in the loft over the club-room. So Tomlin and I, and
+Hobbs, just to satisfy ourselves, went up there as soon as Furneaux left
+to-day. And, what do you think? The box was unlocked, though I locked it
+myself, and have the key; and a hat and wig and whiskers I wore when we played
+a skit on &lsquo;Trilby&rsquo; were missing. If that isn&rsquo;t a clew, what
+is?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A clew!&rdquo; repeated the bewildered Robinson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I&rsquo;m telling you, though I kept dark before the other fellows.
+Didn&rsquo;t you say Grant&rsquo;s cheek was bleeding on Tuesday
+morning?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, the whiskers were held on by wires that slip over the ears. One
+wire was sharp as a needle. I know, because it stuck into a finger more than
+once. Why shouldn&rsquo;t it scratch a man&rsquo;s cheek, and the cut open
+again next morning?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By jing, you&rsquo;ve got your knife into Mr. Grant, an&rsquo; no
+mistake,&rdquo; commented Robinson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You yourself gave him a nasty jab at the inquest,&rdquo; sneered Elkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was just tellin&rsquo; the facts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So am I. I think you ought to know about that hat and the other things.
+I would recognize them anywhere. Furneaux had something up his sleeve, too, or
+he wouldn&rsquo;t have pumped Tomlin... Woa, boy! So long, Robinson! I must put
+this youngster into his stall.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wait, Mr. Elkin,&rdquo; said Robinson solemnly. &ldquo;I want
+to have a word with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The policeman was glad of the respite. He needed time to collect his thoughts.
+The story of the dinner-party and its excitement disposed completely of
+Elkin&rsquo;s malicious theory with regard to Grant, but, since the
+horse-dealer was minded to be communicative, it would be well to encourage him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come in, and have a drink,&rdquo; said Elkin, when the colt had been
+stabled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, thanks&mdash;not when I&rsquo;m on duty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin raised his eyebrows sarcastically. He could not possibly guess that
+Robinson was adopting Furneaux&rsquo;s pose of never accepting hospitality from
+a man whom he might have to arrest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, blaze away. I&rsquo;m ready.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The younger man leaned against a gate. He looked ill and physically worn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your business has kept you out late of a night recently, you say, Mr.
+Elkin,&rdquo; began the other, speaking as casually as he could contrive.
+&ldquo;Now, it might help a lot if you can call to mind anyone you met on the
+roads at ten or eleven o&rsquo;clock. For instance, last night&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin laughed in a queer, croaking way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Last night my mare brought me home. I was decidedly sprung, Robinson.
+Glad you didn&rsquo;t spot me, or there might have been trouble. What between
+the inquest, an&rsquo; no food, an&rsquo; more than a few drinks at Knoleworth,
+I&rsquo;d have passed Owd Ben himself without seeing him, though I believe I
+did squint in at <i>The Hollies</i> as I went by.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What time would that be?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, soon after eleven.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sure.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t be certain to ten minutes or so. The pubs hadn&rsquo;t
+closed when I left Knoleworth. What the devil does it matter, anyhow?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It mattered a great deal. Robinson could testify that Elkin did not cross
+Steynholme bridge &ldquo;soon after eleven.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing much,&rdquo; was the answer. &ldquo;You see, I&rsquo;m anxious
+to find out who might be stirring at that hour, an&rsquo; you know everybody
+for miles around. I&rsquo;d like to fix your journey by the clock, if I
+could.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dash it all, man, I was full to the eyes. There! You have it
+straight.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Were you out on Monday night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The night of the murder?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I left the Hare and Hounds at ten, and came straight home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who was there with you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The usual crowd&mdash;Hobbs, and Siddle, and Bob Smith, and a commercial
+traveler. Siddle went at half past nine, but he generally does.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You met no one on the road?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The monosyllable seemed to lack Elkin&rsquo;s usual confidence. It sounded as
+if he had been making up his mind what to say, yet faltered at the last moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson ruminated darkly. As a matter of fact, long after eleven o&rsquo;clock
+on that fateful night, he himself had seen Elkin walking homeward. He was well
+aware that the licensing hours were not strictly observed by the Hare and
+Hounds when &ldquo;commercial gentlemen&rdquo; were in residence. Closing time
+was ten o&rsquo;clock, but the &ldquo;commercials,&rdquo; being cheery souls,
+became nominal hosts on such occasions, and their guests were in no hurry to
+depart. Robinson saw that he had probably jumped to a conclusion, an acrobatic
+feat of reasoning which Furneaux had specifically warned him against. At any
+rate, he resolved now to leave well enough alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, we don&rsquo;t seem to get any forrarder,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;You ought to take more care of your health, Mr. Elkin. You&rsquo;re a
+changed man these days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be all right when this murder is off our chests, Robinson.
+You won&rsquo;t have a tiddley? Right-o! So long!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson walked slowly toward Steynholme. At a turn in the road he halted near
+the footpath which led down the wooded cliff and across the river to Bush Walk.
+He surveyed the locality with a reflective frown. Then, there being no one
+about, he made some notes of the chat with Elkin. The man&rsquo;s candor and
+his misstatements were equally puzzling. None knew better than the policeman
+that the vital discrepancy of fully an hour and a half on the Monday night
+would be difficult to clear up. Tomlin, of course, would have no recollection
+of events after ten o&rsquo;clock, but the commercial traveler, who could be
+traced, might be induced to tell the truth if assured that the police needed
+the information solely for purposes in connection with their inquiry into the
+murder. That man must be found. His testimony should have an immense
+significance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That evening, shortly before seven o&rsquo;clock, a stalwart,
+prosperous-looking gentleman in tweeds &ldquo;descended&rdquo; from the London
+express at Knoleworth. The local train for Steynholme stood in a bay on the
+opposite platform, and this passenger in particular was making for it when he
+nearly collided with another man, younger, thinner, bespectacled, who hailed
+him with delight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You, too? Good egg!&rdquo; was the cry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The gentleman thus addressed did not seem to relish this geniality.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where the deuce are you off to?&rdquo; he demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To Steynholme&mdash;same as you, of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here, Peters, a word in your ear. If you know me during the next
+few days, you&rsquo;ll never know me again. I suppose you&rsquo;ll be staying
+at the local inn&mdash;there&rsquo;s only one of any repute in the
+place?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s so. I&rsquo;ve got you. May I take it that you will
+reciprocate when the time comes?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have I ever failed you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. We meet as strangers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters bustled off. He had the reputation of being the smartest &ldquo;writer
+up&rdquo; in London of mystery cases. The Steynholme affair had interested both
+him and a shrewd news-editor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The pair arrived at the Hare and Hounds within a few minutes of each other. The
+big man registered as &ldquo;Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina.&rdquo; Peters ordered
+a chop, and went off at once to interview the local policeman. Mr. Franklin
+took more pains over the prospective meal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you a nice chicken?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, Mr. Tomlin had a veritable spring chicken in the larder at that moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And do you think your cook could provide a <i>tourne-dos</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A what-a, sir?&rdquo; wheezed Tomlin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The visitor explained. He liked variety, he said. Half the chicken might be
+deviled for breakfast. The two dishes, with plain boiled potatoes and French
+beans, would suit him admirably. He was sorry he dared not try Tomlin&rsquo;s
+excellent claret, but a dominating doctor had put him on the water-cart. In
+effect, Mr. Franklin impressed the landlord as a man of taste and ample means.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters had gobbled his chop before Franklin entered the dining-room, but they
+met later in the snug, where Elkin was being chaffed by Hobbs anent his
+carryin&rsquo;s on in Knoleworth the previous night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle came in, but the chatter was not so free as when the habitués had the
+place to themselves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, Peters had marked the gathering as one that suited his purpose exactly, so
+he gave the conversation the right twist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose you local gentlemen have been greatly disturbed by this
+sensational murder?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hobbs took refuge in a glass of beer. Siddle gazed contemplatively at his neat
+boots. Tomlin meant to say something; Elkin, eying the stranger, and summing
+him up as a detective, answered brusquely:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The murder is bad enough, but the fat-headed police are worse. Three
+days gone, and nothing done!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What murder are you discussing, may I ask?&rdquo; put in Franklin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters turned on him with astonishment in every line of a peculiarly mobile
+face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mean to say, sir, that you haven&rsquo;t heard of the Steynholme
+murder?&rdquo; he gasped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I seldom, if ever, read such things in the newspapers, and, as I landed
+in England only a week ago from France, my ignorance, though abyssmal, is
+pardonable. Moreover, I can say truly that I am far more interested in pedigree
+horses than in vulgar criminals.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters explained fluently. This was no ordinary crime. A beautiful and popular
+actress had been done to death in a brutal way, and the country was already
+deeply stirred by the story.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin waited impatiently till the journalist drew breath. Then he broke in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pedigree horses you mentioned, sir,&rdquo; he said, his rancor against
+Grant being momentarily conquered by the pertinent allusion to his own
+business. &ldquo;What sort? Racing, coaching, roadsters, or hacks?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All sorts. The Argentine, where I have connections, offers an ever-open
+door to good horseflesh.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you having a look round?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. There are several decent studs within driving distance of
+Steynholme. Isn&rsquo;t that so, landlord?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lots, sir,&rdquo; said Tomlin. &ldquo;An&rsquo; the very man
+you&rsquo;re talkin&rsquo; to has some stuff not to be sneezed at.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that so?&rdquo; Mr. Franklin gazed at Elkin in a very friendly
+manner. &ldquo;May I ask your name, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin produced a card. Every hoof in his stables appreciated in value
+forthwith, but he was far too knowing that he should appear to rush matters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Call any day you like, sir,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Glad to see you. But
+give me notice. I generally have an appetizer here of a morning about
+eleven.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;An&rsquo; you want it, too, Fred,&rdquo; said Hobbs. &ldquo;Dash me,
+you&rsquo;re as thin as a herrin&rsquo;. Stop whiskey an&rsquo; drink beer,
+like me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you might also follow that gentleman&rsquo;s example,&rdquo;
+interposed Siddle quietly, nodding towards Mr. Franklin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; snapped Elkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t worry about murders.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a nice thing to say. Why should <i>I</i> worry about the
+d&mdash;d mix-up?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The chemist made no reply, but Hobbs stepped into the breach valiantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Keep yer &rsquo;air on, Fred,&rdquo; he vociferated. &ldquo;Siddle means
+no &rsquo;arm. But wot else are yer a-doing of, mornin&rsquo;, noon, an&rsquo;
+night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin laughed, with his queer croak.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you stay here a day or two, you&rsquo;ll soon get to know what
+they&rsquo;re driving at, sir,&rdquo; he said to Franklin. &ldquo;The fact is
+that this chap, Grant, who found the body, and in whose garden the murder was
+committed, has been making eyes at the girl I&rsquo;m as good as engaged to.
+That would make anybody wild&mdash;now, wouldn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Possibly,&rdquo; smiled Franklin. &ldquo;Of course there is always the
+lady&rsquo;s point of view. The sex is proverbially fickle, you know.
+&lsquo;Woman, thy vows are traced in sand,&rsquo; Lord Byron has it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay, an&rsquo; some men&rsquo;s, too,&rdquo; guffawed Hobbs. &ldquo;Wot
+about Peggy Smith, Fred?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin blew a mouthful of cigarette smoke at the butcher.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What about that tough old bull you bought at Knoleworth on
+Monday?&rdquo; he retorted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hobbs&rsquo;s face grew purple. Mr. Franklin beckoned to Tomlin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ask these gentlemen what they&rsquo;ll have,&rdquo; he said gently. The
+landlord made a clatter of glasses, and the threatened storm passed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve aroused my curiosity,&rdquo; remarked Franklin to Peters,
+but taking the company at large into the conversation. &ldquo;This does
+certainly strike one as a remarkable case. Is there no suspicion yet as to the
+actual murderer?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;None whatever,&rdquo; said Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what you may call the police opinion,&rdquo; broke in
+Elkin. &ldquo;We Steynholme folk have a pretty clear notion, I can assure
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The matter is still <i>sub judice</i>, and may remain so a long
+time,&rdquo; said Siddle. &ldquo;It is simply stupid to attach a kind of
+responsibility to the man who happens to occupy the house associated with the
+crime. I have no patience with that sort of reasoning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hobbs, who did not want to quarrel with Elkin, suddenly championed him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all very well,&rdquo; he rumbled. &ldquo;But the hevidence
+you an&rsquo; me &rsquo;eard, Siddle, an&rsquo; the hevidence we know
+we&rsquo;re goin&rsquo; to &rsquo;ear, is a lot stronger than that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure you&rsquo;ll pardon me, friends,&rdquo; said Siddle,
+rising with an apologetic smile, &ldquo;but I happen to be foreman of the
+coroner&rsquo;s jury, and I feel that this matter is not for me, at any rate,
+to discuss publicly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Out he went, not even heeding Tomlin&rsquo;s appeal to drink the ginger-ale he
+had just ordered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just like &rsquo;im,&rdquo; sighed Hobbs. &ldquo;Good-&rsquo;earted
+fellow! Would find hexcuses for a black rat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin talked more freely now that the chemist&rsquo;s disapproving eye was off
+him. Ultimately, Mr. Franklin elected to smoke a cigar in the open air, and
+strolled forth. He sauntered down the hill, stood on the bridge, and admired
+the soft blue tones of the landscape in the half light of a summer evening.
+Shortly before closing time, Robinson appeared, it being part of his routine
+duty to see that no noisy revelers disturbed the peace of the village. He
+noticed the stranger at once, and elected to walk past him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus, he received yet another shock when Mr. Franklin addressed him by name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good evening, Robinson,&rdquo; said the pleasant, clear-toned voice.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been expecting you to turn up. Kindly go back home, and leave
+the door open. I want to slip in quietly. I am Chief Inspector Winter, of
+Scotland Yard.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t say so, sir!&rdquo; stammered Robinson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I do say it, and will prove it to you, of course. I&rsquo;ll be with
+you in a minute or two. There&rsquo;s someone coming. You and I must not be
+seen together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson made off, and Winter lounged along the Knoleworth road. He met Bates,
+going to the post with letters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Naturally, Bates looked him over. Returning from the post office, he kept a
+sharp eye for the unknown loiterer, but saw him not. He even walked quickly to
+the bend of the road, but the other man had vanished.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant and Hart were talking of anything but the murder when Bates thrust his
+head in. He was grasping his goatee beard, sure sign of some weight on his
+mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Beg pardon,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but I thought you&rsquo;d like to
+know. The place is just swarmin&rsquo; with &rsquo;em.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bees?&rdquo; inquired Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates stared fixedly at the speaker for a second or two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir, &rsquo;tecs,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a big
+&rsquo;un now&mdash;just the opposite to the little &rsquo;un, Hawkshaw. I
+&rsquo;ope I &rsquo;aven&rsquo;t to tackle this customer, though. He&rsquo;d
+gimme a doin&rsquo;, by the looks of &rsquo;im.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates had disappeared before Grant remembered that the press photographer had
+mentioned the Big &rsquo;Un and the Little &rsquo;Un of the Yard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, I wonder,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His wonder could hardly have equaled Winter&rsquo;s had he heard the
+gardener&rsquo;s words. The guess was a distinct score for blunt Sussex, though
+it was founded solely on the assumption that all comers now, unless Bates was
+personally acquainted with them, were limbs of the law.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap12"></a>Chapter XII.<br />
+Wherein Winter Gets to Work</h2>
+
+<p>
+Winter had identified Bates at the first glance. The letters in the man&rsquo;s
+hand, too, showed his errand, so, while the gardener was climbing the hill, the
+detective slipped into Robinson&rsquo;s cottage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He found the policeman awaiting him in the dark, because a voice said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Beg pardon, sir, but the other gentleman from the &lsquo;Yard&rsquo;
+asked me to take him into the kitchen. A light in the front room might attract
+attention, he thought.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just what Mr. Furneaux would suggest, and I agree with him,&rdquo; said
+Winter, quite alive to the canny discretion behind those words, &ldquo;the
+other gentleman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson led the way. Supper was laid on the table. Poor Mrs. Robinson had
+again beaten a hasty retreat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, Robinson,&rdquo; said the Chief Inspector affably, &ldquo;before we
+come to business I&rsquo;ll prove my bona fides. Here is my official card, and
+I&rsquo;ll run quickly through events until 1.30 p.m. to-day. I met Mr.
+Furneaux at Victoria, and he posted me fully up to that hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So the policeman listened to a clear summary of the Steynholme case as it was
+known to the authorities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did not warn either Mr. Fowler or you of my visit because a telegram
+could hardly be explicit enough,&rdquo; concluded Winter. &ldquo;At the inn I
+am Mr. Franklin, an Argentine importer of blood stock in the horse line. At
+this moment the only other man beside yourself in Steynholme who is aware of my
+official position is Mr. Peters, and he is pledged to secrecy. To-morrow or any
+other day until further notice, you and I meet as strangers in public. By the
+way, Mr. Furneaux asked me to tell you that he found the wig and the false
+beard in the river early this morning. The wearer had apparently flung them off
+while crossing the foot-bridge leading from Bush Walk, having forgotten that
+they would not sink readily. Perhaps he didn&rsquo;t care. At any rate, Mr.
+Hart&rsquo;s bullet seems to have laid Owd Ben&rsquo;s ghost. Now, what of this
+fellow, Elkin? He worries me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can I offer you a glass of beer, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With pleasure. May I smoke while you eat? You see, I differ from Mr.
+Furneaux in both size and habits.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson poured out the beer. He was preternaturally grave. The somewhat
+incriminating statements he had wormed out of the horse-dealer that afternoon
+lay heavy upon him. But he told his story succinctly enough. Winter nodded to
+emphasize each point, and congratulated him at the end.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You arranged that very well,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I gather, though,
+that Elkin spoke rather openly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just as I&rsquo;ve put it, sir. He tripped a bit over the time on Monday
+night. But it&rsquo;s only fair to say that he might have had Tomlin&rsquo;s
+license in mind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That issue will be settled to-morrow. I&rsquo;ll find out the commercial
+traveler&rsquo;s name, and send a telegram from Knoleworth before noon.... Who
+is Peggy Smith?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson set down an empty glass with a stare of surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bob Smith&rsquo;s daughter, sir,&rdquo; he answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No doubt. But, proceed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sir, she&rsquo;s just a village girl. Her father is a blacksmith.
+His forge is along to the right, not far. She&rsquo;ll be twenty, or
+thereabouts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Frivolous?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not more than the rest of &rsquo;em, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you seen her flirting with Elkin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson took thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now that I come to think of it, she might be given a bit that way. Her
+father shoes Elkin&rsquo;s nags, so there&rsquo;s a lot of comin&rsquo;
+an&rsquo; goin&rsquo; between the two places. But folks would always look on it
+as natural enough. Yes, I&rsquo;ve seen &rsquo;em together more than
+once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In that case, he can hardly grumble if the postmaster&rsquo;s daughter
+has an eye for another young man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Martin!&rdquo; snorted Robinson. &ldquo;She wouldn&rsquo;t look the
+side of the road he was on. Fred Elkin isn&rsquo;t her sort.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he said to-night in the Hare and Hounds that he and Miss Martin were
+practically engaged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stuff an&rsquo; nonsense! Sorry, sir, but I admire Doris Martin. I like
+to see a girl like her liftin&rsquo; herself out of the common gang.
+She&rsquo;s the smartest young lady in the village, an&rsquo; not an atom of a
+snob. No, no. She isn&rsquo;t for Fred Elkin. Before this murder cropped up
+everybody would have it that Mr. Grant would marry her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How does the murder intervene?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson shifted uneasily in his chair. He knew only too well that he himself
+had driven a wedge between the two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Steynholme&rsquo;s a funny spot, sir,&rdquo; he contrived to explain.
+&ldquo;Since it came out that Doris an&rsquo; Mr. Grant were in the garden at
+<i>The Hollies</i> at half past ten on Monday night, without Mr. Martin
+knowin&rsquo; where his daughter was, there&rsquo;s been talk. Both the
+postmaster an&rsquo; the girl herself are up to it. You can see it in their
+faces. They don&rsquo;t like it, an&rsquo; who can blame &rsquo;em!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who, indeed? But this Elkin&mdash;surely he had some ground for a
+definite boast, made openly, among people acquainted with all the
+parties?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s more than Elkin would marry Doris if she lifted a finger,
+sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can you name them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Tomlin wants a wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter laughed joyously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Next?&rdquo; he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They say that Mr. Siddle is a widower.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The chemist? Foreman of the jury?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;From appearances, he is a likelier candidate than either Elkin or
+Tomlin. Anybody else?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t be far wrong if I gave you the name of most among the
+young unmarried men in the parish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear me! I must have a peep at this charmer. But I want those names,
+Robinson.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter produced a note-book, so he was evidently taking the matter seriously.
+The policeman, however, was flustered. His thoughts ran on Elkin, whereas this
+masterful person from London insisted on discussing Doris Martin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My difficulty is, sir, that she has never kep&rsquo; company with any of
+&rsquo;em,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind. Give me the name of every man who, no matter what his
+position or prospects, might be irritated, if no more, if he knew that Miss
+Martin and Mr. Grant were presumably spooning in a garden at a rather late
+hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a totally new line of inquiry for Robinson, but he bent his wits to it,
+and evolved a list which, if published, would certainly be regarded with
+incredulous envy by every other girl in the village than the postmaster&rsquo;s
+daughter; as for Doris herself, she would be mightily surprised when she saw
+it, but whether annoyed or secretly gratified none but a pretty girl of
+nineteen can tell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter departed soon afterwards. Before going to the inn he had a look at the
+forge. A young woman, standing at the open door of the adjoining cottage,
+favored him with a frank stare. There was no light in the dwelling. When he
+returned, after walking a little way down the road, the door was closed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Next morning, Bates heard of Peters as the detective and of Mr. Franklin as a
+&ldquo;millionaire&rdquo; from South America. Moreover, he scrutinized both in
+the flesh, and saw Robinson salute Peters but pass the financial potentate with
+indifference.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alas, that a reputation, once built, should be destroyed!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was mistook, sir,&rdquo; he reported to Grant later.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s another &rsquo;tec about, but &rsquo;e ain&rsquo;t the
+chap I met last night. They say this other bloke is rollin&rsquo; in money,
+an&rsquo; buyin&rsquo; hosses right an&rsquo; left.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then he&rsquo;ll soon be rolling in the mud, and have no money,&rdquo;
+put in Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is he?&rdquo; inquired Grant carelessly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A Mr. Franklin, from South America, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant and Hart exchanged glances. Curiously enough, Hart remained silent till
+Bates had gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must look this joker up, Jack,&rdquo; he said then. &ldquo;To me the
+mere mention of South America is like Mother Gary&rsquo;s chickens to a sailor,
+a harbinger of storm.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Hart consumed Tomlin&rsquo;s best brew to no purpose&mdash;in so far as
+seeing Mr. Franklin was concerned, since the latter was in Knoleworth, buying a
+famous racing stud. Being in the village, however, this fisher in troubled
+waters was not inclined to return without a bag of some sort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked straight into the post office. Doris and her father were there, the
+telegraphist being out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good day, everybody,&rdquo; he cried cheerfully. &ldquo;Grant wants to
+know, Mr. Martin, if you and Miss Doris will come and dine with him, us, this
+evening at 7.30?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The postmaster gazed helplessly at this free-and-easy stranger. Doris laughed,
+and blushed a little.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is Mr. Hart, a friend of Mr. Grant&rsquo;s, dad,&rdquo; she
+explained. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid we cannot accept the invitation. We are so
+busy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The worst of excuses,&rdquo; said Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But there is a London correspondent here who hands in a long telegram at
+that hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s his name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Peters.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Great Scott! Jimmie Peters here? I&rsquo;ll soon put a stopper on him.
+He&rsquo;ll come, too&mdash;jumping. See if he doesn&rsquo;t. Is it a bargain?
+Short telegram at six. Dinner for five at 7.30. Come, now, Mr. Martin.
+It&rsquo;s up to you. I can see &lsquo;Yes&rsquo; in Doris&rsquo;s eye. Over
+the port&mdash;most delectable, I assure you&mdash;I&rsquo;ll give full details
+of the peculiar case of a man in Worcestershire whose crop of gooseberries
+increased fourfold after starting an apiary. And what does it matter if you do
+lose a queen or two in June? The drones will attend to that trifle....
+It&rsquo;s a fixture, eh? Where&rsquo;s Peters? In the Pull and Push?
+I&rsquo;ll rout him out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The whirlwind subsided, but quickly materialized again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Peters nearly fell on his knees and wept with joy,&rdquo; announced
+Hart. &ldquo;He believes he was given a bull steak for luncheon. He pledges
+himself to have only five hundred words on the wire at five
+o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, father and daughter had decided that there was no valid reason why
+they should not dine with Mr. Grant. Martin already regretted his aloofness on
+the day of the inquest, though, truth to tell, Hart&rsquo;s expert knowledge of
+bee-culture was the determining factor. On her part, Doris was delighted. Her
+world had gone awry that week, and this small festivity might right it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not one word of the improvised dinner-party did Hart confide to Grant. He
+informed the only indispensable person, Mrs. Bates, and left it at that. Grant,
+a restless being these days, took him for another long walk. It chanced that
+their road home led down the high-street. The hour was a quarter past seven,
+and Peters hailed them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart introduced the journalist, saying casually:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jimmie is coming to dinner, Jack.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Delighted,&rdquo; said Grant, of course.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters looked slightly surprised, but passed no comment. Then Doris and her
+father appeared. They joined the others, shook hands, and, to Grant&rsquo;s
+secret perplexity, the whole party moved off down the hill in company. When the
+Martins turned with the rest to cross the bridge, Grant began to suspect his
+friend.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wally,&rdquo; he managed to whisper, &ldquo;what game have you been
+playing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you satisfied?&rdquo; murmured Hart. &ldquo;Sdeath, as they
+used to say in the Surrey Theater, you&rsquo;re as bad as Furshaw!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were others far more perturbed by that odd conjunction of diners than the
+puzzled host, who merely expected Mrs. Bates to belabor him with a rolling pin.
+Mr. Siddle, for instance, had just closed his shop when the five met. That is
+to say, the dark blue blind was drawn, but the door was ajar. He came to the
+threshold, and watched the party until the bridge was neared, when one of them,
+looking back, might have seen him, so he stepped discreetly inside. Being a
+non-interfering, self-contained man, he seemed to be rather irresolute. But
+that condition passed quickly. Leaning over the counter, he secured a hat and a
+pair of field-glasses, and went out. He, too, knew of Mrs. Jefferson&rsquo;s
+weakness for shopping in Knoleworth, and that good lady had gone there again.
+Her train was due in ten minutes. A wicket gate led to a narrow passage
+communicating with the back door of her residence. He entered boldly, reached
+the garden, and hurried to the angle on the edge of the cliff next to the
+Martins&rsquo; strip of ground.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, a spacious dinner-table was laid at <i>The Hollies</i>. Doris, Mr. Martin,
+and Peters soon strolled out on to the lawn. The pedestrians had obviously gone
+upstairs to wash after their tramp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Siddle rather forgot himself. He stared so long and earnestly through the
+field-glasses that he ran full tilt into Mrs. Jefferson and maid before
+regaining the high-street. But the chemist was a ready man. He lifted his hat
+with an inquiring smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you say you wanted some anti-arthritic salts early in the
+week?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mrs. Jefferson, &ldquo;but I got some to-day in
+Knoleworth, thank you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I was just making up an indent, and might as well include your
+specific if you really needed it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Which was kind and thoughtful of Mr. Siddle, but not quite true, though it
+fully explained his presence at Mrs. Jefferson&rsquo;s gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Franklin, escorting a fragrant Havana up the hill (he had traveled by the
+same train) saw the meeting, and, being aware of Mrs. Jefferson&rsquo;s frugal
+habits, since Furneaux had omitted no item of his movements in Steynholme,
+remembered it later during the nightly gathering in the inn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin greeted Mr. Franklin respectfully when the great man joined the circle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you see anything worth while at Knoleworth, sir?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I was unlucky. All the principals were at a race meeting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By gum! That&rsquo;s right. It&rsquo;s Gatwick today. Dash! I might have
+saved you a journey.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it doesn&rsquo;t matter. In my business there is no call for
+hurry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin looked around.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s our friend, the &rsquo;tec?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think you&rsquo;re wrong about &rsquo;im, meanin&rsquo; Mr.
+Peters,&rdquo; said Tomlin. &ldquo;&rsquo;E&rsquo;s &rsquo;ere for a noospaper,
+not for the Yard.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s his blarney,&rdquo; smirked Elkin. &ldquo;A detective
+doesn&rsquo;t go about telling everybody what he is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whatever his profession may be,&rdquo; put in Siddle&rsquo;s quiet
+voice, &ldquo;I happen to know that he is dining with Mr. Grant. So are Mr.
+Martin and Doris. By mere chance I called at Mrs. Jefferson&rsquo;s. I went to
+the back door, and, finding it closed, looked into the garden. From there I
+couldn&rsquo;t help seeing the assembly on the lawn of <i>The
+Hollies</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dining at Grant&rsquo;s?&rdquo; shouted Elkin in a fury. &ldquo;Well,
+I&rsquo;m&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Ush, Fred!&rdquo; expostulated Tomlin with a shocked glance at
+Mr. Franklin. &ldquo;Wot&rsquo;s wrong wi&rsquo; a bit of grub, ony ways? A
+very nice-spoken young gent kem &rsquo;ere twiced, an&rsquo; axed for Mr.
+Peters the second time. He&rsquo;s a friend o&rsquo; Mr. Grant&rsquo;s, I
+reckon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s wrong?&rdquo; stormed the horse-dealer. &ldquo;Why,
+everything&rsquo;s wrong! The bounder ought to be in jail instead of giving
+dinner-parties. Imagine Doris eating in that house!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay! Sweetbreads an&rsquo; saddle o&rsquo; lamb,&rdquo; interjected Hobbs
+with the air of one imparting a secret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin was pallid with wrath. He glared at Hobbs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What I had in my mind was the impudence of the blighter,&rdquo; he said
+shrilly. &ldquo;That poor woman&rsquo;s body leaves here to-morrow for some
+cemetery in London, and Grant invites folk to a small dinner to-night!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A sort of awe fell on the company. None of the others had as yet put the two
+events in juxtaposition, and they had an ugly sound. Even Mr. Siddle stifled a
+protest. Elkin had scored a hit, a palpable hit, and no one could gainsay him.
+He felt that, for once, the general opinion was with him, and drove the point
+home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hobson&mdash;the local joiner and undertaker&rdquo;&mdash;he explained
+for Mr. Franklin&rsquo;s benefit&mdash;&ldquo;came this morning to borrow a
+couple of horses for the job. It&rsquo;s to be done in style&mdash;&lsquo;no
+expense spared&rsquo; was Mr. Ingerman&rsquo;s order&mdash;and the poor thing
+is in her coffin now while Grant&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stopped. Mr. Siddle coughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve said enough, Elkin,&rdquo; murmured the chemist.
+&ldquo;This excitement is harmful. You really ought to be in bed for the next
+forty-eight hours, dieting yourself carefully, and taking Dr. Foxton&rsquo;s
+mixture regularly. He has changed it, I noticed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bed! Me! Not likely. I&rsquo;m going to kick up a row. What are the
+police doing? A set of blooming old women, that&rsquo;s what they are. But
+I&rsquo;ll stir &rsquo;em up, if I have to write to the Home Secretary.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said Mr. Franklin, smiling genially, &ldquo;I cannot
+help taking a certain interest in this affair. May I, then, as a complete
+stranger to all concerned, tell you how this minor episode strikes me. Mr.
+Grant, I understand, denies having seen or spoken to Miss Melhuish during the
+past three years. None of the others now in his house had met her at all.
+Really, if a man may not give a dinnerparty in these conditions, dining-out
+would become a lost art.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin was obviously seeking for some retort which, though forcible, would not
+offend a possible patron. But Siddle answered far more deftly than might be
+looked for from the horse-dealer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your contention, sir, is just what the man of the world would
+hold,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but, in this village, where we live on neighborly
+terms, such an incident would be impossible in almost any other house than
+<i>The Hollies</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Franklin nodded. He was convinced. Tomlin, Hobbs, and a local draper bore
+out the chemist&rsquo;s reasonable theory. Next morning Steynholme was again
+united in condemning Grant, while the postmaster and his daughter were not
+wholly exempted from criticism.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dinner itself was an altogether harmless and cheery meal. By common consent
+not one word was said about the murder. Hart was amusing on the question of
+bees&mdash;almost flippant, Mr. Martin deemed him. Peters had a wide store of
+strange experiences to draw on, while Grant, if rather silent in deference to
+two such brilliant talkers, found much satisfaction in regarding Doris as a
+hostess.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day being Saturday, or market day, the village was busy. At eleven
+o&rsquo;clock there was a somewhat unnecessary display of nodding plumes and
+long-tailed black horses at the removal of the coffin to the railway station.
+For some reason, the funeral arrangements had not been bruited about until
+Elkin made that envenomed attack on Grant in the Hare and Hounds the previous
+night. Ingerman had sent a gorgeous wreath, the only one forthcoming locally.
+This fact, of course, invited comment, though no whisperer in the crowd
+troubled to add that the interment was only announced in that day&rsquo;s
+newspapers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters, meeting Mr. Franklin on the stairs of the inn, put a note into his
+hand. It read:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you have a chat with Grant? The public mind is being
+inflamed against him. It&rsquo;s hardly fair.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Franklin, meeting Peters in the passage, winked at him, and the journalist
+tortured his brains to turn out some readable stuff which should grip the
+million on Sunday yet not to be damaging to the man whose hospitality he
+enjoyed over night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a word, the passing of Adelaide Melhuish was exploited thoroughly as an
+indictment of her one-time lover, and the only two in Steynholme not aware of
+the fact were Grant, himself, and Wally Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By a singular coincidence, not ridiculously beyond the ken of a verger, when
+Doris went to church on Sunday morning, she found herself beside Mr. Franklin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the close of the service the same big man whom she had noticed as a neighbor
+in the pew overtook her at the post office door. He lifted his hat. A passer-by
+heard him say distinctly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pardon me for troubling you, but can you tell me at what time the mail
+closes for London?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At four-thirty,&rdquo; said Doris.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No other person overheard Mr. Franklin&rsquo;s next words:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am now going to drop a letter in the box. It&rsquo;s for you. Get it
+at once. It is of the utmost importance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was startled, as well she might be. But&mdash;she went straight for the
+letter. It was marked: &ldquo;Private and Urgent,&rdquo; and ran:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<i><b>Dear Miss Martin</b>.<br />
+<br />
+I am here</i> vice <i>Mr. Furneaux, who is engaged on other phases of the same
+inquiry. My business is absolutely unknown. I figure at the inn as &ldquo;Mr.
+W. Franklin, Argentina.&rdquo; Indeed, Mr. Furneaux left the village because he
+realized the difficulties facing him in that respect. Now, I trust you, and I
+hope you will justify my faith. You know Superintendent Fowler. I want you to
+meet me and him this afternoon at two o&rsquo;clock at the crossroads beyond
+the mill. A closed car will be in waiting, and we can have half an hour&rsquo;s
+talk without anyone in Steynholme being the wiser. Remember that this village,
+like the night, has a thousand eyes. Naturally, I would not trouble you in this
+way if the cause was not vital to the ends of justice. Whether or not you
+decide to keep this appointment, I have every confidence that you will respect
+my wish that</i> no one<i>, other than yourself, shall be informed of my
+identity. But I believe you will be wise, and come.</i>
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+<i>I am,<br />
+Yours faithfully,<br />
+<b>J. L. Winter</b>,<br />
+Chief Inspector, C. I. D., Scotland Yard, S. W.</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A card was inclosed, as a sort of credential. But, somehow, it was not needed.
+Doris had seen &ldquo;Mr. Franklin&rdquo; more than once, and she had heard him
+singing the hymns in church. He looked worthy of credence. His written words
+had the same honest ring. She resolved to go.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her father, sad to relate, had found three dead queens in the hives. He was
+busy, but spared a moment to tell her that Mr. Siddle was coming to tea at four
+o&rsquo;clock. Doris was rather in a whirl, and seemed to be unnecessarily
+astonished.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Siddle! Why?&rdquo; she gasped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not!&rdquo; said her father. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not the first time.
+You can entertain him. I&rsquo;ll look after the letters.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must get some cakes. We have none.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, that&rsquo;s simple. I wonder if that fellow Hart really
+understands apiaculture? You might invite him, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With that letter in her pocket Doris had suddenly grown wary. Hart and Siddle
+would not mix, and her woman&rsquo;s intuition warned her that Siddle had
+chosen the tea-hour purposely in order to have an uninterrupted conversation
+with her. She disliked Mr. Siddle, in a negative way, but the very nearness of
+the detective was stimulating. Let Mr. Siddle come, then, and come alone!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, dad,&rdquo; she laughed. &ldquo;Mr. Hart&rsquo;s knowledge will be
+available to-morrow. In his presence, poor Mr. Siddle would be dumb.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap13"></a>Chapter XIII.<br />
+Concerning Theodore Siddle</h2>
+
+<p>
+Winter, being a cheerful cynic, had not erred when he appealed to that love of
+mystery which, especially if it is spiced with a hint of harmless intrigue, is
+innate in every feminine heart. Indeed, he was so assured of the success of his
+somewhat dramatic move that as he walked to a rendezvous arranged with
+Superintendent Fowler on the Knoleworth road he reviewed carefully certain
+arguments meant to secure Doris&rsquo;s assistance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Passing <i>The Hollies</i>, he smiled at the notion that Furneaux would
+undoubtedly have brought Grant to the conclave. It was just the sort of
+difficult situation in which his colleague would have reveled. But the Chief
+Inspector was more solid, more circumspect, even, singularly enough, more
+sensitive to the probable comments of a crusty judge if counsel for the defense
+contrived to elicit the facts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything fresh?&rdquo; inquired the superintendent, when a smart car
+drew up, and Winter entered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Fowler was in plain clothes, and the blinds were half drawn. No one could
+possibly recognize either of the occupants unless the car was halted, and the
+inquisitor literally thrust his head inside. The motor was a private one,
+borrowed for the occasion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, a little,&rdquo; said Winter, as the chauffeur put the engine in
+gear. &ldquo;Your man, Robinson, has been drawing Elkin, or Elkin drew
+him&mdash;I am not quite sure which, but think it matterless either way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sketched Robinson&rsquo;s activities briefly, but in sufficient outline.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A new figure has come on the screen&mdash;Siddle, the chemist,&rdquo; he
+added thoughtfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle!&rdquo; Mr. Fowler was surprised. &ldquo;Why, he is supposed to
+be a model of the law-abiding citizen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t say he has lost his character in that respect,&rdquo; said
+Winter. &ldquo;Still, he puzzles me. Elkin is a loud-mouthed fool. The verbal
+bricks he hurls at Grant are generally half baked, and crumble into dust.
+Hitherto, Siddle has tried to repress him, with a transparent honesty that
+rather worried me. On Friday night, however, Siddle attacked Grant with
+poisoned arrows. He did more damage in two minutes than Elkin could achieve in
+as many months.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He showed very clearly that Grant was guilty of gross bad taste in
+inviting Mr. Martin and his daughter to dinner that evening. I&rsquo;m inclined
+to agree with him, if the story has been told fairly. But that is beside the
+main issue. Siddle aroused the sleeping dogs of the village, and the pack is in
+full cry again. Grant seems to have been popular here; he had almost recovered
+from the blow of Miss Melhuish&rsquo;s death by the straightforward speech he
+made before the inquest. But Siddle threw him back into the mud by a few
+skillful words. What is Siddle&rsquo;s record? Is he a local man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think not. Robinson can tell us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Robinson says he &lsquo;believes&rsquo; Siddle is a widower. That
+doesn&rsquo;t argue long and close knowledge.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We must look into it. Robinson has been stationed here four years.
+Siddle is not old, but he has been in business in Steynholme more years than
+that. But&mdash;you&rsquo;ll pardon me, I&rsquo;m sure, Mr. Winter&mdash;may I
+take it that you are really interested in the chemist&rsquo;s history?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent was perplexed, or he would not have adopted his professional
+method of semi-apologetic questions with a man from the C.I.D.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hardly know what I&rsquo;m interested in,&rdquo; laughed Winter.
+&ldquo;Grant didn&rsquo;t kill the lady. I shall be slow to credit Elkin with
+being the scoundrel he looks. Siddle, and Tomlin, if you please, are regarded
+as starters in the Doris Martin Matrimonial Stakes, and I don&rsquo;t think
+Tomlin could ever murder anything but the King&rsquo;s English. It is
+Siddle&rsquo;s <i>volte face</i> that bothers me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Um!&rdquo; murmured Mr. Fowler. He was not an uneducated man, but
+<i>volte face</i>, correctly pronounced, was unfamiliar in his ears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The change was so marked,&rdquo; went on the detective. &ldquo;I gather
+that Siddle is a stickler for charity and fair dealing. He didn&rsquo;t abandon
+the role, of course. It was the sheer ingenuity of his method that caught my
+attention. So I simply catalogue him for research.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has Miss Martin promised to meet us?&rdquo; inquired the other, feeling
+that he was on the track of <i>volte face</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. But there she is!&rdquo; cried Winter. &ldquo;She has just heard the
+car. Tell your chauffeur to slow up. The road is empty otherwise. By the way,
+you help her in. She might be a bit shy of me, and I don&rsquo;t want a
+second&rsquo;s delay.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter&rsquo;s judgment was not at fault. Doris <i>was</i> feeling a trifle
+uncertain, seeing that she was about to encounter a complete stranger.
+Moreover, she had come a good half mile from the shop whence the cakes for tea
+were to be procured at the back door, and as a favor. Her eyes were fixed on
+the slowing car with a timid anxiety that betrayed no small degree of doubt as
+to the outcome of this Sunday afternoon escapade. She was pale and nervous. At
+that moment Doris wished herself safe at home again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One word,&rdquo; broke in the superintendent hurriedly. &ldquo;Why are
+you so sure that Grant is innocent, Mr. Winter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure of nothing with regard to this case. But I have great
+faith in Furneaux&rsquo;s flair for the true scent. It has never failed
+yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Fowler wished his companion would not use such uncommon words. However, he
+got out, and took off his hat with a courteous sweep. Doris had to look twice
+at him. Hitherto, she had always seen him in uniform. Winter smiled at the
+unmistakable expression of relief in her face. She was almost self-possessed as
+she took the seat by his side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good day, Mr. Winter,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Franklin, please. Better become used to my pseudonym.... Plenty of
+room for your feet, Mr. Fowler? That&rsquo;s it. Now we&rsquo;re comfy. The
+chauffeur will bring us back here in half an hour, Miss Martin. Will that suit
+your convenience?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes. I am free till nearly four o&rsquo;clock. We have a guest to
+tea then.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have a well-developed bump of curiosity these days. Who is it, may I
+ask?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Siddle, the local chemist.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed. An old friend, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We have known him seven years, ever since he came to Steynholme.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah. He is not a native of the place?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. He bought Mr. Benson&rsquo;s business. He&rsquo;s a Londoner, I
+believe.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is there&mdash;a Mrs. Siddle?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I&mdash;er&mdash;that is to say, gossip has it that he was married,
+but his wife died.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He doesn&rsquo;t speak of her? Is that it? One would have thought that
+in a house where he is well known&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t really know him well. No one does, I think.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve invited him to tea, at any rate,&rdquo; laughed Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Doris. &ldquo;He invited himself. At least, so I
+gathered from dad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, well. He feels lonely, no doubt, and wishes to chat about recent
+strange events in Steynholme. And that brings me to the reason why I sought
+this chat under such peculiar conditions. You realize my handicap, Miss Martin?
+If I were seen talking to you, or even entering your house as apart from the
+post office, people would begin to wonder. You follow that, don&rsquo;t
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, Doris did follow it. What she did not follow was the veiled admiration in
+Superintendent Fowler&rsquo;s glance at the detective. Those few
+inconsequential questions had shed a flood of light on Siddle&rsquo;s past and
+present, yet the informant was blissfully unaware of their real purport. And
+the way was opened so deftly. The purchase of a chemist&rsquo;s business would
+almost certainly be negotiated through a local lawyer. Let him be found, and
+Siddle&rsquo;s pre-Steynholme days could be &ldquo;looked into,&rdquo; as the
+police phrase has it. The superintendent had the rare merit of being candid
+with himself. He had no previous experience of Scotland Yard men or methods,
+and was inclined to be skeptical about Furneaux. But Winter&rsquo;s prompt use
+of a chance opening, and the restraint which cut off the investigation before
+the girl could suspect any ulterior motive, displayed a technique which the
+Sussex Constabulary had few opportunities of acquiring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, Miss Martin,&rdquo; began Winter, &ldquo;if ever you have the
+misfortune to fall ill&mdash;touch wood, please&mdash;and call in a doctor,
+you&rsquo;ll tell him the facts, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why consult him at all, if I don&rsquo;t?&rdquo; she smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exactly. To-day I&rsquo;m somewhat in the position of a Harley-street
+specialist, summoned to assist an eminent local practitioner in Dr. Fowler.
+That&rsquo;s a sort of gentle preliminary, leading up to the disagreeable duty
+of putting some questions of a personal nature. What you may answer will not go
+beyond ourselves. I promise you that. You will not be quoted, or requested to
+prove your statements. Such a thing would be absurd. If I were really a doctor,
+and you needed my advice, you might easily describe your symptoms all wrong. It
+would be my business to listen, and deduce the truth, and I would never dream
+of rating you for having misled me. You see my point?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, but Mr. Win&mdash;Mr. Franklin, I know nothing whatever about the
+murder.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure you don&rsquo;t. It was a wicked trick of Fate that took
+you to Mr. Grant&rsquo;s garden last Monday night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was really an astronomical almanac,&rdquo; retorted Doris, who now
+felt a growing confidence in this nice-spoken official. &ldquo;Sirius is a star
+remarkable for its beautiful changing lights, and on Monday evening was at its
+best. I think I ought to explain,&rdquo; and she blushed delightfully,
+&ldquo;that the village gossip about Mr. Grant and me is entirely mistaken. We
+are not&mdash;well, I had better use plain English&mdash;we are not lovers. My
+father and I are just on close, friendly terms with Mr. Grant. I&mdash;my
+position hardly warrants even that relationship with an author of some
+distinction. But please set aside any notion of us as likely to become engaged.
+For one thing, it is preposterous. For another, I shall not leave my
+father.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor Doris! She little guessed how accurately this skilled student of human
+nature read the hidden thought behind that vehement protest. Even the note of
+vague rebellion against social disabilities was pathetic yet illuminating. Of
+course, he took her quite seriously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let us keep to the hard road of fact,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;What you
+really mean is that Mr. Grant has never made love to you. But I must be candid,
+young lady. There is no earthly reason why he shouldn&rsquo;t, though I could
+name offhand half a dozen why he should.... Well, well, I must not pay
+compliments. My friend, Mr. Furneaux, can manage that with much greater
+facility, being half a Frenchman. And now I&rsquo;m going to say an unpleasant
+thing. I ask your forgiveness in advance. Both Mr. Furneaux and I agree in the
+opinion that your imaginary love affair is indissolubly bound up with the
+mystery of Miss Melhuish&rsquo;s death. In a word, I have brought you here
+today to discuss your prospective marriage, and nothing else. That astonishes
+you, eh? Well, it&rsquo;s the truth, as I shall proceed to make clear.
+There&rsquo;s a Mr. Fred Elkin, for instance&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris uttered a little laugh of dismay. Winter&rsquo;s emphatic words had
+astounded her, but the horse-dealer&rsquo;s name acted as comic relief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t bear the man,&rdquo; she protested.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have no doubt. But you ought to know that he is loudly proclaiming his
+determination to marry you before the year is out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl&rsquo;s face reddened again, and her eyes sparkled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t marry him if he were a peer of the realm,&rdquo; she
+said indignantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite so. But he is an avowed suitor. Now don&rsquo;t be vexed. Has he
+never declared his intentions to <i>you</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He would never dare. I sing and act a little, at village concerts and
+dramatic performances, and he has annoyed me at times by an officious pretense
+that he was deputed by my father to see me home. I came here quite a little
+girl, so people learnt to use my Christian name. I don&rsquo;t object to it at
+all. But I simply hate hearing it on Mr. Elkin&rsquo;s lips.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exit Fred!&rdquo; said Winter solemnly. &ldquo;Next!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris, after a period of calm, was now profoundly uncomfortable. This kind of
+prying was the last thing she had expected. She had come prepared to defend
+Grant, but, beyond one exceedingly personal reference, the detective had
+studiously shut him out of the conversation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What am I to say?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Do you want a list of all the
+young men who make sheep&rsquo;s eyes at me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I can get that from the Census Bureau. Come, now, Miss Martin.
+<i>You</i> know. Has any man in the village led you to suspect, shall we put
+it? that sometime or other, he might ask you to become his wife?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lo, and behold! Doris&rsquo;s pretty eyes filled with tears. Superintendent
+Fowler was so pleased at hearing Scotland Yard introducing a parenthetical
+query into its sentences that he, sitting opposite, was taken aback when Winter
+said in a fatherly way:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been rather clumsy, I&rsquo;m afraid. But it cannot be
+helped. I must go blundering on. I&rsquo;m groping in the dark, you know, but
+it&rsquo;s a thousand pities I shall have to tread on <i>your</i> toes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t that,&rdquo; sobbed Doris. &ldquo;I hate to put my
+thoughts into words. That&rsquo;s all. There <i>is</i> a man whom
+I&rsquo;m&mdash;afraid of.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned on Winter a face of sudden awe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How can you possibly guess?&rdquo; she said wonderingly, and sheer
+bewilderment dried her tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My business is nine-tenths guesswork. At any rate, we are on firm ground
+now. If you could please yourself, I suppose, Mr. Siddle would not come to tea
+to-day!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He certainly would not,&rdquo; declared the girl emphatically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You believe he is coming for a purpose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Elkin&mdash;I must drag him in again for an instant&mdash;pretends that
+the commotion aroused in the village by this murder would incline you favorably
+to a proposal of marriage. Mr. Siddle may have discovered some virtue in the
+theory.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did Mr. Elkin really hint that I needed <i>him</i> as a shield?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was genuinely angry now. She little imagined that Winter was playing on
+her emotions with a master hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t waste any wrath on Elkin,&rdquo; he soothed her. &ldquo;The
+fellow isn&rsquo;t worth it. But his crude idea might be developed more subtly
+by an abler man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think it odd that Mr. Siddle should choose to-day, of all days, for a
+visit,&rdquo; she admitted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter relapsed into silence for a while. The car was running through a
+charming countryside, and a glimpse of the sea was obtainable from the crest of
+each hill. Mr. Fowler was too circumspect to break in on the thread of his
+coadjutor&rsquo;s thoughts. The inquiry had taken a curious turn, and was
+momentarily beyond his grasp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s singular, but it&rsquo;s true,&rdquo; said the detective
+musingly when next he spoke, &ldquo;that I am now going to ask you to act
+differently than was in my mind when I sought this interview. I should vastly
+like to be present when Siddle bares his heart to you this afternoon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can invite you to tea.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Alas! that won&rsquo;t serve our ends. But, if you feel you have a
+purpose, you will be nerved to deal with him. Bring him out into that secluded
+garden of yours&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The first thing he will suggest,&rdquo; and Doris&rsquo;s voice waxed
+unconsciously bitter. &ldquo;He knows that dad will be busy with the mails for
+an hour after tea.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think it bad, most disagreeable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t find the position so awkward if you are playing a part.
+And that is what I want&mdash;a bit of clever acting. Lean on those railings,
+and make Siddle believe that your heart is on Mr. Grant&rsquo;s lawn. You know
+the kind of thing I mean. Dreamy eyes, listless manner, inattention, with
+smiling apologies. You will annoy Siddle, and a cautious man in a temper
+becomes less cautious. Force him to avow his real thoughts. You will learn
+something, trust me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About what?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were no tears in Doris&rsquo;s eyes. They were wide open in wonderment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About his attitude to this tragedy. Do this, and you will be giving Mr.
+Grant the greatest possible help. He needs it. Next Wednesday, at the adjourned
+inquest, he will be put on the rack. Ingerman will fee counsel to be
+vindictive, merciless. Such men are to be hired. Their reputation is built up
+on the slaughter of reputations. I want to understand Siddle before Wednesday.
+By the way, what&rsquo;s his other name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Theodore.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Theodore Siddle. Unusual. Well, your half hour is nearly up. Will you do
+what I ask?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try. May I put one question?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You said you had something altogether different in view before we met.
+What was it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you&mdash;let me see&mdash;I&rsquo;ll tell you on
+Thursday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because it is the hardest thing in the world for a woman to be
+single-minded, in the limited sense of concentration, I mean. Focus your wits
+on Siddle to-day. I don&rsquo;t suggest any plan. I leave that to your own
+intelligence. Vex him, and let him talk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Vex him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. What man won&rsquo;t get mad if he notices that his best girl is
+thinking about a rival.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This time Doris did not blush. She was troubled and serious, very serious.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do what I can,&rdquo; she promised. &ldquo;When shall I see
+you again?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Soon. There&rsquo;s no hurry. All this is preparatory for
+Wednesday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I to tell my father nothing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Please yourself. Not at present. I recommend you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The car had stopped. It sped on when Doris alighted. She would be home with her
+cakes at three o&rsquo;clock, and Mr. Martin would never have noticed her
+absence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A fine bit of work, if I may say so,&rdquo; exclaimed Fowler
+appreciatively. &ldquo;But I am jiggered if I can imagine what you&rsquo;re
+driving at.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter was cutting the end off a big cigar. He finished the operation to his
+liking before answering earnestly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We stand or fall by the result of that girl&rsquo;s efforts. Furneaux
+thinks so, and I agree with him absolutely. After five days, where are we, Mr.
+Fowler? In the dark, plus a brigand&rsquo;s hat and hair. But there&rsquo;s a
+queer belief in some parts of England that a phosphorescent gleam shows at
+night over a deep pool in which a dead body lies. That&rsquo;s just how I feel
+about Siddle. The man&rsquo;s an enigma. What sort of place is Steynholme for a
+chemist of his capacities? Dr. Foxton has the highest regard for him
+professionally, and I&rsquo;m told he doctors people for miles around. Yet he
+lives the life of a recluse. An old woman comes by day to prepare his meals,
+and tidy the house and shop. His sole relaxation is an hour of an evening in
+the village inn, his visits there being uninterrupted since the murder. He was
+there on the night of the murder, too. For the rest, he is alone, shut off from
+the world. Without knowing it, he&rsquo;s going to fall into deep waters
+to-day, and he&rsquo;ll emit sparks, or I&rsquo;m a Chinaman.... I&rsquo;ll
+leave you here. Good-by! See you on Tuesday, after lunch.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent drove on alone. He pondered the Steynholme affair in all its
+bearings, but mostly did he weigh up Winter and Furneaux. At last, he sighed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;London ways, and London books, and London detectives!&rdquo; he
+muttered. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re not up to date in Sussex. Now, if I could please
+myself, I&rsquo;d be hot-foot after Elkin. I see what Winter has in his mind,
+but surely Elkin fills the bill, and Siddle doesn&rsquo;t.... What was that
+word&mdash;volt what!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was lucky. She met Mr. Siddle as she emerged from the back passage to the
+cake-shop. Resolving instantly that if an unpleasant thing had to be done it
+should at least be done well, she smiled brightly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;See what you have driven me to&mdash;breaking the Sabbath,&rdquo; she
+cried, holding up the bag of cakes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tea and bread-and-butter with you would be a feast for the gods,&rdquo;
+said Siddle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now you&rsquo;re adapting Omar Khayyam.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A Persian poet of long ago.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never read poetry. But, if your tastes lie that way, I&rsquo;ll
+accomplish some more adaptation.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, please. Cakes for you, Mr. Siddle; poets for giddy young things
+like me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a sting in the words. Doris preened herself on having carried out the
+detective&rsquo;s instructions to the letter thus far.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Arrived in the house she found her father still in the garden, examining some
+larvae under a microscope. He looked severe rather than studious. He might have
+been an omnipotent being who had detected a malefactor in a criminal act. Was
+Steynholme and its secret felon being regarded in that way by the providence
+which, for some inscrutable purpose, permitted, yet would infallibly punish, a
+dreadful murder? She was a girl of devout mind, and the notion was appalling in
+its direct application to current events.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the meantime the chemist, evidently taking a Sunday afternoon
+constitutional, came on Winter, who was leaning on a wall of the bridge and
+looking down stream&mdash;Grant&rsquo;s house being on the left.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He would have passed, in his wonted unobtrusive way, but the detective hailed
+him with a cheery &ldquo;Good day, Mr. Siddle. Are you a fisherman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, Mr. Franklin, I&rsquo;m not,&rdquo; he answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, now, I&rsquo;m surprised. You are just the sort of man whom I
+should expect to find attached to a rod and line&mdash;even watching a
+float.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I tried once when I was younger, but I could neither impale a worm nor
+extract a hook. My gorge rose against either practice. I am a vegetarian, for
+the same reason. If it were not for this disturbing tragedy you would have
+heard Hobbs, the butcher, rallying me about my rabbit-meat, as he calls my
+food.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, well!&rdquo; laughed Winter. &ldquo;Your ideas and mine clash in
+some respects. I look on a well-grilled steak as a gift from Heaven, and after
+it, or before it&mdash;I don&rsquo;t care which&mdash;let me have three hours
+whipping a good trout stream. With the right cast of flies I could show a fine
+bag from this very stretch of water.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not ask Mr. Grant&rsquo;s permission? It would be interesting to
+learn whether he will allow others to try their luck.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Siddle strolled on. Winter bent over, keen to discern the gray-backed fish
+which must be lurking in those clear depths and rippling shallows.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap14"></a>Chapter XIV.<br />
+On Both Sides of the River</h2>
+
+<p>
+The sun, transmuted into Greenwich time, exercised an extraordinary influence
+on the seemingly humdrum life of Steynholme that day. A few minutes after three
+o&rsquo;clock&mdash;just too late to observe either Winter or Siddle&mdash;P.
+C.  Robinson strolled forth from his cottage. He glanced up the almost deserted
+high-street, in which every rounded cobble and white flagstone radiated heat. A
+high-class automobile had dashed past twice in forty minutes, but the pace was
+on the borderland of doubt, so the guardian of the public weal had contented
+himself with recording its number on the return journey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But his thoughts were far a-field from joyriders, stray cattle, hawkers without
+licenses, and other similar small fry which come into the constabulary net. It
+would be a feather in his cap if he could only strike the trail of the
+veritable Steynholme murderer. The entrancing notion possessed him morning,
+noon, and night. Mrs. Robinson declared that it even dominated his dreams.
+Robinson was sharp. He knew quite well that the brains of the London detectives
+held some elusive quality which he personally lacked. They seemed to peer into
+the heart of a thing so wisely and thoroughly. He did not share Superintendent
+Fowler&rsquo;s somewhat derogatory estimate of Furneaux, with whom he was much
+better acquainted than was his superior officer, while Chief Inspector
+Winter&rsquo;s repute stood so high that it might not be questioned. Still, to
+the best of his belief, the case had beaten both these doughty representatives
+of Scotland Yard; there was yet a chance for the humble police-constable; so
+Robinson squared his shoulders, seamed his brows, and marched majestically down
+the Knoleworth road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had an eye for <i>The Hollies</i>, of course, though neither he nor anybody
+else could discern more than the bare edge of the lawn from bridge or road,
+owing to the dense screen of evergreen trees and shrubs planted by the tenant
+who remodeled the property.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the spot where the body of Adelaide Melhuish was drawn ashore was visible,
+and the sight of it started a dim thesis in the policeman&rsquo;s mind which
+took definite shape during less than an hour&rsquo;s stroll. Thus, at four
+o&rsquo;clock exactly, he was pulling the bell at <i>The Hollies</i>. Almost
+simultaneously, Mr. Siddle knocked modestly on the private door of the post
+office, to reach which one had to pass down a narrow yard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Grant at home?&rdquo; inquired Robinson, when Minnie appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, the master was on the lawn with Mr. Hart. The policeman found the two
+there, seated in chairs with awnings. They had been discussing, of all things
+in the world, the futurist craze in painting. Hart held by it, but Grant
+carried bigger guns in real knowledge of the artist&rsquo;s limitations as well
+as his privileges.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart was the first to notice the newcomer&rsquo;s presence, and greeted him
+joyously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come along, Robinson, and manacle this reprobate,&rdquo; he shouted.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s nothing but a narrow-minded pre-Rafaelite. A period in prison
+will dust the cobwebs out of his attic.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hello, Robinson!&rdquo; said, Grant. &ldquo;Anything stirring?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not much, sir. I just popped in to ask if you remembered exactly how the
+body was roped?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed, I do not. Some incidents of that horrible half hour have gone
+into a sad jumble. I recollect you calling attention to the matter, but what
+your point was I really cannot say now. Perhaps it may come back if you
+explain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, we don&rsquo;t seem to be making a great deal of progress, sir,
+and I was wondering whether you two gentlemen might help. I don&rsquo;t want it
+mentioned. I&rsquo;m taking a line of me own.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant repressed a smile. He recalled well enough the first &ldquo;line&rdquo;
+the policeman took, and the mischief it had caused. Being an even-minded
+person, however, he admitted that his own behavior had not been above suspicion
+on the day the crime was discovered. In allotting blame, as between Robinson
+and himself, the proportion was six of one and half a dozen of the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Propound, justiciary,&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve started
+well, anyhow. The connection between a line and a rope should be obvious even
+to a judge.... As a pipe-opener, have a drink!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson had removed his helmet, and was flourishing a red handkerchief, not
+without cause, the day being really very hot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not for a few minutes, thank you, sir,&rdquo; said the policeman.
+&ldquo;May I ask Bates for a sack and a cord?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went to the kitchen. Hart was &ldquo;tickled to death,&rdquo; he vowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We are about to witness the reconstruction of the crime, a procedure
+which the French delight in, and the intellect of France is a hundred years
+ahead of our effete civilization,&rdquo; he chortled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was not so pleased. The memory of a distressing vision was beginning to
+blur, and this ponderous policeman must come and revive it. Yet, even he grew
+interested when Robinson illustrated a nebulous idea by knotting a clothesline
+around a sack stuffed with straw, having brought Bates to bear him out in the
+matter of accuracy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There you are, gentlemen!&rdquo; he said, puffing after the slight
+exertion. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the way of it. How does it strike you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s what a sailor calls two half hitches,&rdquo; commented Hart
+instantly. &ldquo;A very serviceable knot, which will resist to the full
+strength of the rope.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We have no sailors in Steynholme, sir,&rdquo; said the policeman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s used regularly by tradesmen,&rdquo; put in Grant.
+&ldquo;A draper, or grocer&mdash;any man accustomed to tying parcels securely,
+in fact&mdash;will fashion that knot nine times out of ten.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How about a&mdash;a farmer, sir?&rdquo; That was as near as Robinson
+dared to go to &ldquo;horse-dealer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think a farmer would be more likely to adopt a timber hitch, which is
+made in several ways. Here are samples.&rdquo; And Grant busied himself with
+rope and sack.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson watched closely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he nodded. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen those knots in a
+farmyard.... Well, it&rsquo;s something&mdash;not much&mdash;but a trifle
+better than nothing.... All right, Bates. You can take &rsquo;em away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you shown that knot to Mr. Furneaux?&rdquo; inquired Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir. I&rsquo;ve kept that up me sleeve, as the sayin&rsquo;
+is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson shuffled uneasily on his feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;These Scotland Yard men will hardly listen to a uniformed constable,
+sir,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;em all about it at the
+inquest on Wednesday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In effect, John P. Robinson he sez they didn&rsquo;t know
+everythin&rsquo; down in Judee,&rdquo; quoted Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got my name pat,&rdquo; grinned the policeman, whose
+Christian names were &ldquo;John Price.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My name is Walter, not Patrick,&rdquo; retorted Hart. Robinson continued
+to smile, though he failed to grasp the joke until late that evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you make up that verse straight off, sir,&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. It&rsquo;s a borrowed plume, plucked from an American quill
+pen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart gave &ldquo;plume&rdquo; a French sound, and Robinson was puzzled to know
+why Grant bade his friend stop profaning a peaceful Sunday afternoon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll have a glass of beer now?&rdquo; went on the host.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t mind if I do, sir, though it&rsquo;s tea-time, and I make
+it a rule on Sundays to have tea with the missis. A policeman&rsquo;s hours are
+broken up, and his wife hardly ever knows when to have a meal ready.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Minnie was summoned. It took her a couple of minutes to draw the beer from a
+cool cellar. So it chanced that when Doris led Mr. Siddle to the edge of the
+cliff about twenty-five minutes past four, the first thing they saw was the
+local police-constable on the lawn of <i>The Hollies</i> putting down a gill of
+&ldquo;best Sussex&rdquo; at a draught.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well!&rdquo; cried the chemist icily, &ldquo;I wonder what
+Superintendent Fowler would say to that if he knew it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is there particularly wrong about Robinson drinking a glass of
+beer?&rdquo; demanded Doris, more alive to the insinuation in Siddle&rsquo;s
+words than was quite permissible under the role imposed on her by Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She waved her hand to the party on the lawn. Grant, whose eyes ever roved in
+that direction, had seen her white muslin dress the moment she appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who the deuce is that with Miss Martin?&rdquo; he said, returning her
+signal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle, the chemist,&rdquo; announced Robinson, not too well pleased
+himself at being &ldquo;spotted&rdquo; so openly. &ldquo;Well, gentlemen,
+I&rsquo;ll be off,&rdquo; and he vanished by the side path through the laurels.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle!&rdquo; repeated Grant vexedly. &ldquo;So it is. And she dislikes
+the man, for some reason.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go and rescue the fair maid,&rdquo; prompted Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no. If Doris wanted me she would let me know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How? At the top of her voice?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re far too curious, Wally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Semaphore, of course,&rdquo; drawled Hart. &ldquo;When are you going to
+marry the girl, Jack!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As soon as this infernal business has blown over.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You haven&rsquo;t asked her, I gather?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me when you do, and I&rsquo;ll hie me to London town, though in
+torrid June. You&rsquo;re unbearable in love.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The lash of your wit cuts deeply sometimes,&rdquo; said Grant quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dash it all, old chap, I was talking at random. Very well. I&rsquo;ll do
+penance in sackcloth and ashes by remaining here, and applauding your poetic
+efforts. I&rsquo;ll even help. I&rsquo;m a dab at sonnets.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Mr. Siddle had regained his poise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I meant nothing offensive to the donor of the beer,&rdquo; he said,
+tuning his voice to an apologetic note. &ldquo;But I take it Robinson is
+conducting certain inquiries, and I imagine that his superiors demand a degree
+of circumspection in such conditions. That is all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely you do not rank with the stupid crowd in its suspicions of Mr.
+Grant?&rdquo; said the girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m pleased to think you refuse to class me with the
+gossip-mongers of Steynholme, Doris,&rdquo; was the guarded answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There had been no reference to the murder during tea, which was served as soon
+as the chemist came in. The visitor had tabled a copy of a current medical
+journal containing an article on the therapeutic qualities of honey, so the
+talk was lifted at once into an atmosphere far removed from crime. Doris was
+grateful for his tact. When her father went to the office she brought Mr.
+Siddle into the garden solely in pursuance of her promise to the detective,
+though convinced that there would be no outcome save a few labored compliments
+to herself. And now, by accident, as it were, the death of Adelaide Melhuish
+thrust itself into their conversation. Perhaps it was her fault.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said candidly. &ldquo;No one who has known you for seven
+years, Mr. Siddle, could possibly accuse you of spreading scandal.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seven years! Is it so long since I came to Steynholme? Sometimes, it
+appears an age, but more often I fancy the calendar must be in error. Why, it
+seems only the other day that I saw you in a short frock, bowling a
+hoop.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A tom-boy occupation,&rdquo; laughed Doris. &ldquo;But dad encouraged
+that and skipping, as the best possible means of exercise.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He was right. Look how straight and svelte you are! Few, if any, among
+our community can have watched your progress to womanhood as closely as I. You
+see, living opposite, as I do, I kept track of you more intimately than your
+other neighbors.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle was trimming his sails cleverly. The concluding sentence robbed his
+earlier comments of their sentimental import.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If we live long enough we may even see each other in the sere and yellow
+leaf,&rdquo; said Doris flippantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I would ask no greater happiness,&rdquo; came the quiet reply, and Doris
+could have bitten her tongue for according him that unguarded opening. Suddenly
+availing herself of the advice which the detective, like Hamlet, had given to
+the players, she gazed musingly at the fair panorama of The Hollies and its
+gardens, with the two young men seated on the lawn. By this time Minnie was
+staging tea, and the picture looked idyllic enough. Doris saw, out of the tail
+of her eye, that her companion was watching her furtively, though apparently
+absorbed in the scene. He moistened his thin lips with his tongue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As a study in contrasts, that would be hard to beat,&rdquo; he said,
+after a long pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Contrasts!&rdquo; she echoed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, yes. Even an uncontentious man like myself can hardly fail to
+compare Sunday afternoon with Tuesday morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not Monday night?&rdquo; she flashed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Monday night, in part, remains a mystery yet to be unveiled. I blot
+Monday night from my mind. I have no alternative, being on the jury which has
+to arrive at a just verdict. Now, if Fred Elkin were here, he would foam at the
+mouth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Happily, Fred Elkin is <i>not</i> here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, I am glad, glad, to hear you say that. You don&rsquo;t like
+him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I detest him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He makes out, to put it mildly, that you are great friends.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will oblige me by contradicting the statement. Or&mdash;no. One
+treats that sort of man with contempt.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I agree with you most heartily. I&rsquo;m sorry I ever mentioned
+him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet Doris was well aware that the chemist had dragged in Elkin by the scruff of
+the neck, probably for the sake of getting him disposed of thoroughly and for
+all time. Rather on the tiptoe of expectation, she awaited the next move. It
+was slow in coming, so again she looked wistfully at the distant tea-drinkers.
+She found slight difficulty in carrying out this portion of the stage
+directions. Truth to tell, she would gleefully have gone and joined them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle was not altogether at ease. The conversation was too spasmodic to suit
+his purpose. Though slow of speech he was nimble of brain, and, knowing Doris
+so well, he had anticipated a livelier duel of wits. In all likelihood, he
+cursed the tea-party on the lawn. He had not foreseen this drawback. But, being
+a masterful man, he tackled the situation boldly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I seized the opportunity of a friendly chat with you to-day,
+Doris,&rdquo; he went on, leaning over the fence to inhale the scent of a briar
+rose. &ldquo;The story runs through the village that you and your father dined
+at The Hollies on Friday evening. Is that true?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, Doris had it on reliable authority that Siddle himself had been the runner
+who spread that story, and the knowledge steeled her heart against him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said composedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was kind and neighborly of you to accept the invitation, but a
+mistake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned and faced him. His expression was baffling. She thought she saw in
+his sallow, clean-cut features the shadow of a confident smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You mean that this horrid murder should make some difference in the
+friendship between ourselves and Mr. Grant?&rdquo; she cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. To you, though to no one else would I speak so plainly, I have no
+hesitation in saying that Mr. Grant is far, very far, from being clear of
+responsibility in that matter. Three days from now you will understand what I
+mean. Evidence will be forthcoming which will put him in a most unenviable
+light. I am not alleging, or even hinting, that he may be deemed guilty of
+actual crime. That is for the law to determine. But I do tell you emphatically
+that his present heedless attitude will give place to anxiety and dejection. It
+cannot be otherwise. A somewhat sordid history will be revealed, and his
+pretense that relations between him and the dead woman ceased three years ago
+will vanish into thin air. Believe me, Doris, I am actuated by no motive in
+this matter other than a desire to further your welfare. I cannot bear even to
+think of your name being associated, in ever so small degree, with that of a
+man who must be hounded out of his own social circle, if no worse fate is in
+store for him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good gracious!&rdquo; cried Doris, genuinely amazed. &ldquo;How do you
+come to know all this?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I listen to the words of those qualified to speak with knowledge and
+authority. I have mixed in varied company this past week, wholly on your
+account. Don&rsquo;t be led away by the mere formalities of the opening day of
+the inquest. The coroner deliberately shut off all real evidence except as to
+the cause of death. On Wednesday the situation will change, and you cannot fail
+to be shocked by what you hear, because you will be there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am given to understand that, even if I am called, my testimony will be
+of no importance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Such may be the police view. Mr. Ingerman will press for a very
+different estimate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has he told you that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So, although foreman of the jury, you have not declined to hobnob with a
+man who is avowedly Mr. Grant&rsquo;s enemy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I would hobnob with worse people if, by so doing, I might serve
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, &ldquo;fed up,&rdquo; as he put it to Hart, with watching the
+<i>t&ecirc;te &agrave; t&ecirc;te</i> between Doris and the chemist, sprang to
+his feet and went through a pantomime easy enough to follow save for one or two
+signs. Doris held both hands aloft. Well knowing that anything in the nature of
+a pre-arranged code would be gall and wormwood to Siddle, she explained
+laughingly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Grant signals that he and Mr. Hart are going for a walk; he wants me
+to accompany them. But I can&rsquo;t, unfortunately. I promised dad to help
+with the accounts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you really mean what you say, my warning would seem to have fallen on
+deaf ears.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle&rsquo;s voice was well under control, but his eyes glinted dangerously.
+His state was that of a man torn by passion who nevertheless felt that any
+display of the rage possessing him would be fatal to his cause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, rather unexpectedly, Doris took fire. Siddle&rsquo;s innuendoes and
+protestations were sufficiently hard to bear without the added knowledge that a
+ridiculous convention denied her the companionship of a man whom she loved, and
+who, she was beginning to believe, loved her. She swept round on Siddle like a
+wrathful goddess.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have borne with you patiently because of the acquaintance of years,
+but I shall be glad if this tittle-tattle of malice and ignorance now
+ceases,&rdquo; she said proudly. &ldquo;Mr. Grant is my friend, and my
+father&rsquo;s friend. In the first horror of the crime which has besmirched
+our dear little village, we both treated Mr. Grant rather badly. We know better
+to-day. Your Ingermans and your Elkins, and the rest of the busybodies gathered
+at the inn, may defame him as they choose, or as they dare. As for me, I am his
+loyal comrade, and shall remain so after next Wednesday, or a score of
+Wednesdays. I am going in now, Mr. Siddle, and shall be engaged during the
+remainder of the evening. Your shop opens at six, and I am sure you will find
+some more profitable means of spending the time than in telling me things I
+would rather not hear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle caught her arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doris,&rdquo; he said fiercely, &ldquo;you must not leave me without, at
+least, learning my true motive. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl wrested herself free from his grip. She realized what was coming, and
+forestalled it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I care nothing for your motive,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You forget
+yourself! Please go!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She literally ran into the house. The chemist, unless he elected to behave like
+a love-sick fool, had no option but to follow, and make his way to the street
+by the side door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The only other happening of significance that Sunday was an unheralded visit by
+Winter to the policeman&rsquo;s residence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He popped in after dusk, opening the door without knocking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You in, Robinson?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir. Will you&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shan&rsquo;t detain you more than a minute. At the inquest you said that
+you personally untied the rope which bound Miss Melhuish&rsquo;s body. Here are
+a piece of string and a newspaper. Would you mind showing me what sort of knot
+was used?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson was nearly struck dumb, and his fingers fumbled badly, but he managed
+to exhibit two hitches.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, thanks,&rdquo; said Winter, and was off in a jiffy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the window of a darkened room Robinson watched the erect, burly figure of
+the detective until it was merged in the mists of night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m&mdash;,&rdquo; he exclaimed bitterly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John, what are you swearing about?&rdquo; demanded his wife from the
+kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Something I heard to-day,&rdquo; answered her husband. &ldquo;There was
+a chap of my name, John P. Robinson, an&rsquo; he said that down in Judee they
+didn&rsquo;t know everything. And, by gum, he was right. They knew mighty
+little about London &rsquo;tecs, I&rsquo;m thinking. But, hold on.
+Surely&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He bustled into his coat, and hastened to <i>The Hollies</i>. No, neither Mr.
+Grant nor Mr. Hart had spoken to a soul about the knot. Nor had Bates. Of
+course, Robinson did not venture to describe Winter. Finally, he put the
+incident aside as a clear case of thought-reading.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap15"></a>Chapter XV.<br />
+A Matter of Heredity</h2>
+
+<p>
+Shortly before noon on Monday occurred two events destined to assume a
+paramount importance in the affair which was wringing the withers of
+Steynholme. As in the histories of both men and nations, these first steps in
+great developments began quietly enough. For one thing, Furneaux returned to
+the village. For another, the London telegraphist, who expected the day to
+prove practically a blank, was reading a newspaper when the telegraph
+instrument clicked the local call.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was checking and distributing the stock of stamps which had arrived that
+morning; her father was counting mail-bags in a small annex to the main room,
+the Knoleworth office having acquired a habit of making up shortages by docking
+the country branches. No member of the public happened to be present. The girl
+could have heard what the Morse code was tapping forth had she chosen, but she
+had trained herself to disregard the telegraph when occupied on other work.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly, however, the telegraphist&rsquo;s pencil paused.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hello!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Theodore Siddle! That&rsquo;s the chemist
+opposite, isn&rsquo;t it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Doris, suspending her calculations at mention of the
+name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, his mother&rsquo;s dead.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dead?&rdquo; she echoed vacantly. Somehow, it had never hitherto dawned
+on her that the chemist might possess relatives in some part of the country.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what it says,&rdquo; went on the other.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<i>&ldquo;&lsquo;Regret inform you your mother died this morning.
+Superintendent, Horton Asylum.&rsquo;&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In an asylum, too,&rdquo; said the girl, speaking at random.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Horton is the place for epileptic lunatics, near Epsom, you
+know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t know. Does it mean that&mdash;that she was an epileptic
+lunatic?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I should imagine, from the wording. If a nurse, or a matron,
+they&rsquo;d surely describe her as such.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose we ought not to discuss Mr. Siddle&rsquo;s telegram,&rdquo;
+said Doris, after a pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, no. But where&rsquo;s the harm? I wouldn&rsquo;t have yelled out
+the news if we three weren&rsquo;t alone. Where&rsquo;s that boy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone to his dinner. Father will take it. By the way, say nothing to him
+as to the contents. Would you mind calling him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris hurried swiftly to the sitting-room, and thence upstairs. The
+telegraphist explained the absence of a messenger, so Mr. Martin delivered the
+telegram in person.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Crossing the street, he detected a dead bee. He picked it up, horrified at the
+thought that the Isle of Wight disease might have reached Sussex. So it was an
+absent-minded postmaster who handed the telegram over Siddle&rsquo;s counter,
+inquiring laconically:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is there any answer?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle opened the buff envelope, and read. He glanced sharply at Martin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s wrong with that bee?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. I have my doubts. When I have a moment to spare
+I&rsquo;ll put it under the microscope.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle examined the telegram again. The handwriting was that beloved of Civil
+Service Commissioners. Unquestionably, it was not Doris&rsquo;s. No sooner had
+his friend gone off, still intent on the dead insect, than Siddle followed. He
+knew that the bee would undergo scientific scrutiny at once, so gave Martin
+just enough time to dive into the sitting-room before entering the post office.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you receive this telegram a few minutes ago!&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young man became severely official.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Which telegram?&rdquo; he said stiffly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This one,&rdquo; and Siddle gave him the written message.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; was the answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Excuse me, but&mdash;er&mdash;are its contents known to you only?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean, sir? It would cost me my berth if I divulged a word of
+it to anyone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry. Pray don&rsquo;t take offense. I&mdash;I&rsquo;m
+anxious that my friends, Mr. and Miss Martin, should not hear of it. That is
+what I really have in mind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The telegraphist cooled down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You may be quite sure that neither they nor any other person in
+Steynholme will ever see the duplicate,&rdquo; he said confidentially. &ldquo;I
+make up a package containing duplicates each evening, and it is sent to
+headquarters. If it will please you, I&rsquo;ll lock the copy now in my
+desk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is exceedingly good of you,&rdquo; said Siddle gratefully.
+&ldquo;You, as a Londoner, will understand that such a telegram
+from&mdash;er&mdash;Horton is not the sort of thing one would like to become
+known even in the most limited circle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can depend on me, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle hastened back to his shop. The telegraphist looked after him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Queer!&rdquo; he mused. &ldquo;Miss Doris guessed him at once. Phi-ew, I
+must be careful! This village contains surprises.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris, watching from an upper room, saw the visitor, and timed him. She
+imagined he had dispatched an answer. Being a woman, she sought enlightenment a
+few minutes later.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Siddle came in,&rdquo; she said tentatively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the specialist, smiling. &ldquo;And I agree with you,
+Miss Martin. We mustn&rsquo;t talk about telegrams, even among ourselves,
+unless it is necessary departmentally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was silenced, but she read the riddle correctly. The chemist was
+particularly anxious that no Steynholme resident should be made aware of his
+mother&rsquo;s death. She wondered why.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was enlightened when Furneaux paid a call about tea-time. She took him into
+the garden. The lawn at <i>The Hollies</i> was empty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you entertained an acquaintance yesterday?&rdquo; he began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Am I to tell you what happened?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not a great deal, I imagine,&rdquo; he said, with a puzzling laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, but I annoyed him, as Mr.&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No names!&rdquo; broke in the detective hastily. &ldquo;Names,
+especially modern ones, destroy romance. Even the Georgian method of using
+initials, or leaving out vowels, lend an air of intrigue to the veriest
+balderdash.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But no one can overhear us,&rdquo; was the somewhat surprised comment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How true!&rdquo; said Furneaux. &ldquo;Pardon me, Miss Martin. Tell the
+story in your own way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris had a good memory. She was invariably letter-perfect in a play after a
+couple of rehearsals, and could prompt others if they faltered. The detective
+listened in silence while she repeated the conversation between Siddle and
+herself. He took no notes. In fact, he hardly ever did make any record in a
+case unless it was essential to prove the exact words of a suspected person.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good!&rdquo; he said, when she had finished. &ldquo;That sounds like the
+complete text.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think I have left out anything of importance&mdash;that
+is, if a single word of it <i>is</i> important.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, heaps,&rdquo; he assured her. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s even better than I
+dared hope. Can you tell me if Siddle&rsquo;s mother is dead yet?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The question found Doris so thoroughly unprepared that she blurted out:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you had a telegram, too, then?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. But Siddle has had one, eh? Don&rsquo;t be vexed. I&rsquo;m not
+tricking you into revealing post office secrets. I knew she was dying, and,
+when I saw your father take a message to the chemist&rsquo;s shop I simply made
+an accurate guess.... Now, I&rsquo;m going to scare you, purposely and of
+malice aforethought, because I want you to be a good little girl, and obey
+orders. Mrs. Siddle, senior, now happily deceased, was an epileptic lunatic of
+a peculiarly dangerous type. She suffered from what is classed by the doctors
+as <i>furor epilepticus</i>, a form of spasmodic insanity not inconsistent with
+a high degree of bodily vigor and long periods of apparently complete mental
+saneness. Now, if I were not speaking to one who has shared her father&rsquo;s
+studies in bee-life, I would not introduce the subject of heredity. But
+<i>you</i> know, Miss Martin, that such racial characteristics are transmitted,
+or transmissible, I should say, by sex opposites. Thus, an epileptic mother is
+more likely to give her taint to a son than to a daughter.... Yes, I mean all
+that, and more,&rdquo; he went on, seeing the look of horror, not unmixed with
+fear, in Doris&rsquo;s eyes. &ldquo;There must be no more irritating of Siddle,
+or playing on his feelings&mdash;by you, at any rate. Treat him gently. If he
+insists on making love to you, be as firm as you like in a non-committal way. I
+mean, by that, an entire absence on your part of any suggestion that you are
+repulsing him because of a real or supposed preference for any other
+man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you want me to believe that he is liable to attack me?&rdquo;
+demanded the girl, her naturally courageous spirit coming to her aid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do,&rdquo; said Furneaux, speaking with marked earnestness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yet you ask me to endure his company if he chooses to force himself on
+me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For a few days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it may be a few years?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. That is not to be thought of. Leave it to me to devise a way.
+Besides, you need not allow him so many opportunities that the strain would
+become unbearable. You are busy, owing to the certain increase of work brought
+about by this murder. Your time will be greatly occupied. But, don&rsquo;t
+render him morbidly suspicious. For instance, no more dinners at <i>The
+Hollies</i>. No more gadding about by night, if you hear weird noises on the
+other side of the river. And you must absolutely deny yourself the pleasurable
+excitement of Mr. Grant&rsquo;s company.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are carrying a warning to its extreme limit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exactly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And am I to keep this knowledge to myself?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In whom would you confide?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My father, of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know you better,&rdquo; and the detective&rsquo;s voice took on a
+profoundly serious note. &ldquo;Your father would never admit that what he
+knows to be true of bees is equally true of humanity. You can trust the police
+to keep a pretty sharp eye on Siddle, of course, but the present is a strenuous
+period, both for us and for people with maniacal tendencies, so accidents may
+happen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have distressed me immeasurably,&rdquo; said the girl, striving to
+pierce the mask of that inscrutable face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I meant to,&rdquo; answered Furneaux quietly. &ldquo;No half measures
+for me. I&rsquo;ve looked up the asylum record of Mrs. Siddle, senior, and
+it&rsquo;s not nice reading.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There was a Mrs. Siddle, junior, then?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A Mrs. Theodore Siddle, if one adopts the conventional usage. Yes. She
+died last month.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Last month!&rdquo; gasped Doris, feeling vaguely that she was moving in
+a maze of deceit and subterfuge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;On May 25th, to be precise. She lived apart from her husband. I have
+reason to believe she feared him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yet&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She hesitated, hardly able to put her jumbled thoughts into words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. That&rsquo;s so,&rdquo; said the detective instantly. &ldquo;Never
+mind. It&rsquo;s a fairly decent world, taken <i>en bloc</i>. I ought to speak
+with authority. I see enough of the seamy side of it, goodness knows. Now,
+forewarned is forearmed. Don&rsquo;t be nervous. Don&rsquo;t take risks.
+Everything will come right in time. Remember, I&rsquo;m not far away in an
+emergency. Should I chance to be absent if you need advice, send for Mr.
+Franklin. You can easily devise some official excuse, a mislaid letter, or an
+error in a telegram.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think I shall feel confident if both of you are near,&rdquo; and the
+ghost of a smile lit Doris&rsquo;s wan features.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;re a marvelous combination,&rdquo; grinned Furneaux, reverting
+at once to his normal impishness. &ldquo;I am all brain; he is all muscle. Such
+an alliance prevails against the ungodly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Mr. Grant in any danger?&rdquo; inquired Doris suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two looked into each other&rsquo;s eyes. Doris was eager to ask a question,
+which Furneaux dared her to put. The detective won. She sighed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m to behave. Am I to regard
+myself as a decoy duck?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A duck, anyhow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She laughed lightly. Furneaux would vouchsafe no further information, it would
+appear. For a girl of nineteen, Doris was uncommonly gifted with clear,
+analytical reasoning powers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective returned to the Hare and Hounds, and went upstairs. He met Peters
+on the landing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The devil!&rdquo; he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My <i>dear</i> pal!&rdquo; retorted the journalist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you living here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not, indeed? Where the eagles are there is the carcase.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your misquotation is offensive.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was so intended.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come and have a drink.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I say &lsquo;yes.&rsquo; You&rsquo;ll thank me on your bended knees
+afterwards. The South American gent is having the time of his life. I&rsquo;ve
+just been to my room for <i>Whitaker&rsquo;s Almanack</i>, wherewith a certain
+Don Walter Hart purposes flooring him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wally Hart had, indeed, succeeded in running to earth the Argentine magnate,
+and was giving Winter a most uncomfortable quarter of an hour.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; shouted Hart, when Furneaux came in with Peters.
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s the pocket marvel who&rsquo;ll answer any question straight
+off. What is the staple export of the Argentine!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How often have you been there?&rdquo; demanded the detective dryly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Six times.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you&rsquo;ve lived there?&rdquo; This to Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; glowered the big man, fearing the worst.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then the answer is &lsquo;fools,&rsquo;&rdquo; cackled Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wally laughed. He had remembered, just in time, that he had no right to claim
+acquaintance with the representative of Scotland Yard, and there were some
+farmers present, each of whom had a &ldquo;likely animal&rdquo; to offer the
+buyer of blood stock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gad, I think you&rsquo;re right,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You wanted me to say &lsquo;sheep,&rsquo; I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Got it, at once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As though one valuable horse wasn&rsquo;t worth a thousand sheep.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just what my friend, Don Manoel Alcorta, of Los Andes ranch, Catamarca,
+always held,&rdquo; put in Winter, drawing the bow at a venture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart cocked an eye at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I would take off my hat, if I wore one in
+Steynholme, to any man who claims the friendship of Don Manoel Alcorta, a
+sincere patriot. I suggest that we crack a bottle to his immortal
+memory.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My doctor forbids me to touch wine,&rdquo; said Winter mournfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But these bucolic breeders of browns and bays employ wiser medicos,
+I&rsquo;ll go bail. Landlord, a quart of the best, and six out, as they say in
+London.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Six glasses were duly filled with champagne. When it was consumed, Hart
+buttonholed Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A word with you, scribe,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Good-day, gentlemen. I
+leave you to your nags. Treat Mr. Franklin fairly. The friend of Don Manoel
+Alcorta must be a true man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter heaved a sigh of relief when the professional revolutionist had
+vanished.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a funny &rsquo;un,&rdquo; commented one of the farmers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A bit touched, I reckon,&rdquo; said another. &ldquo;Wot&rsquo;s
+&rsquo;e doin&rsquo; now to the other one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They looked through the window. The two were standing in the middle of the
+road, and Wally was shaking Peters violently. The argument was not so fierce as
+it appeared to be. Peters had been commanded to bring both detectives to dinner
+that evening; when he demurred, trying to hedge on the question of
+Winter&rsquo;s identity, Hart grabbed him by the shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do as I tell you,&rdquo; he hissed. &ldquo;Of course, I know now that
+the big fellow is the man Grant heard of a week ago. I was an idiot to take him
+seriously about the Argentine. Bring the pair of &rsquo;em, I tell you.
+We&rsquo;ll make a night of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try,&rdquo; said Peters faintly, &ldquo;but if you stir up
+that wine so vigorously I won&rsquo;t answer for the consequences.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter, wishing devoutly that would-be sellers of horseflesh were not so
+numerous in the district, noted the names and addresses of the local men, and
+promised to write when he could make an appointment. Then he escaped upstairs,
+whither Furneaux soon followed. Winter had secured an extra bedroom,
+overlooking the river, which Tomlin had converted into a sitting-room. Thus, he
+held a secure observation post both in front and rear of the hotel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, how did she take it?&rdquo; inquired the Chief Inspector, when he
+and his colleague were safe behind a closed door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sensible girl,&rdquo; said Furneaux. &ldquo;By the way, Siddle&rsquo;s
+mother is dead. Telegram came this morning. Things should happen now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t quite see why.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. You&rsquo;re still muddled after floundering in the mud of South
+America. What possessed you to let that cheerful idiot, Wally Hart, put you in
+the cart?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How could I help it? I was extracting some really helpful facts about
+Siddle and Elkin from Tomlin and the others when a shock-headed whirlwind blew
+in, and nearly embraced me because I claimed acquaintance with the El Dorado
+bar in Buenos Ayres. From that instant I was lost. Like St. Augustine on the
+gridiron, no sooner was I nicely toasted on one side than I was turned on to
+the other. That grinning penny-a-liner, Peters, too, helped as assistant
+torturer. Wait till he asks me for a &lsquo;pointer&rsquo; in this or any other
+case. He sold me a pup to-day, but I&rsquo;ll land him with a full-sized
+mastiff.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, you won&rsquo;t. He&rsquo;s done you a lot of good. You were simply
+reeking with conceit when I met you this morning. It was &lsquo;Siddle
+this&rsquo; and &lsquo;Siddle that&rsquo; until you fairly sickened me. One
+would have thought I hadn&rsquo;t cleared the ground for you, left you with all
+lines open and yourself unknown to the enemy. Sometimes, you make me
+tired.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sorry, Charles,&rdquo; said Winter patronizingly. &ldquo;I had a bit of
+luck on Sunday, I admit. The chance turn taken by the conversation with Doris,
+with the result that I was able to occupy a strategic position on the cliff,
+and hear every word Siddle uttered, was really fortunate. But, isn&rsquo;t that
+just what men mean when they prate of success? Opportunity knocks once at every
+man&rsquo;s door, says the old saw. The clever man grabs hold instantly. The
+indolent one, often a mere gabbler, opens his eyes and his mouth weeks
+afterwards, and cries, &lsquo;Dear me! Was that the much-looked-for
+opportunity?&rsquo; Of course, Robinson&rsquo;s by-play with the sack and rope
+was merely thrown in by the prodigal hand of Fate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; yelped Furneaux. &ldquo;Another platitude, and I&rsquo;ll
+assault you with the tongs!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was the invariable habit of the Big &rsquo;Un and Little &rsquo;Un to
+quarrel like cat and dog when the toils were closing in around a suspect. Woe,
+then, to the malefactor! His was a parlous state.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s cool down, Charles!&rdquo; said Winter, opening a leather
+case, and selecting, with great care, one out of half a dozen precisely similar
+cigars. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re pretty sure of our man, but we haven&rsquo;t a scrap
+of evidence against him. How, or where, to begin ringing him in I haven&rsquo;t
+the faintest notion. If only he&rsquo;d kill Grant we&rsquo;d get him at
+once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he won&rsquo;t. He trusts to Ingerman playing that part of the game.
+He&rsquo;s as artful as a pet fox. I bought soap, and a pound of sal volatile,
+but he did up each parcel with sealing-wax.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sal volatile!&rdquo; smiled Winter. &ldquo;I, too, went in for soap, but
+my imagination would not soar beyond a packet of cotton-wool. It was the
+lumpiest thing I could think of.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And perfectly useless!&rdquo; sneered Furneaux. &ldquo;I must say you do
+fling the taxpayers&rsquo; money about. Now, <i>my</i> little lot will keep the
+electric bells in my flat in order for two years.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You forget that constant association with you demands that I should
+frequently plug my two ears,&rdquo; retorted Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux would surely have thrown back the jest had not a knock on the door
+interrupted him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there? I&rsquo;m busy,&rdquo; cried Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Me-ow!&rdquo; whined Peters&rsquo;s voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s you, Tom. Come in!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The journalist crept in on tiptoe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush! We are not observed,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Wally Hart threatens
+to choke me if you two don&rsquo;t dine with him and Grant to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was silence for a little while. The detectives looked at each other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At what time?&rdquo; said Winter, at last.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters was astonished, and showed it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, I assured him it was absolutely imposs.,&rdquo; he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, it isn&rsquo;t. In fact, it suits our plans. I want exercise, and
+shall walk back from Knoleworth. Furneaux will make his own arrangements. Tell
+Grant that I shall drop in without knocking.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And tell him I shall arrive by parachute,&rdquo; added Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In case of accidents, and there is a shoot-up, with myself as the
+unresisting victim, my front name is James,&rdquo; said Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The only good point about you,&rdquo; scoffed Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re strong on names to-day,&rdquo; tittered the journalist.
+&ldquo;Don Manoel Alcorta was a superb effort as an authority on gee-gees.
+Wally tells me his donship is the recognized expert south of the line on
+seismic disturbances, and spends his days and nights watching a needle making
+scratches on a sensitive plate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He would be useful here in a day or two,&rdquo; said Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, thanks! Is that a tip?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not for publication. What you must say is that this affair looks like
+baffling the shrewdest wits in Scotland Yard.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My very phrase&mdash;my own ewe lamb. Pardon. I shouldn&rsquo;t have
+alluded to sheep.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The only known representative of the Yard in Steynholme is
+Furneaux,&rdquo; smiled the Chief Inspector.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux was drumming on a window-pane with his finger-tips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True,&rdquo; he cackled. &ldquo;Just to prove it, he now informs you
+that Siddle, finding trade slow, has called on Mr. John Menzies Grant!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap16"></a>Chapter XVI.<br />
+Furneaux Makes a Successful Bid</h2>
+
+<p>
+The lawn front of <i>The Hollies</i> was not visible from the upper story of
+the Hare and Hounds owing to a clump of pines which had found foothold on the
+cliff, but, through the gap formed by the end of the post office garden, the
+entrance to the house from the Knoleworth road was discernible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux&rsquo;s dramatic announcement brought the other two to the window. By
+this time Peters, gifted with a nose for news like a well-trained
+setter&rsquo;s for partridges, had begun to associate the quiet-mannered,
+gentle-spoken chemist with the inner circle of the crime, so waited and watched
+with the detectives for Siddle&rsquo;s reappearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At any rate the visitor must have been admitted, because a long quarter of an
+hour elapsed before he came in sight again. He walked out slowly into the
+roadway, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and glanced to right and
+left. Then, turning abruptly, he stared at the dwelling he had just quitted.
+What this slight but peculiar action signified was not hard to guess. Furneaux,
+indeed, put it into words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Having warned Grant off Miss Doris Martin, and been cursed for his
+pains, the foreman of the jury does not trouble to await further evidence, but
+arrives at a true and lawful verdict straight off,&rdquo; announced the little
+man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We ought to hear things to-night,&rdquo; said Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We?&rdquo; inquired Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Didn&rsquo;t I make it clear that I shared in the dinner
+invitation?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, and I&rsquo;m&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say it!&rdquo; pleaded the journalist. &ldquo;If I fell from
+grace to-day, remember my unswerving loyalty since the hour we met on the
+platform at Knoleworth! Haven&rsquo;t I kept close as an oyster? And would any
+consideration on earth move me to publish an accurate and entertaining account
+of the roasting of Chief Inspector Winter by Wally Hart? Think what I&rsquo;m
+sacrificing&mdash;a column of the best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter bent a weighing look on the speaker. There was treason in the thought,
+as King James remarked to the barber who tried to prove his loyalty by pointing
+out how easily he might cut his majesty&rsquo;s throat any morning. But Peters
+maintained the expression of a sphinx, and the big man relaxed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The conditions are that not a word about this business appears in print,
+either now or in the future until we have a criminal in the dock,&rdquo; he
+said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Accepted,&rdquo; said Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux laughed shrilly, even derisively, but him his colleague treated with
+majestic disdain. Then, the chemist having reentered the village, the group
+broke up, Peters to search his brains for &ldquo;copy&rdquo; which should be
+readable yet contain no hint of the new trail, Winter to take train to
+Knoleworth, and Furneaux to tackle Fred Elkin, who, he had ascertained earlier,
+would drive home from a neighboring hamlet about five o&rsquo;clock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin had returned when the detective reached the house, a somewhat pretentious
+place, half farm, half villa, and altogether horsey. The entrance hall bristled
+with fox masks and brushes. A useful collection of burnished bits and snaffles
+hung on a side wall. A couple of stuffed badgers held two wicker stands for
+sticks and umbrellas, and whips and hunting-crops were ranged on hooks beneath
+a 12-bore and a rook rifle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A pert maid-servant took Furneaux&rsquo;s card, blanched when she read it, and
+forgot to close the door of the dining-room. Hence, the detective heard
+Elkin&rsquo;s gruff comments:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? <i>That</i> chap? Wants to see me? Not more than I want to see
+him. Show him in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux, looking very meek and mild, entered an apartment of the carpet-bag
+upholstery period. A set of six exceedingly good and rare sporting prints
+caught his eye.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good day,&rdquo; he said, finding Elkin drinking tea, and eating a
+boiled egg. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re feeling better, I&rsquo;m glad to see.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, no matter how ungracious a man may be, a courteous solicitude as to his
+health demands a certain note of civility in return.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Sit down. Will you join me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have a cup of tea, with pleasure,&rdquo; said Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Right-o! Just touch that bell, will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other obeyed, and took a closer look at one of the prints. Yes, the date
+was right, 1841, and the stippling admirable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nice lot of pictures, those,&rdquo; he said cheerfully, when the
+frightened maid, much to her relief, had been told to bring another cup and a
+fresh supply of toast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are they?&rdquo; Elkin had taken them and some kitchen furniture for a
+bad debt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Will you sell them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I haven&rsquo;t thought about it. What&rsquo;ll you give?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux hesitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t resist anything in the art line that takes my
+fancy,&rdquo; he said, after a pause of indecision. &ldquo;What do you say to
+ten bob each?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin valued the lot at that figure, but Furneaux was a fool, and should be
+treated as such.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, come now!&rdquo; he cried roguishly. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re worth more
+than that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux reflected again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Three pounds is a good deal for six prints,&rdquo; he murmured,
+&ldquo;but, to get it off my mind, I&rsquo;ll spring to guineas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Make it three-ten and they&rsquo;re yours.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Three guineas is my absolute limit,&rdquo; said Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Done!&rdquo; cried Elkin. The original debt was under two pounds, so he
+had cleared more than fifty per cent. on the transaction, and was plus a number
+of chairs and a table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux counted out the money, wrote a receipt on a leaf torn from his
+pocket-book, and stamped it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sign that,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;pocket the cash, send the set to the
+Hare and Hounds for me in a dog-cart now, and the deal is through.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Leaving the table, he went and lifted down each picture carefully. Somewhat
+wonderingly, Elkin rang the bell once more, gave the necessary instructions,
+and the room was cleared of its art. He was quite sure now that Furneaux was,
+as he put it, &ldquo;dotty.&rdquo; The latter, however, sat and enjoyed his tea
+as though well pleased with his bargain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And how are things going in the murder at <i>The Hollies</i>?&rdquo;
+inquired the horse-dealer, by way of a polite leading up to the visitor&rsquo;s
+unexplained business.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fairly well,&rdquo; said the detective. &ldquo;My chief difficulty was
+to convince certain important people that you didn&rsquo;t kill Miss Melhuish.
+Once I&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Me!&rdquo; roared Elkin, his pale blue eyes assuming a fiery tint.
+&ldquo;<i>Me!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Once I established that fact,&rdquo; went on the other severely,
+&ldquo;a real stumbling-block was removed. You see, Elkin, you have behaved
+throughout like a perfect fool, and thus lent a sort of credibility to an
+otherwise absurd notion. Your furious hatred of Mr. Grant, for instance, born
+of an equally fatuous&mdash;or, shall I say? fat-headed&mdash;belief that Miss
+Martin would marry you for the mere asking, led you into deep waters. It was a
+mistake, too, when you lied to P. C.  Robinson as to the time you came home on
+that Monday night. You told him you walked straight here from the Hare and
+Hounds at ten o&rsquo;clock. You know you didn&rsquo;t&mdash;that it was nearer
+half past eleven when you reached this house. Consider what that discrepancy
+alone might have meant if Scotland Yard failed to take your measure correctly.
+Then add the fact that the murderer wore the hat, wig, and whiskers in which
+you made a guy of yourself while filling the r&ocirc;le of Svengali last
+winter. Now, I ask you, Elkin, where would you have stood with the average
+British jury when the prosecution established those three things: Motive, your
+jealousy of Grant; time, your unaccounted-for disappearance during the hour
+when the crime was committed; and disguise, a clumsy suggestion of Owd
+Ben&rsquo;s ghost? Really, I have known men brought to the scaffold on
+circumstantial evidence little stronger than that. Instead of glaring at me
+like a cornered rat you ought to drop on your knees and thank providence, as
+manifested through the intelligence of the &lsquo;Yard,&rsquo; that you are not
+now in a cell at Knoleworth, ruminating on your own stupidity, and in no small
+jeopardy of your life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many emotions chased each other across Fred Elkin&rsquo;s somewhat mean and
+cruel face while Furneaux rated him in this extraordinary manner. Surprise,
+wrath, even fear, had their phases. But, dominating all other sensations, was
+an overpowering indignation at the implied hopelessness of his pursuit of Doris
+Martin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He literally howled an oath at his torturer. Furneaux was shocked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; he protested in a horrified tone. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
+swear at your best friend.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Friend! By&mdash;, I&rsquo;ll make you pay for what you&rsquo;ve said.
+There&rsquo;s a law to stop that sort of thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But the law requires witnesses. A slander isn&rsquo;t a slander unless
+it&rsquo;s uttered to your detriment before a third party. How different would
+be Mr. Grant&rsquo;s action against you! Your well-wishers simply
+couldn&rsquo;t muzzle you. Whether before your pot-house cronies or mere
+strangers, you charged him openly with being a murderer. I&rsquo;m sorry for
+you, Elkin, if ever you come before a judge. He&rsquo;ll rattle more than my
+three guineas out of you. Even now, you don&rsquo;t grasp the extent of your
+folly. Instead of telling me how you spent that hour and a half on the night of
+the crime you have the incredible audacity to threaten me, <i>me</i>, the man
+who has saved you from jail. One more word, you miserable swab, and I&rsquo;ll
+let Robinson arrest you. You&rsquo;ll be set free, of course, when I stage the
+actual villain, but a few remands of a week each in custody will thin your hot
+blood. You were with Peggy Smith after leaving the Hare and Hounds, making a
+fool of an honest girl who thinks you mean to wed her. Yet you blather about
+being &lsquo;practically engaged&rsquo; to Doris Martin, a girl who
+wouldn&rsquo;t let you tie her shoe-lace. You&rsquo;re an impudent pup, Fred,
+and you know it. But you stock decent tea, so I&rsquo;ll take another cup. If
+you&rsquo;re wise, you&rsquo;ll take a second one yourself. It&rsquo;s better
+for you than whiskey.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin, despite all his faults, was endowed with the shrewdness inseparable from
+his business, because no man devoid of brains ever yet throve as a
+horse-dealer. He smothered his rage, thinking he might learn more from this
+strange-mannered detective by seeming complaisance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a bit rough on a fellow,&rdquo; he growled sulkily, pouring
+out the tea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For your good, my boy, solely for your good. Now, own up about
+Peggy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. That&rsquo;s right. She&rsquo;d prove an alibi, so your tom-fool
+case breaks down when the flag falls.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does it? A girl may say anything to save her supposed lover. How will
+the twelve good men and true view Doris Martin&rsquo;s evidence on Wednesday?
+What did <i>you</i> mean, for instance, by your question to the coroner at the
+first hearing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought Grant was guilty, and I think so still,&rdquo; came the savage
+retort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A nice juryman you are, I must say! May I trouble you to pass the
+sugar?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here! What are you gettin&rsquo; at? Damme if I can see through
+your game. What is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t want to worry poor Peggy. And her father might set about
+you if he knew the facts, so I&rsquo;m probably saving you a hiding as well as
+a period in jail. The only reliable witness we had as to events in
+Tomlin&rsquo;s place was a commercial traveler, and he is positive that the
+house closed at ten o&rsquo;clock. However, that&rsquo;s all right. How do you
+account for the marvelous improvement in your health? Dr. Foxton cannot
+understand your illness. He says you are wiry, and have a strong
+constitution.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dr. Foxton jolly near knocked me up,&rdquo; said Elkin. &ldquo;I took
+his medicine till I was sick as a cat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you took spirits, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s nothing fresh. Anyhow, I&rsquo;ve dropped both, and am
+picking up every hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Since when?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Since yesterday morning, if you want to know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do. I&rsquo;m most interested. Dr. Foxton doesn&rsquo;t compound his
+own prescriptions, does he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I get &rsquo;em made up at Siddle&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah. These country chemists often keep drugs in stock till they
+deteriorate, or even set up chemical changes. Have you the bottles?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. But what the&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything left in them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The last two are half full. Still&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a cross-grained chap you are? I buy your pictures, drink your tea,
+rescue you from a positively dangerous position, warn you against carrying any
+farther a most serious libel, yet you won&rsquo;t let me help you in a matter
+affecting your health!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Help me? How?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Even you, I suppose, realize that Scotland Yard employs skilled
+analysts. Give me your bottles, in strict confidence, of course, and I&rsquo;ll
+tell you what they really contain. Then you can compare the analyses with the
+doctor&rsquo;s prescriptions. The knowledge should be useful, to say the least.
+Siddle&rsquo;s reputation needn&rsquo;t suffer, but, unless I am greatly
+mistaken, you will have the whip hand of him in future.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The prospect was alluring. Elkin would enjoy showing up the chemist, who had
+treated him rather as a precocious infant of late.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By jing!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m on that. Bet you a
+quid&mdash;But, no. You&rsquo;d hardly lay against your own opinion. Just wait
+a tick. I&rsquo;ll bring &rsquo;em.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux stared fixedly at the table while his host was absent. His conscience
+was not pricking him with regard to an unmerited slur on the country chemists
+of Great Britain. All is fair in love and the detection of crime, and he simply
+had to get hold of those bottles by some daring yet plausible ruse.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now&mdash;I wonder!&rdquo; he muttered, as Elkin&rsquo;s step sounded on
+the stairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There you are!&rdquo; grinned the horse-dealer. &ldquo;Take a dose of
+the last one. It&rsquo;ll stir your liver to some tune.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux drew the corks out of both bottles, and sniffed the contents. Then he
+tasted, with much tongue-smacking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Um!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Stale laudanum, for a start. I expected as
+much. Bought by the gallon and sold by the drop. Is that the dogcart with my
+pictures?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hail your man. He can give me a lift.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But there&rsquo;s lots of things I want to ask you&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Probably. I&rsquo;m here to put questions, not to give information.
+I&rsquo;ve gone a long way beyond the official tether already. If you&rsquo;ve
+a grain of sense, and I think you&rsquo;re not altogether lacking in that
+respect, you&rsquo;ll keep a close tongue, and act on the tips thrown out.
+You&rsquo;ll find pearls of price among the rubbish-heap of my remarks
+generally. Good-by. See you on Wednesday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Furneaux climbed into the cart, holding the pictures so that they would not
+rattle, and perhaps loosen the old gilded frames.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Drive me to the chemist&rsquo;s&rdquo; he said to the groom; within five
+minutes, he was explaining his purchase to Siddle, and requesting, as a favor,
+that the latter should wrap the set of prints in brown paper, making two
+parcels, and tying each securely, so that they might be dispatched by train.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle examined one, the first of the series, which depicted the Aylesbury
+Steeplechase.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rather good,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Where did you pick them up?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At Elkin&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed. What an unexpected place!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the only way a poor man can get hold of a decent thing
+nowadays. The dealers grab everything, and sell them as collections.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Art is not in my line, though anyone can see that these are
+excellent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. But you&rsquo;re looking at &lsquo;The Start.&rsquo; Have a peep at
+this one, &lsquo;The Finish.&rsquo; The artist <i>would</i> have his joke. You
+see that the dark horse wins.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How did you persuade Elkin to part with them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By paying him a tempting price, of course. I&rsquo;m a weak-minded ass
+in such matters.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The chemist busied himself to oblige the detective, wrapping and tying the
+packages neatly. Furneaux insisted on paying sixpence for the paper, string,
+and labor. There was quite a friendly argument, but he carried his point.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dog-cart then brought him to the station, where he tipped and dismissed the
+man; a little later, he caught a London-bound train.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At half past seven precisely, Winter turned in through the Knoleworth-side gate
+of <i>The Hollies</i> (there were two, the approach to the house being
+semi-circular) and pushed the door open, as it was standing ajar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was waiting in the hall, and greeted him pleasantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a telegram which is meant for you, I fancy,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter read:
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>
+<i>&ldquo;Sorry to spoil your party. Compelled to travel to London. Returning
+early to-morrow. F.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s pretty Fanny&rsquo;s way,&rdquo; smiled the Chief
+Inspector. &ldquo;But there&rsquo;s something in the wind, or he would never
+have hurried off in this fashion. He tells me that the only pleasant evening he
+spent in Steynholme was under your roof, Mr. Grant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come along in, Don Jaime!&rdquo; drawled Hart&rsquo;s voice from the
+&ldquo;den,&rdquo; which had been cleared of its litter, the lawn being deemed
+somewhat unsuitable for the purposes of a drawing-room on that occasion. It was
+overlooked from too many quarters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, we meet now under less uneven conditions, Mr. Hart,&rdquo; said
+Winter. &ldquo;Do you know that Enrico Suarez is in London?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart, startled for once in his life, gazed at the detective fixedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Since when?&rdquo; he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He crossed from Lisbon last week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart took a revolver from his hip pocket, and opened it, apparently making sure
+that it was properly loaded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the law in England?&rdquo; he inquired. &ldquo;Can I shoot
+first, or must I wait till the other fellow has had a pop?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Suarez is in Holloway,
+awaiting extradition. But I owed you one for the rise you took out of me
+to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A bell sounded, and Peters came in. He glanced around.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s Furneaux?&rdquo; he demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone to London. Why this keen interest?&rdquo; said Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s something up. Elkin dropped in at the Hare and Hounds. He
+was simply bursting with curiosity, and had to talk to somebody. So he chose
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He would,&rdquo; was the dry comment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fact, &rsquo;pon me honor. I didn&rsquo;t lead him on an inch. It seems
+that Furneaux bought some prints which caught his eye in Elkin&rsquo;s house,
+and Tomlin says that that hexplains hit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Explains what?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Furneaux&rsquo;s visit to Siddle, and certain bulky parcels brought in
+and brought out again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Queer little duck, Furneaux,&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;Now that my mind
+is at ease about the immediate future of the biggest rascal in Venezuela I can
+take an active part in Steynholme affairs once more. When it&rsquo;s all
+through I&rsquo;ll make a novel of it, dashed if I don&rsquo;t, with the
+postmaster&rsquo;s daughter in the three-color process as a
+frontispiece.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But who will be the villain?&rdquo; said Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart waved the negro-head pipe at the other three.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Draw lots. I am indifferent,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap17"></a>Chapter XVII.<br />
+An Official Housebreaker</h2>
+
+<p>
+No word bearing on the main topic in these men&rsquo;s minds was said during
+dinner. Grant was attentive to his guests, but markedly silent, almost
+distrait. Two such talkers as Hart and Peters, however, covered any gaps in
+this respect. Cigars and pipes were in evidence, and, horrible though it may
+sound in the ears of a <i>gourmet</i>, the port was circulating, when Winter
+turned and gazed at the small window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that where the ghost appears!&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Grant. &ldquo;You know the whole story, of
+course?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Furneaux misses nothing, I assure you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He missed a daylight apparition this afternoon, at any rate. I have no
+secrets from my friends, so I may as well tell you&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That Siddle called, and implored you to consider Doris Martin&rsquo;s
+future by avoiding her at present,&rdquo; put in the Chief Inspector.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Such shocks were losing some of their effect, on the principle that a man hears
+the burst of the thousandth high-explosive shell with a good deal less
+trepidation than attended the efforts of the first dozen. Still, Grant gazed at
+the speaker in profound astonishment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You Scotland Yard men seem to know everything,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A mere pretense. Try him on sheep-raising in the Argentine, Jack,&rdquo;
+murmured Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wally, this business is developing a very serious side,&rdquo; protested
+Grant. Hart stretched a long arm for the port decanter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, friend!&rdquo; he addressed it gravely. &ldquo;Let us commune! You
+and I together shall mingle joyous memories of
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>
+<i>&ldquo;A draught of the Warm South,<br />
+The true, the blushful Hippocrene.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We read Siddle&rsquo;s visit aright, it would appear,&rdquo; said Winter
+quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. That was his mission, put in a nutshell.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what did you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I told him that, after Wednesday, I would ask Doris Martin to marry me,
+which is the best answer I can give him and all the world.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why &lsquo;after Wednesday&rsquo;?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because I shall know then the full extent of the annoyance which
+Ingerman can inflict.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you give Siddle that reason?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter frowned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You literary gentlemen are all alike,&rdquo; he said vexedly. &ldquo;You
+become such adepts in analyzing human duplicity in your books that you never
+dream of trying to be wise as a serpent in your own affairs. The author who
+will split legal hairs by way of brightening his work will sign a contract with
+a publisher that draws tears from his lawyer when a dispute arises. Why be so
+candid with a rank outsider, like Siddle?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I distrust the man. Doris distrusts him, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So you take him into your confidence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I merely give him chapter and verse to prove that his interference
+is useless.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you engaged a lawyer for Wednesday?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. Why should I? My hands are clean.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But your clothes may suffer if enough mud is slung at you. Wire to this
+man in the morning, and mention my name&mdash;Winter, of course, not
+Franklin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Codlin&rsquo;s your friend, not Short,&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;Sorry.
+It&rsquo;s a time-worn jape, but it fitted in admirably.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective scribbled a name and address on a card.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think you need worry about Ingerman,&rdquo; he went on,
+&ldquo;though it&rsquo;s well to be prepared. A smart solicitor can stop
+irrelevant statements, especially if ready for them. But there must be no more
+of this heart-opening to all and sundry, Mr. Grant. Siddle is your rival. He,
+too, wants to marry Miss Martin, and regards you now as the only
+stumbling-block.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle! That stick!&rdquo; gasped Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ridiculous, indeed monstrous,&rdquo; agreed Winter, rather heatedly,
+&ldquo;but nevertheless a candidate for the lady&rsquo;s hand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he laughed. Peters&rsquo;s keen eyes were watching him, and Wally Hart was
+giving more heed to the conversation than was revealed by a fixed stare at the
+negro&rsquo;s head in meerschaum.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve bothered me,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;I thought you had
+more sense. Don&rsquo;t you understand that all these bits of gossip reach
+Ingerman through the filter of the snug at the Hare and Hounds?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The man&rsquo;s visit was unexpected, and his mission even more so. I
+just blurted out the facts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;ve rendered the services of a solicitor absolutely
+indispensable now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, by no means so clear-headed these days as was his wont, followed the
+scent of Winter&rsquo;s red herring like the youngest hound in a pack; but
+Wally Hart and Peters, lookers-on in this chase, harked back to the right line.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I&mdash;&rdquo; they both broke in simultaneously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Place to the fourth estate,&rdquo; bowed Hart solemnly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; said the journalist. &ldquo;May I put a question,
+Winter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A score, if you like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Totting up the average of the murder cases in which Furneaux and you
+have been engaged, in how many days do you count on spotting your man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sometimes we never get him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, come a bit closer than that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Generally, given a clear run, with an established motive, we know who he
+is within eight days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wednesday, in effect?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t say, this time?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Suppose, as a hypothesis, you are convinced of a man&rsquo;s guilt, but
+can obtain little or no evidence?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He goes through life a free and independent citizen of this or any other
+country. Arrests on suspicion are not my long suit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How does one get evidence?&rdquo; purred Hart. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t
+scattered broadcast by a clever criminal. And you fellows seem to object to my
+method, which has been the only effectual one so far in this affair.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you had shot that specter the other night there would have been the
+deuce to pay.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you would now be sure of the murderer?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do you assume that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Like Eugene Aram, he can&rsquo;t keep away from the scene of his
+crime.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter felt he was skating on thin ice, so hastened to escape.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Detective work is nearly all guessing,&rdquo; he said sententiously,
+&ldquo;yet one must beware of what I may term obvious guessing. If cause and
+effect were so closely allied in certain classes of crime my department would
+cease to exist, and the protection of life and property might be left safely to
+the ordinary police. By the way, P. C. Robinson has been rather inactive during
+two whole days. That makes me suspicious. What&rsquo;s he up to? Can you throw
+a light on him, Peters?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The journalist knew that he was being told peremptorily to cease prying. He
+kicked Hart under the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hi!&rdquo; yelled Wally. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter? Strike your
+matches on your own shin, not mine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Peters is announcing that the discussion is now closed,&rdquo; said
+Winter firmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. He needn&rsquo;t emphasize the warning by a hob-nailed boot.
+When my injured feelings have recovered I&rsquo;ll discourse to you of strange
+folk and stranger doings on the banks of the Rio de la Plata, and your stock as
+an Argentine plutocrat will rise one hundred per cent, next time you&rsquo;re
+badgered by a man who knows the country.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Meanwhile, Robinson is hot-foot on the Elkin trail,&rdquo; laughed
+Peters. &ldquo;His face was a study to-day when the groom supplied details of
+the picture-buying.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Furneaux wanted that transaction to be widely known,&rdquo; said Winter.
+&ldquo;He gave every publicity to it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did he secure a bargain, I wonder?&rdquo; said Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I expect so. He doesn&rsquo;t waste his hard-earned money, even for
+official purposes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Winter was well aware of, and kept to himself one phase of the art deal, at
+any rate. Furneaux had persuaded Siddle to fasten two bulky packages with
+string!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was shaving next morning when his colleague entered, spruce as ever in
+attire, but looking rather weary. The little man flung himself at full length
+on Winter&rsquo;s bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Been up all night,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;Chemical analysis is
+fascinating but slow work&mdash;like watching a moth evolve from a grub. Had a
+fearful job, too, to get an analyst to chuck a theater and attend to business.
+The blighter talked of office hours. <i>Cré nom</i>! Ten till four, and an hour
+and a half for lunch! Why can&rsquo;t we run <i>our</i> show on those lines,
+James!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter finished carefully the left side of his broad expanse of face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You came down by the mail, I suppose?&rdquo; he said casually.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a genius you are!&rdquo; sighed Furneaux. &ldquo;If <i>I</i> were
+trembling with expectation I could no more put a banal question like that than
+swallow the razor after I was done with it. You might at least have the common
+decency to thank me for leaving you to gorge on rare meats and vintage wines
+while I dallied with the deadly railway sandwich.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter scraped the other cheek, his chin, and upper lip.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I go to the bathroom first, or listen?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, well, I&rsquo;m tired, and hiking these frail bones to bed till
+twelve, so I&rsquo;ll give you a condensed version,&rdquo; snapped Furneaux.
+&ldquo;Elkin&rsquo;s illness, begun by whiskey and over-excitement, developed
+into steady poisoning by Siddle. The chemist used a rare agent, too&mdash;pure
+nicotine&mdash;easy, in a sense, to detect, but capable of a dozen reasonable
+explanations when revealed by the post-mortem. But Elkin wasn&rsquo;t to be
+killed outright, I gather. The idea was to upset stomach and brain till he was
+half crazy. As you can read print when it&rsquo;s before your eyes, I
+needn&rsquo;t go into the matter of motive; Elkin&rsquo;s behavior supplies all
+details.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How about the knots? Hurry! I hate the feeling of soap drying on my
+skin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One running noose and twice two half hitches on each package.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good! Charles, we&rsquo;re going to pull off a real twister.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>We!</i> Well, that tikes it, as the girl said when her hat blew off
+with the fluffy transformation pinned to it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter rushed to the bathroom, and Furneaux crept languidly to bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before going to Knoleworth, Mr. Franklin consulted with Tomlin as to a suitable
+dinner, to which the other guests staying in the inn, namely, Mr. Peters and
+the Scotland Yard gentleman&mdash;the little man with the French
+name&mdash;might be invited. This important point settled, Mr. Franklin caught
+an early train, and was absent all day, being, in fact, closeted with
+Superintendent Fowler and a Treasury solicitor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux was sound asleep long after twelve o&rsquo;clock, and swore at Tomlin
+in French when the landlord ventured to arouse him. Tomlin went downstairs
+scratching his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Least said soonest mended,&rdquo; he communed, &ldquo;but we may all be
+murdered in our beds if them&rsquo;s the sort of &rsquo;tecs we &rsquo;ave to
+look arter us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, he cheered up towards night. Ingerman, a lawyer, and some pressmen,
+arriving for the inquest, filled every available room, and the kitchen was
+redolent of good fare. All parties gathered in the dining-room, of course, and
+Ingerman had an eye for Mr. Franklin&rsquo;s party. The scraps of talk he
+overheard were nothing more exciting than the prospects of a certain horse for
+the Stewards&rsquo; Cup. Peters had the tip straight from the stables. A racing
+certainty, with a stone in hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After dinner the financier was surprised when Furneaux approached, and tapped
+him professionally on the shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A word with you outside,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman was irritated&mdash;perhaps slightly alarmed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t we talk here?&rdquo; he said, in that singularly melodious
+voice of his.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better not, but I shan&rsquo;t detain you more than five minutes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything my legal adviser might wish to hear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not from me. Tell him yourself afterwards, if you like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the quiet street the detective suddenly linked arms with his companion.
+Probably he smiled sardonically when he felt a telltale quiver run through
+Ingerman&rsquo;s lanky frame.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve brought down Norris, I see?&rdquo; he began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Meaning to make things hot for Grant tomorrow?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Meaning to give justice the materials&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cut the cackle, Isidor. I know you, and it&rsquo;s high time you knew
+me. Grant has retained Belcher. Ah! that gets you, does it? You haven&rsquo;t
+forgotten Belcher. Now, be reasonable! Or, rather, don&rsquo;t run your head
+into a noose. Grant had no more to do with the murder of your wife than you
+had. Call off Norris, and Grant withdraws Belcher. Twig? It&rsquo;s dead easy,
+because the Treasury solicitor will simply ask for another week&rsquo;s
+adjournment, as the police are not ready to go on. In the meantime, you pay off
+Norris, and save your face. Is it a deal?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I to understand&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t wriggle! The key of the situation is held by Belcher. Name
+of a pipe! What prompting does Belcher need from me or anybody else after the
+Bokfontein Lands case?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Isidor, this is the last word. I was at the funeral on Saturday, and met
+your wife&rsquo;s mother and sister. They do love you, don&rsquo;t they?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman died game.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I have your assurance that Mr. Grant is really innocent of
+Adelaide&rsquo;s death, that is sufficient,&rdquo; he said slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, if it pleases you to put it that way, I&rsquo;m agreeable. Which
+is your road? Back to the hotel? I&rsquo;m for a short stroll. Mind you, no
+wobbling! Go straight, and I&rsquo;ll attend to Belcher. But, good Lord! How
+his eyes will sparkle when they light on you to-morrow!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Neither the redoubtable Belcher, nor the Bokfontein Lands, nor poor Adelaide
+Melhuish&rsquo;s mother and sister may figure further in this chronicle. The
+inquest opened at the appointed hour next day, and was closed down again for a
+week with a celerity that was most disappointing both to the jury and the
+general public. Of three legal luminaries present only one, the Treasury man,
+uttered a few bald words. Belcher and Norris did not even announce the names of
+their clients. Norris noticed that Belcher surveyed Ingerman with a grim smile,
+but thought nothing of it until he received a check later in the week. Then he
+made some inquiries, and smiled himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The foreman of the jury looked a trifle pinched, though his cheeks bore two
+spots of hectic color. Mr. Franklin, drawn to the court by curiosity, happened
+to glance at him once, and found him gazing at Furneaux in a peculiarly
+thoughtful manner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin, thriving on a diet of tea and eggs, was also interested in the
+representative of Scotland Yard. He seemed to ignore Grant entirely. Doris
+Martin was not in court. Superintendent Fowler had called about half past nine
+to tell her she would not be asked to attend that day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Near Mr. Franklin sat a few village notabilities, who, since they had not the
+remotest connection with anyone concerned in the tragedy, have been left
+hitherto in their Olympian solitude. He listened to their comments.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As usual, the police are utterly at sea,&rdquo; said one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, &lsquo;following up important clews,&rsquo; the newspapers
+say,&rdquo; scoffed another.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a disgraceful thing if a crime like this goes undetected and
+unpunished.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Which is the Scotland Yard man!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The small chap, in the blue suit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? <i>That</i> little rat!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, he&rsquo;s sharp. I met a man in the train and he told
+me&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Franklin grinned amiably; Hobbs, the butcher, intercepting his eye, grinned
+back. It is not difficult to imagine what portion of the foregoing small talk
+reached Furneaux subsequently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oddly enough, both detectives had missed a brief but illuminating incident
+which took place in the Hare and Hounds the previous night, while Winter was
+finishing a cigar with Peters, and Furneaux was bludgeoning Ingerman into
+compliance with his wishes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin&rsquo;s remarkable improvement in health was commented on by Hobbs, and
+Siddle took the credit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That last mixture has proved beneficial, then?&rdquo; he said, eying the
+horse-dealer closely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Top-hole,&rdquo; smirked Elkin. &ldquo;But it&rsquo;s only fair to say
+that I&rsquo;ve chucked whiskey, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you finish the bottle?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Which bottle?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mine, of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nearly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t take any more. It was decidedly strong. I&rsquo;ll send a
+boy early to-morrow morning with a first-rate tonic, and you might give him any
+old medicine bottles you possess. I&rsquo;m running short.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin hesitated a second or two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell my housekeeper to look &rsquo;em up,&rdquo; he said.
+After the inquest he communicated this episode to Furneaux as a great joke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Queer, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; he guffawed. &ldquo;A couple of dozen
+bottles went back, as I&rsquo;m always getting stuff for the gees, but those
+two weren&rsquo;t among &rsquo;em. You took care of that, eh? When will you
+have the analysis?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll be fully a week yet,&rdquo; said the detective.
+&ldquo;Government offices are not run like express trains, and this is a free
+job, you know. But, be advised by me. Stick to plain food, and throw physic to
+the dogs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another singular fact, unobserved by the public at large, was that a policeman,
+either Robinson or a stranger, patrolled the high-street all day and all night,
+while no one outside official circles was aware that other members of the force
+watched <i>The Hollies</i>, or were secreted among the trees on the cliffside,
+from dusk to dawn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Next morning, however, there was real cause for talk. Siddle&rsquo;s shop was
+closed. Over the letter-box, neatly printed, was gummed a notice:
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>
+<i>&ldquo;Called away on business. Will open for one hour after arrival of 7 p.
+m. train. T. S.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+Everyone who passed stopped to read. Even Mr. Franklin joined Furneaux and
+Peters in a stroll across the road to have a look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want you a minute,&rdquo; said the big man suddenly to Furneaux. There
+was that in his tone which forbade questioning, so Peters sheered off, well
+content with the share permitted him in the inquiry thus far.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That fellow, Hart, is no fool,&rdquo; went on Winter rapidly. &ldquo;He
+said last night &lsquo;How does one get evidence?&rsquo; It was not easy to
+answer. Siddle has gone to his mother&rsquo;s funeral. What do you
+think!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;d turn me into a housebreaker, would you?&rdquo; whined
+Furneaux bitterly. &ldquo;I must do the job, of course, just because I&rsquo;m
+a little one. Well, well! After a long and honorable career I have to become a
+sneak thief. It may cost me my pension.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no real difficulty. An orchard&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bet you a new hat I went over the ground before you did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get over it quickly now, and get something out of it, and I&rsquo;ll
+<i>give</i> you a new hat. Got any tools?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I fetched &rsquo;em from town Tuesday morning,&rdquo; chortled Furneaux.
+&ldquo;So now who&rsquo;s the brainy one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He skipped into the hotel, while Winter went to the station to make sure of
+Siddle&rsquo;s departure and destination. Yes, the chemist had taken a return
+ticket to Epsom, where a strip of dank meadow-land on the road to Esher marks
+the last resting-place of many of London&rsquo;s epileptics. On returning to
+the high-street, Winter lighted a cigar, a somewhat common occurrence in his
+everyday life, where-upon Furneaux walked swiftly up the hill. A farmer, living
+near the center of the village, owned a rather showy cob. Winter found the man,
+and persuaded him to trot the animal to and fro in front of the hotel. There
+was a good deal of noise and hoof-clattering, and people came to their doors to
+see what was going on. Obviously, if they were watching the antics of a
+skittish two-year-old in the high-street, their eyes were blind to proceedings
+in the back premises. Even the postmaster and his daughter were interested
+onlookers, and a policeman, who might have put a summary end to the display,
+vanished as though by magic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Luckily, Winter was a good judge of a horse. When the cob was stabled, and the
+farmer came to the inn to have a drink, he was forced to admit a tendency to
+cow hocks, which, it would seem, is held a fatal blemish in the Argentine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had dodged into a lane and thence to a bridle-path which
+emerged near Bob Smith&rsquo;s forge. When he had traversed, roughly speaking,
+one-half of a rectangle in which the Hare and Hounds occupied the center of one
+of the longer sides, he climbed a gate and followed a hedge. Though not losing
+a second, he took every precaution to remain unseen, and, to the best of his
+belief, gained an inclosed yard at the back of Siddle&rsquo;s premises without
+having attracted attention. He slipped the catch of a kitchen window only to
+discover that the sash was fastened by screws also. The lock of the kitchen
+door yielded to persuasion, but there were bolts above and below. A wire screen
+in a larder window was impregnable. Short of cutting out a pane of glass, he
+could not effect an entry on the ground floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nimble as a squirrel, and risking everything, he climbed to the roof of an
+outhouse, and tried a bedroom window. Here he succeeded. When the catch was
+forced, there were no further obstacles. In he went, pausing only to look
+around and see if any curious or alarmed eye was watching him. He wondered why
+every back yard on that side of the high-street was empty, not even a
+maid-servant or woman washing clothes being in sight, but understood and
+grinned when the commotion Winter was creating came in view from a front room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he undertook a methodical search, working with a rapid yet painstaking
+thoroughness which missed nothing. From a wardrobe he selected an overcoat and
+pair of trousers which reeked with turpentine. They were old and soiled
+garments, very different from the well-cut black coat and waistcoat, with
+striped cloth trousers, worn daily by the chemist. He drew a blank in the
+remainder of the upstairs rooms, which included a sitting-room, though he
+devoted fully quarter of an hour to reading the titles of Siddle&rsquo;s books.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A safe in the little dispensing closet at the back of the shop promised sheer
+defiance until Furneaux saw a bunch of keys resting beside a methylated spirit
+lamp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas ever thus!&rdquo; he cackled, lighting the lamp.
+&ldquo;Heaven help us poor detectives if it wasn&rsquo;t!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a word, since murder will out, Siddle had forgotten his keys! Probably, he
+had gone to the safe for money, and, while writing the notice as to his
+absence, had laid down the keys and omitted to pick them up again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux disregarded ledgers and account books. He examined a bank pass-book
+and a check-book. In a drawer which contained these and a quantity of gold he
+found a small, leather-bound book with a lock, which no key on the bunch was
+tiny enough to fit. A bit of twisted wire soon overcame this difficulty, and
+Furneaux began to read.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were quaint diagrams, and surveyor&rsquo;s sketches, both in plan and
+section, with curious notes, and occasional records of what appeared to be
+passages from letters or conversations. The detective read, and read, referring
+back and forth, absorbed in his task, no doubt, but evidently puzzled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last, he stuffed the book into a pocket, completed his scrutiny of the safe,
+examined the bottles on the shelf labeled &ldquo;poisons,&rdquo; and took a
+sample of the colorless contents of one bottle marked
+&ldquo;C<sub>10</sub>H<sub>14</sub>N<sub>2</sub>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he went to the kitchen, replaced all catches and the lock of the door, and
+let himself out by the way he had come.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter saw him from afar, and hastened upstairs to the private sitting-room.
+Furneaux appeared there soon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said the Chief Inspector eagerly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Got him, I think,&rdquo; said Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not much might be gathered from that monosyllabic question and its answer, but
+its significance in Siddle&rsquo;s ears, could he have heard, would have been
+that of the passing bell tolling for the dead.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap18"></a>Chapter XVIII.<br />
+The Truth at Last</h2>
+
+<p>
+Not often did Furneaux qualify an opinion by that dubious phrase, &ldquo;I
+think,&rdquo; which, in its colloquial sense, implies that the thought contains
+a reservation as to possible error.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter looked anxious. Both he and his colleague knew well when to drop the
+good-natured banter they delighted in. They were face to face now with issues
+of life and death, dark and sinister conditions which had already destroyed one
+life, threatened another, and might envisage further horrors. Small wonder,
+then, if the Chief Inspector&rsquo;s usually cheerful face was clouded, or that
+his hopes should be somewhat dashed when Furneaux seemed to lack the abounding
+confidence which was his most marked characteristic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got something, I see,&rdquo; he said, trying to speak
+encouragingly, and glancing at the bundle of clothing which Furneaux had
+wrapped in a newspaper before dropping from the bedroom window of
+Siddle&rsquo;s house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, a lot. What to make of it is the puzzle. We either go ahead on the
+flimsiest of evidence or I carry out another housebreaking job this afternoon
+and restore things in status quo. First, the bundle&mdash;an old covert-coating
+overcoat and a pair of frayed trousers which probably draped Owd Ben&rsquo;s
+ghost. They&rsquo;ve been soaked in turpentine, which, chemist or no chemist,
+is still the best agent for removing stains. We&rsquo;ll put &rsquo;em under
+the glass after we&rsquo;ve examined the book. Siddle keeps a sort of diary, a
+series of jumbled memoranda. If we can extract nutriment out of that we may
+have something tangible to go upon. Let&rsquo;s begin at the end.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Opening the leather-bound note-book, Furneaux stood with his back to the
+window. Winter, owing to his superior height, could look over the lesser
+man&rsquo;s shoulder. Many an occult document affecting the famous crimes and
+social or dynastic intrigues of the previous decade had these two examined in
+that way, the main advantage of scrutiny in common being that they could
+compare readings or suggested readings without loss of time, and with the
+original manuscript before both pairs of eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the first instance, there were no dates&mdash;only scraps of sentences, or
+comments. The concluding entry in the book was:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<i>&ldquo;A tactical error? Perhaps. Immovable.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, taking the order backward:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<i>&ldquo;Scout the very notion of such an infamy. You and every scandal-monger
+in S. may do your worst.&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;Free to confess that events have opened my eyes to the truth, so, not
+for the first time, out of evil comes good.&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;A prig.&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;Visit for such a purpose a piece of unheard-of impudence.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+These were all on one page.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite clearly a <i>précis</i> of Grant&rsquo;s remarks when Siddle
+called on Monday,&rdquo; said Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At any other time, Furneaux would have waxed sarcastic. Now he merely nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stops in a queer way,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;Not a word about the
+inquest or the missing bottles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The preceding page held even more disjointed entries, which, nevertheless,
+provided a fair synopsis of Doris&rsquo;s spirited words on the Sunday
+afternoon.
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>
+<i>&ldquo;Malice and ignorance.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Patient because of years.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Loyal comrade. Shall remain.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Code.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;No difference in friendship.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;E. hopeless. Contempt.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Skipping&mdash;good.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+On the next page:<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Isidor G. Ingerman. Useful. Inquire.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;E.&rsquo;s boasts? Nonsensical, surely!&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Why has D. gone?&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+Both men paused at that line.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Detective?&rdquo; suggested Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s how I take it,&rdquo; agreed Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then came a sign: &ldquo;+10%.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Elkin&rsquo;s mixture was not &lsquo;as before.&rsquo; It was
+fortified,&rdquo; grinned Furneaux. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the exact increase of
+nicotine. By the way, I have a sample. We can take care of him on that charge,
+without a shadow of doubt.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter blew softly on the back of his friend&rsquo;s head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re thorough, Charles, thorough!&rdquo; he murmured.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a treat to work with you when you get really busy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux ran his thumb across the end of several leaves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can tell you now,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that there&rsquo;s nothing of
+real value in the earlier notes. So far as I can judge, they refer either to a
+sort of settlement with his wife or chance phrases used by Doris Martin which
+might imply that she was heart whole and fancy free. There&rsquo;s not a bally
+word dealing with the murder, or that can be twisted into the vaguest allusion
+to it. But here&rsquo;s a plan and section which have a sort of significance.
+I&rsquo;ve seen the place, so recognized it, or thought I did. We must check
+it, of course. Here you are! You know the footbridge across the river from Bush
+Walk?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The eastern end is supported on a hollow pier of masonry, in which one
+might tog up unseen. These drawings would be useful as an <i>Aide Memoire</i>
+on a dark night. A false step, with the river in flood, might be
+awkward.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that on the opposite page?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I give it up&mdash;at present.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This somewhat rare display of modesty on Furneaux&rsquo;s part was readily
+understandable. A series of straight lines and angles conveyed very little hint
+of their purport; but Winter smiled behind his friend&rsquo;s back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been prowling about this wretched inn longer than you,&rdquo;
+he said. &ldquo;Look outside, to the left.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t need to, now,&rdquo; cackled Furneaux. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the
+profile of a wall, gate, and outhouse along which one could reach the window of
+the club-room. Would you mind stopping grinning like a Cheshire cat?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything else?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. This one:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&lsquo;<i>S. M.? 1820</i>.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That beats you, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dished completely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doris Martin, as usual, supplies the answer. An old volume of the
+<i>Sussex Miscellany</i>, probably that for 1820, contains the full story of
+Owd Ben. I might have mentioned it to you, but focussed on current events.
+Siddle has it among his books, which, by the way, are made up largely of
+scientific and popular criminal records.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that the lot?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid so. Have a look.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just a minute. I want to think.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter turned and gazed through the open window. Seldom had a more gracious
+June decked England with garlands. The hour was then high noon, and a pastoral
+landscape was drowned in sunshine. The Chief Inspector cut the end off a cigar
+dreamily but with care.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Broadmoor&mdash;perhaps,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;But we can&rsquo;t
+hang him yet, Charles. A couple of knots and a theory won&rsquo;t do for the
+Assizes. We haven&rsquo;t a solitary witness. Hardly a night but he goes home
+at 9.30. If only he had killed Grant! But&mdash;Adelaide Melhuish!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In sheer despair he struck a match.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, let&rsquo;s overhaul these duds,&rdquo; said Furneaux savagely.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll chance the dinner hour for the return visit. Steynholme folk
+eat at half past twelve to the tick, and you can hardly get up another horse
+show.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a knock at the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me in, quick!&rdquo; came Peters&rsquo;s voice, and the handle was
+tried forcibly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go away! I&rsquo;m busy!&rdquo; cried Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is urgent, devilish urgent,&rdquo; said Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux snatched up the note-book, and Winter tore off his coat, throwing it
+over the package which reposed in an armchair. Then the Chief Inspector
+unlocked the door, blocking the way aggressively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, I must say&mdash;&rdquo; he began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Peters clutched his shoulder with a nervous hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle has just hurried up the street and entered his shop,&rdquo; he
+hissed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The journalist had not only kept his eyes open, but excelled in the art of
+putting two and two together, an arithmetical calculation which, as applied to
+the affairs of life, is not so readily arrived at as many people imagine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Buncoed! He&rsquo;s missed his keys!&rdquo; shrilled Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Confound the man! He might at least have attended his mother&rsquo;s
+funeral!&rdquo; stormed Winter, retrieving his coat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus it happened that Furneaux was the first down the stairs, though the three
+emerged from the door of the inn on each other&rsquo;s heels. A stout man, in
+all likelihood a farmer with horses for sale, was mounting the two steps which
+led to the entrance. His head was down, and his weight forward, so he
+successfully resisted Furneaux&rsquo;s impact, but Peters and Winter were
+irresistible, and he tumbled over with a muffled yell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that instant Siddle quitted his shop, and headed straight for the post
+office. In his right hand he carried an automatic pistol. The street was wide.
+Furneaux, absolutely fearless in the performance of his duty, ran in a curve so
+as to bar the chemist&rsquo;s path, and it was then that Siddle saw him. The
+man&rsquo;s face was terrible to behold. His eyes were rolling, his teeth
+gnashing; he had bitten his tongue and cheeks, and his stertorous breathing
+ejected from his mouth foam tinged with blood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; he screamed in a falsetto of fury, &ldquo;not yet, little
+man, not yet!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With that he raised the pistol, and fired point-blank at the detective.
+Furneaux ducked, and seized a small stone, being otherwise quite unarmed. He
+threw it with unerring aim, and, as was determined subsequently, struck the
+hand holding the weapon. Possibly, almost by a miracle, the blow caused a
+faulty pressure, because the action jammed, though the pistol itself was most
+accurate and deadly in its properties.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time Winter, sweeping Peters aside, was within ten feet of the maniac,
+who turned and ran into the shop. The door, a solid one, fitted with a spring
+lock, slammed in the Chief Inspector&rsquo;s face, and resisted a mighty effort
+to burst it open. A few yards away stood an empty, two-wheeled cart, uptilted,
+and Winter demanded the help of a few men who had gathered on seeing or hearing
+the hubbub.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I call on you in the King&rsquo;s name!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;We
+must force that door! Then stand clear, all of you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He raced to the cart, and, when his object was perceived, willing hands
+assisted in converting the heavy vehicle into a battering-ram. The gradient of
+the hill favored the attack, which was made at an acute angle, and the first
+assault smashed the lock. There were a couple of seconds&rsquo; delay while the
+cart was backed out, and the detectives rushed in, Furneaux leading, because
+Winter gave his great physical strength to the shafts. But the Chief Inspector
+grabbed his tiny friend by the collar as the latter darted around the counter
+and into the dispensary in the rear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two of us can&rsquo;t go abreast, and you&rsquo;ll only get hurt,&rdquo;
+he said, speaking with a calmness that was majestic in the circumstances.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The nicotine is gone!&rdquo; yelped Furneaux; both saw that the safe
+stood open.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Behind the dispensary was a small passage, whence the stairs mounted, and a
+door led to the kitchen. That door was closed now, though it was open when
+Furneaux ransacked the house. Therefore, they made that way at once. No
+ordinary lock could resist Winter&rsquo;s shoulder, and he soon mastered this
+barrier. But the kitchen was empty&mdash;the outer door locked but unbolted.
+Since it is practically impossible for the strongest man to pull a door open,
+the two made for the window, and tore at screws and catch with eager fingers.
+Furneaux, light and nimble-footed, scrambled through first, so it was he who
+found Siddle lying in the orchard beyond the wall of the yard. The unhappy
+wretch had swallowed nearly the whole remaining contents of the bottle of
+nicotine, or enough to poison a score of robust men. He presented a lamentable
+and distressing spectacle. Some of the more venturesome passers-by, who had
+crowded after the detectives and Peters, could not bear to look on, and slunk
+away in horror.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux soon brought an emetic, which failed to act. Siddle breathed his last
+while the glass was at his lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In that moment of crisis only three men did not lose their heads. Winter
+cleared away the gapers, while Furneaux remained with the body. P. C. Robinson
+came up the hill at a run, and was sent for a stretcher, bringing from
+Hobbs&rsquo;s shop the very one on which the ill-fated Adelaide Melhuish was
+carried from the river bank.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But where was Peters? In the post office, writing the first of a series of
+thrilling dispatches to a London evening newspaper. What journalist ever had a
+more sensational murder-case to supply &ldquo;copy&rdquo;? And when was
+&ldquo;special correspondent&rdquo; ever better primed for the task? He wrote
+on, and on, till the telegraphist cried halt. Then he hied him to London by
+train, and began the more ambitious &ldquo;story&rdquo; for next morning. What
+he did not know he guessed correctly. A fagged but triumphant man was Jimmie
+Peters when he &ldquo;blew in&rdquo; to the Savage Club at 1 A.M. to seek
+sustenance and a whiskey and soda before going home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux was white and shaken when Winter escorted the stretcher-bearers to the
+orchard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Poor devil!&rdquo; he said, as the men lifted the body.
+&ldquo;Foredoomed from birth! We can eradicate these diseases from cattle. Why
+not from men!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The villagers could not understand him. Already, in some mysterious way, the
+word had gone around that Siddle had murdered the actress, and taken his own
+life to avoid arrest, after shooting at the detective who was hot on his trail.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not until Peters&rsquo;s articles came back to Steynholme did the public at
+large realize that the chemist undoubtedly meant to kill Doris Martin. He was
+going straight to the post office when the way was barred by Furneaux. The
+bullet which missed the latter actually pierced the zinc plate of the
+letter-box, and scored a furrow, inches long, in an oak counter which it struck
+laterally.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The village did not recover its poise for hours. Grant and Hart, to whom Bates
+brought the news about one o&rsquo;clock, rose from an untasted luncheon and
+hurried to the high-street. Knots of people stared at Grant, some sheepishly,
+others with frank relief, because all who knew him liked him. One man, a
+retired ironmonger and an impulsive fellow, came forward and wrung his hand
+heartily. A few prominent residents followed suit. Grant was greatly
+embarrassed, but managed to endure these awkward if well-meant congratulations.
+There could be no mistaking their intent. He had been tried for murder at the
+bar of public opinion, and was now formally acquitted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even Fred Elkin, ignorant as yet of his own peril, yielded to the influences of
+the moment and bustled through the crowd.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Grant,&rdquo; he cried outspokenly, &ldquo;I ask your pardon. I seem
+to have made a d&mdash;d fool of myself!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Easier done than said,&rdquo; chimed in Hart. &ldquo;But, among all this
+bell-ringing, can anyone tell what has actually happened? Where&rsquo;s
+Peters?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In the post office.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two went in, and found the journalist scribbling against time. Hart coolly
+grabbed a few slips of manuscript, and commenced reading. Grant looked about
+for Doris. She was not visible, but Mr. Martin, pallid and nervous, nodded
+toward the sitting-room. The younger man, taking the gesture as a tacit
+invitation, entered the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was sitting there, crying bitterly. Poor girl! She had seen that portion
+of the drama which was enacted in the street, and the shock of it was still
+poignant. She looked up and met her lover&rsquo;s eyes. Neither uttered a word,
+but Grant did a very wise thing. He caught her by the shoulders, raised her to
+her feet, and, after kissing her squarely on the lips, gave her a comforting
+hug.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It will be all right now, Doris,&rdquo; he whispered tenderly.
+&ldquo;Such thunderstorms clear the air.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An eminent novelist might have found many more ornate ways of avowing his
+sentiments, but never a more satisfactory one. At any rate, it served, so what
+more need be said?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Certain rills of evidence accumulated into a fair-sized stream before night
+fell. P. C.  Robinson, for instance, scored a point by ascertaining that Peggy
+Smith had seen Furneaux dropping from the bedroom window of the chemist&rsquo;s
+shop. She was some hundreds of yards away, and could not be positive that some
+man, perhaps a glazier, had not been there legitimately effecting repairs.
+Still, when she met Siddle hurrying from the station, she told him of the
+incident.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He never even thanked me,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;but broke into a run.
+The look in his eyes was awful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl had, in fact, confirmed his worst fears, and her neighborly solicitude
+had merely hastened the end.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again, the railway officials showed that Siddle had returned from Victoria
+instead of taking train to the asylum. Furneaux had guessed aright. The
+discovery that his keys had been left behind drove the man into a panic of
+fright.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It took nearly three weeks before the unhappy business was finally disposed of.
+A Treasury solicitor was given the chance of his career by the medico-legal
+disquisition which cleared up an extraordinary record. The annals of the
+disease which predisposed Theodore Siddle to crime went back many years. He was
+a fairly wealthy man by inheritance, and adopted the profession of chemistry as
+a hobby. One fact stood out boldly. He was aware of his hereditary taint, and
+had settled down in Steynholme believing that a quiet life, free from care or
+the distractions of a town, would enable him to overcome it. Probably, the
+lawyer held, the man owned two distinct individualities, and the baser
+instincts gradually overpowered the humane ones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of course, the whole history of those trying days had to come out in open
+court, and the postmaster&rsquo;s daughter was given a descriptive and
+pictorial boom which many an actress envied. Peters was restored to grace when
+he showed plainly that his articles had kept the fickle barometer of public
+opinion at &ldquo;set fair,&rdquo; in so far as Grant and Doris were concerned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But,&rdquo; as Hart drawled during a dinner of reconciliation,
+&ldquo;you needn&rsquo;t have been so infernally personal about my hat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant and Doris were married before the year was out. Mr. Martin retired on a
+pension, and the young couple decided that they could never dissociate <i>The
+Hollies</i> from the tragic memories bound up with its ghost-window and lawn.
+So the place was sold, and Steynholme knows &ldquo;the postmaster&rsquo;s
+daughter&rdquo; no more. Winter and Furneaux week-ended with them recently at a
+pretty little nook in Dorset. Hart, just home from the Balkans, traveled from
+town with the detectives, and Doris, a radiant young matron, was as flippant as
+the best of them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One evening, when the men were sitting late in the smoking-room, the talk
+turned on the now half-forgotten drama in which the hapless Adelaide Melhuish
+played her last r&ocirc;le.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I met Peters in the Savage Club the other night,&rdquo; said Hart,
+filling the negro-head pipe with care while he talked, &ldquo;and he was
+chortling about his &lsquo;psychological study,&rsquo; as he called it, of that
+unfortunate chemist. He still clings to the theory that your wife was the
+intended victim, Grant. Do you agree with him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rubbish!&rdquo; cried Furneaux, before his host could answer. &ldquo;At
+best, Peters is only a clever ass. Siddle never had the remotest notion of
+killing Miss Doris Martin, as Mrs. Grant was then. We shall never know for
+certain just what happened, but there are elements in the affair which give
+ground for reasonable guesswork. The first thing that impressed Winter and
+me&mdash;at least, I suppose I really evolved the idea, though my bulky friend
+elaborated it&rdquo; (whereat Winter smiled forgivingly, and beheaded a fresh
+Havana) &ldquo;was the complete noiselessness of the crime. Here we had Mr.
+Grant startled by the face at the window, and actually searching outside the
+house for the ghostly visitant, while Miss Doris was gazing at <i>The
+Hollies</i> from the other side of the river, and not a sound was heard, though
+it was a summer&rsquo;s night, without a breath of wind, and at an hour when
+the splash of a fish leaping in the stream would have created a commotion. Now,
+Miss Melhuish was an active and well-built young woman, an actress, too, and
+therefore likely to meet an emergency without instant collapse. Yet she allows
+herself to be struck dead or insensible without cry or struggle! How do you
+account for it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go on, Charles; don&rsquo;t be theatrical,&rdquo; jeered Winter.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got the story pat. Even that simile of the jumping fish is
+mine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True,&rdquo; agreed Furneaux. &ldquo;I only brought it in as a sop. But,
+to continue, as the tub-thumper says. Isn&rsquo;t it permissible to assume that
+Siddle accompanied the lady, either by prior arrangement or by contriving a
+meeting which looked like mere chance? We know that she went to his shop. We
+know, too, that he was clever and unscrupulous, and any allusion to Grant would
+stir his wits to the uttermost. He would see instantly how interested Miss
+Melhuish was in the owner of <i>The Hollies</i>, while she, a smart Londoner,
+would recognize in Siddle an informant worth all the rest of the babblers in
+Steynholme. At any rate, no matter how the thing was brought about, it is
+self-evident that Siddle brought his intended victim into the grounds, and told
+her of the small uncovered window through which she could peer at Grant after
+Miss Doris had gone. He showed her which path to use, and undoubtedly waited
+for her, and stayed her flight when Grant rose from his chair. She was close to
+him, and wholly unafraid, finding in him an ally. They were purposely hidden,
+in the gloom of dense foliage, and remained there until Grant had closed the
+window again. Then, and not till then, did the murderer strike, probably
+stifling her with his free hand. He had the implement in his pocket. The rope
+was secreted among the bushes. He could carry through the whole wretched crime
+in little more than a minute. And his psychology went far deeper than Peters
+gave him credit for. He had weighed up the situation to a nicety. No matter who
+found the body, Mr. Grant was saddled with a responsibility which might well
+prove disastrous, and was almost sure to affect his relations with the Martin
+household. For instance, nothing short of a miracle could have stopped Robinson
+from arresting him on a charge of murder.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You, then, are a miracle?&rdquo; put in Hart, pointing the pipe at the
+little man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To the person of ordinary intelligence&mdash;yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;After that,&rdquo; said Winter, &ldquo;there is nothing more to be said.
+Let&rsquo;s see who secures the pocket marvel as a partner at auction.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+As a fitting end to the strange story of wayward love and maniacal frenzy which
+found an unusual habitat in a secluded hamlet like Steynholme, a small vignette
+of its normal life may be etched in. The trope is germane to the scene.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On a wet afternoon in October Hobbs and Elkin had adjourned to the Hare and
+Hounds. Tomlin was reading a newspaper spread on the bar counter. He was alone.
+The day was Friday, and the last &ldquo;commercial&rdquo; of the week had
+departed by the mid-day train.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wot&rsquo;s yer tonic?&rdquo; demanded the butcher.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A glass of beer,&rdquo; threw Elkin over his shoulder. He had walked to
+the window, and was gazing moodily at the sign of the &ldquo;plumber and
+decorator&rdquo; who had taken Siddle&rsquo;s shop. The village could not
+really support an out-and-out chemist, so a local grocer had elected to stock
+patent medicines as a side line.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tomlin made play with a beer-pump.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s yer own?&rdquo; inquired Hobbs hospitably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin came and drank. After an interlude, Tomlin ran a finger down a column of
+the newspaper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By the way, Fred, didn&rsquo;t you tell me about that funny little chap,
+Furno, the &rsquo;tec, buyin&rsquo; some pictures of yours?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did. Had him there, anyhow,&rdquo; chuckled Elkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How much did you stick &rsquo;im for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Three guineas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They can&rsquo;t ha&rsquo; bin this lot, then, though I&rsquo;ve a
+notion it wur the same name, &lsquo;Aylesbury Steeplechase.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What are you talking about?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tomlin turned the paper, and Elkin read:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At their monthly art sale on Wednesday Messrs. Brown, Jenkins and Brown
+disposed of an almost unique set of colored prints, by F. Smyth, dated 1841.
+The series of six represented various phases of the long defunct Aylesbury
+Steeplechase, &ldquo;The Start,&rdquo; &ldquo;The Brook,&rdquo; &ldquo;The
+In-and-Out,&rdquo; and so on to &ldquo;The Finish.&rdquo; It is understood that
+this notable series, produced during the best period of the art, and at the
+very zenith of Smyth&rsquo;s fame, were acquired recently by a Sussex amateur
+at a low price. Bidding began at fifty guineas, and rose quickly to one hundred
+and twenty, at which figure Messrs. Carnioli and Bruschi became the owners.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin read the paragraph twice, until the words burnt into his brain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said thickly. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re not mine. No such
+luck!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10110 ***</div>
+</body>
+
+</html>
+
+
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+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
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+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #10110 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10110)
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Postmaster's Daughter, by Louis Tracy
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+Title: The Postmaster's Daughter
+
+Author: Louis Tracy
+
+Release Date: November 17, 2003 [eBook #10110]
+[Most recently updated: October 7, 2020]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version
+produced by Clytie Siddall
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+The Postmaster’s Daughter
+
+by Louis Tracy
+
+1916
+
+Also by this author: _ Number Seventeen, The Wheel of Fortune, The Terms of
+Surrender, The Wings of the Morning, &c._
+
+
+Contents
+
+ I. The Face at the Window
+ II. P. C. Robinson “Takes a Line”
+ III. The Gathering Clouds
+ IV. A Cabal
+ V. The Seeds of Mischief
+ VI. Scotland Yard Takes a Hand
+ VII. “Alarums and Excursions”
+ VIII. An Interrupted Symposium
+ IX. He Whom the Cap Fits—
+ X. The Case Against Grant
+ XI. P. C. Robinson Takes Another Line
+ XII. Wherein Winter Gets To Work
+ XIII. Concerning Theodore Siddle
+ XIV. On Both Sides of the River
+ XV. A Matter of Heredity
+ XVI. Furneaux Makes a Successful Bid
+ XVII. An Official Housebreaker
+ XVIII. The Truth at Last
+
+
+
+
+Chapter I.
+The Face at the Window
+
+
+John Menzies Grant, having breakfasted, filled his pipe, lit it, and
+strolled out bare-headed into the garden. The month was June, that
+glorious rose-month which gladdened England before war-clouds darkened
+the summer sky. As the hour was nine o’clock, it is highly probable
+that many thousands of men were then strolling out into many thousands
+of gardens in precisely similar conditions; but, given youth, good
+health, leisure, and a fair amount of money, it is even more probable
+that few among the smaller number thus roundly favored by fortune
+looked so perplexed as Grant.
+
+Moreover, his actions were eloquent as words. A spacious French window
+had been cut bodily out of the wall of an old-fashioned room, and was
+now thrown wide to admit the flower-scented breeze. Between this window
+and the right-hand angle of the room was a smaller window,
+square-paned, high above the ground level, and deeply recessed—in fact
+just the sort of window which one might expect to find in a farm-house
+built two centuries ago, when light and air were rigorously excluded
+from interiors. The two windows told the history of _The Hollies_ at a
+glance. The little one had served the needs of a “best” room for
+several generations of Sussex yeomen. Then had come some iconoclast who
+hewed a big rectangle through the solid stone-work, converted the
+oak-panelled apartment into a most comfortable dining-room, built a new
+wing with a gable, changed a farm-yard into a flower-bordered lawn, and
+generally played havoc with Georgian utility while carrying out a
+determined scheme of landscape gardening.
+
+Happily, the wrecker was content to let well enough alone after
+enlarging the house, laying turf, and planting shrubs and flowers. He
+found _The Hollies_ a ramshackle place, and left it even more so, but
+with a new note of artistry and several unexpectedly charming vistas.
+Thus, the big double window opened straight into an irregular garden
+which merged insensibly into a sloping lawn bounded by a river-pool.
+The bank on the other side of the stream rose sharply and was well
+wooded. Above the crest showed the thatched roofs or red tiles of
+Steynholme, which was a village in the time of William the Conqueror,
+and has remained a village ever since. Frame this picture in flowering
+shrubs, evergreens, a few choice firs, a copper beech, and some sturdy
+oaks shadowing the lawn, and the prospect on a June morning might well
+have led out into the open any young man with a pipe.
+
+But John Menzies Grant seemed to have no eye for a scene that would
+have delighted a painter. He turned to the light, scrutinized so
+closely a strip of turf which ran close to the wall that he might have
+been searching for a lost diamond, and then peered through the
+lowermost left-hand pane of the small window into the room he had just
+quitted.
+
+The result of this peeping was remarkable in more ways than one.
+
+A stout, elderly, red-faced woman, who had entered the room soon after
+she heard Grant’s chair being moved, caught sight of the intent face.
+She screamed loudly, and dropped a cup and saucer with a clatter on to
+a Japanese tray.
+
+Grant hurried back to the French window. In his haste he did not notice
+a long shoot of a Dorothy Perkins rose which trailed across his path,
+and it struck him smartly on the cheek.
+
+“I’m afraid I startled you, Mrs. Bates,” he said, smiling so pleasantly
+that no woman or child could fail to put trust in him.
+
+“You did that, sir,” agreed Mrs. Bates, collapsing into the chair Grant
+had just vacated.
+
+Like most red-faced people, Mrs. Bates turned a bluish purple when
+alarmed, and her aspect was so distressing now that Grant’s smile was
+banished by a look of real concern.
+
+“I’m very sorry,” he said contritely. “I had no notion you were in the
+room. Shall I call Minnie?”
+
+Minnie, it may be explained, was Mrs. Bates’s daughter and assistant,
+the two, plus a whiskered Bates, gardener and groom, forming the
+domestic establishment presided over by Grant.
+
+“Nun-no, sir,” stuttered the housekeeper. “It’s stupid of me. But I’m
+not so young as I was, an’ me heart jumps at little things.”
+
+Grant saw that she was recovering, though slowly. He thought it best
+not to make too much of the incident; but asked solicitously if he
+might give her some brandy.
+
+Mrs. Bates remarked that she was “not so bad as that,” rose valiantly,
+and went on with her work. Her employer, who had gone into the garden
+again, saw out of the tail of his eye that she vanished with a
+half-laden tray. In a couple of minutes the daughter appeared, and
+finished the slight task of clearing the table; meanwhile, Grant kept
+away from the small window. Being a young man who cultivated the habit
+of observation, he noticed that Minnie, too, cast scared glances at the
+window. When the girl had finally quitted the room, he laughed in a
+puzzled way.
+
+“Am I dreaming, or are there visions about?” he murmured.
+
+Urged, seemingly, by a sort of curiosity, he surveyed the room a second
+time through the same pane of glass. Being tall, he had to stoop
+slightly. Within, on the opposite side of the ledge, he saw the tiny
+brass candlestick with its inch of candle which he had used over-night
+while searching for a volume of Scott in the book-case lining the
+neighboring wall. Somehow, this simplest of domestic objects brought a
+thrill of recollection.
+
+“Oh, dash it all!” he growled good-humoredly, “I’m getting nervy. I
+must chuck this bad habit of working late, and use the blessed hours of
+daylight.”
+
+Yet, as he sauntered down the lawn toward the stream, he knew well that
+he would do nothing of the sort. He loved that time of peace between
+ten at night and one in the morning. His thoughts ran vagrom then.
+Fantasies took shape under his pen which, in the cold light of morning,
+looked unreal and nebulous, though he had the good sense to restrain
+criticism within strict limits, and corrected style rather than matter.
+He was a writer, an essayist with no slight leaven of the poet, and had
+learnt early that the everyday world held naught in common with the
+brooding of the soul.
+
+But he was no long-haired dreamer of impossible things. Erect and
+square-shouldered, he had passed through Sandhurst into the army, a
+profession abandoned because of its humdrum nature, when an
+unexpectedly “fat” legacy rendered him independent. He looked exactly
+what he was, a healthy, clean-minded young Englishman, with a physique
+that led to occasional bouts of fox-hunting and Alpine climbing, and a
+taste in literature that brought about the consumption of midnight oil.
+This latter is not a mere trope. Steynholme is far removed from such
+modern “conveniences” as gas and electricity.
+
+At present he had no more definite object in life than to watch the
+trout rising in the pool. He held the fishing rights over half a mile
+of a noted river, but, by force of the law of hospitality, as it were,
+the stretch of water bordering the lawn was a finny sanctuary. Once, he
+halted, and looked fixedly at a dormer window in a cottage just visible
+above the trees on the opposite slope. Such a highly presentable young
+man might well expect to find a dainty feminine form appearing just in
+that place, and eke return the greeting of a waved hand. But the window
+remained blank—windows refused to yield any information that
+morning—and he passed on.
+
+The lawn dipped gently to the water’s edge, until the close-clipped
+turf gave way to pebbles and sand. In that spot the river widened and
+deepened until its current was hardly perceptible in fine weather. When
+the sun was in the west the trees and roofs of Steynholme were so
+clearly reflected in the mirror of the pool that a photograph of the
+scene needed close scrutiny ere one could determine whether or not it
+was being held upside down. But the sun shone directly on the water
+now, so the shelving bottom was visible, and Grant’s quick eye was
+drawn to a rope trailing into the depths, and fastened to an iron
+staple driven firmly into the shingle.
+
+He was so surprised that he spoke aloud.
+
+“What in the world is that?” he almost gasped; a premonition of evil
+was so strong in him that he actually gazed in stupefaction at a blob
+of water and a quick-spreading ring where a fat trout rose lazily in
+midstream.
+
+Somehow, too, he resisted the first impulse of the active side of his
+temperament, and did not instantly tug at the rope.
+
+Instead, he shouted:—
+
+“Hi, Bates!”
+
+An answering hail came from behind a screen of laurels on the right of
+the house. There lay the stables, and Bates would surely be grooming
+the cob which supplied a connecting link between _The Hollies_ and the
+railway for the neighboring market-town.
+
+Bates came, a sturdy block of a man who might have been hewn out of a
+Sussex oak. His face, hands, and arms were the color of oak, and he
+moved with a stiffness that suggested wooden joints.
+
+Evidently, he expected an order for the dogcart, and stood stock still
+when he reached the lawn. But Grant, who had gathered his wits,
+summoned him with crooked forefinger, and Bates jerked slowly on.
+
+“What hev’ ye done to yer face, sir?” he inquired.
+
+Grant was surprised. He expected no such question.
+
+“So far as I know, I’ve not been making any great alteration in it,” he
+said.
+
+“But it’s all covered wi’ blood,” came the disturbing statement.
+
+A handkerchief soon gave evidence that Bates was not exaggerating.
+Miss—or is it Madam?—Dorothy Perkins can scratch as well as look sweet,
+and a thorn had opened a small vein in Grant’s cheek which bled to a
+surprising extent.
+
+“Oh, it is nothing,” he said. “I remember now—a rose shoot caught me as
+I went back into the dining-room a moment ago. I shouted for you to
+come and see _this._”
+
+Soon the two were examining the rope and the staple.
+
+“Now who put _that_ there?” said Bates, not asking a question but
+rather stating a thesis.
+
+“It was not here yesterday,” commented his master, accepting all that
+Bates’s words implied.
+
+“No, sir, that it wasn’t. I was a-cuttin’ the lawn till nigh bed-time,
+an’ it wasn’t there then.”
+
+Grant was himself again. He stooped and grabbed the rope.
+
+“Suppose we solve the mystery,” he said.
+
+“No need to dirty your hands, sir,” put in Bates. “Let I haul ’un in.”
+
+In a few seconds the oaken tint in his face grew many shades lighter.
+
+“Good Gawd!” he wheezed. At the end of the rope was the body of a
+woman.
+
+There are few more distressing objects than a drowned corpse. On that
+bright June morning a dreadful apparition lost little of its grim
+repulsiveness because the body was that of a young and good-looking
+woman.
+
+If one searched England it would be difficult to find two men of
+differing temperaments less likely to yield to the stress of even the
+most trying circumstance than Grant and Bates, yet, during some
+agonized moments the one, of tried courage and fine mettle, was equally
+horrified and shaken as the other, a gnarled and hard-grained rustic.
+It was he from whom speech might least be expected who first found his
+tongue. Bates, who had stooped, straightened himself slowly.
+
+“By gum!” he said, “this be a bad business, Mr. Grant. Who is she?
+She’s none of our Steynholme lasses.”
+
+Still Grant uttered no word. He just looked in horror at the poor husk
+of a woman who in life had undoubtedly been beautiful. She was well but
+quietly dressed, and her clothing showed no signs of violence. The
+all-night soaking in the river revealed some pitiful little feminine
+secrets, such as a touch of make-up on lips and cheeks, and the dark
+roots of abundant hair which had been treated chemically to lighten its
+color. The eyes were closed, and for that Grant was conscious of a deep
+thankfulness. Had those sightless eyes stared at him he felt he would
+have cried aloud in terror. The firm, well-molded lips were open, as
+though uttering a last protest against an untimely fate. Of course,
+both men were convinced that murder had been done. Not only were arms
+and body bound in a manner that was impossible of accomplishment by the
+dead woman herself, but an ugly wound on the smooth forehead seemed to
+indicate that she had been stunned or killed outright before being
+flung into the river.
+
+And then, the rope and the staple suggested an outlandish, maniacal
+disposal of the victim. Here was no effort at concealment, but rather a
+making sure, in most brutal and callous fashion, that early discovery
+must be unavoidable.
+
+The bucolic mind works in well-scored grooves. Receiving no assistance
+from his master, Bates pulled the body a little farther up on the strip
+of gravel so that it lay clear of the water.
+
+“I mum fetch t’ polis,” he said.
+
+The phrase, with its vivid significance, seemed to galvanize Grant into
+a species of comprehension.
+
+“Yes,” he agreed, speaking slowly, as though striving to measure the
+effect of each word. “Yes, go for the police, Bates. This foul crime
+must be inquired into, no matter who suffers. Go now. But first bring a
+rug from the stable. You understand? Your wife, or Minnie, must not be
+told till later. They must not see. Mrs. Bates is not so well to-day.”
+
+“Not so well! Her ate a rare good breakfast for a sick ’un!”
+
+Bates was recovering from the shock, and prepared once more to take an
+interest in the minor features of existence. Among these he counted
+ability to eat as a sure sign of continued well-being in man or beast.
+
+Grant, too, was slowly regaining poise.
+
+“I hardly know what I am saying,” he muttered. “At any rate, bring a
+rug. I’ll mount guard till you return with the policeman. There can be
+no doubt, I suppose, that this poor creature is dead.”
+
+“Dead as a stone,” said Bates with conviction. “Why, her’s bin in there
+hours,” and he nodded toward the water. “Besides, if I knows anythink
+of a crack on t’head, her wur outed before she went into t’river....
+But who i’ t’world can she be?”
+
+“If you don’t fetch that rug I’ll go for it myself,” said Grant,
+whereupon Bates made off.
+
+He was soon back again with a carriage rug, which Grant helped him to
+spread over the dripping body. Then he hastened to the village, taking
+a path that avoided the house.
+
+The lawn and river bank of _The Hollies_ could only be overlooked from
+the steep wooded cliff opposite, and none but an adventurous boy would
+ever think of climbing down that almost impassable rampart of rock,
+brushwood, and tree-roots. At any rate, when left alone with the
+ghastly evidence of a tragedy, Grant troubled only to satisfy himself
+that no one was watching from the house. Assured on that point, he
+lifted a corner of the rug, and, apparently, forced himself to
+scrutinize the dead woman’s face. He seemed to search therein for some
+reassuring token, but found none, because he shook his head, dropped
+the rug, and walked a few paces dejectedly.
+
+Then, hardly knowing what he was about, he relighted his pipe, but had
+hardly put it in his mouth before he knocked out the tobacco.
+
+Clearly, he was thinking hard, mapping out some line of conduct, and
+the outlook must have been dark indeed, judging by his somber and
+undecided aspect.
+
+More than once he looked up at the attic window of the cottage which
+had drawn his eyes before tragedy had come so swiftly to his very feet.
+But, if he hoped to see anyone, he was disappointed, though, in the
+event, it proved that his real fear was lest the person he half
+expected to see should look out.
+
+He was not disturbed in that way, however. Fish rose in the river;
+birds sang in the trees; a water-wagtail skipped nimbly from rock to
+rock in the shallows; honey-laden bees hummed past to the many hives in
+the postmaster’s garden. These were the normal sights and sounds of a
+June morning—that which was abnormal and almost grotesque in its horror
+lay hidden beneath the carriage rug.
+
+To and fro he walked in that trying vigil, carrying the empty pipe in
+one hand while, with the other, he dabbed the handkerchief at the cut
+on his face. He was aware of some singular change in the quality of the
+sunlight pouring down on lawn and river and trees. Five minutes earlier
+it had spread over the landscape a golden bloom of the tint of
+champagne; now it was sharp and cold, a clear, penetrating radiance in
+which colors were vivid and shadows black. He was in no mood to analyze
+emotions, or he might have understood that the fierce throbbing of his
+heart had literally thinned the blood in his veins and thus affected
+even his sight. He only knew that in this crystal atmosphere the major
+issues of life presented themselves with a new and crude force. At any
+rate, he made up his mind that the course suggested by truth and honor
+was the only one to follow, and that, in itself, was something gained.
+
+By the time Bates returned, accompanied by the village policeman, and
+two other men carrying a stretcher, Grant was calmer, more
+self-contained, than he had been since that hapless body was dragged
+from the depths. He was not irresponsive, therefore, to the aura of
+official importance which enveloped the policeman; he sensed a certain
+uneasiness in Bates; he even noted that the stretcher was part of the
+stock in trade of Hobbs, the local butcher, and ordinarily bore the
+carcase of a well-fed pig.
+
+These details were helpful. Naturally, Bates had explained his errand,
+and the law, in the person of the policeman, was prepared for all
+eventualities.
+
+“This is a bad business, Mr. Grant,” began the policeman, producing a
+note-book, and moistening the tip of a lead pencil with his tongue.
+Being a Sussex man, he used the same phrase as Bates. In fact, Grant
+was greeted by it a score of times that day.
+
+“Yes,” agreed Grant. “I had better tell you that I have recognized the
+poor lady. Her name is Adelaide Melhuish. Her residence is in the
+Regent’s Park district of London.”
+
+Robinson, the policeman, permitted himself to look surprised. He was,
+in fact, rather annoyed. Bates’s story had prepared him for a
+first-rate detective mystery. It was irritating to have one of its
+leading features cleared up so promptly.
+
+“Oh,” he said, drawing a line under the last entry in the note-book,
+and writing the date and hour in heavy characters beneath. “Married or
+single?”
+
+“Married, but separated from her husband when last I had news of her.”
+
+“And when was that, sir?”
+
+“Nearly three years ago.”
+
+“And you have not seen her since?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You didn’t see her last night?”
+
+Grant positively started, but he looked at the policeman squarely.
+
+“It is strange you should ask me that,” he said. “Last night, while
+searching for a book, I saw a face at the window. It was that window,”
+and four pairs of eyes followed his pointing finger. “The face, I now
+believe, was that of the dead woman. At the moment, as it vanished
+instantly, I persuaded myself that I was the victim of some trick of
+the imagination. Still, I opened the other window, looked out and
+listened, but heard or saw nothing or no one. As I say, I fancied I had
+imagined that which was not. Now I know I was wrong.”
+
+“About what o’clock would this be, Mr. Grant?”
+
+“Shortly before eleven. I came in at a quarter past ten, and began to
+work. After writing steadily for a little more than half an hour, I
+wanted to consult a book, and lighted a candle which I keep for that
+purpose. I found the book, and was about to blow out the candle when I
+saw the face.”
+
+Robinson wrote in his note-book:—
+
+“Called to _The Hollies_ to investigate case of supposed murder. Body
+of woman found in river. Mr. Grant, occupying _The Hollies_, says that
+woman’s name is Adelaide Melhuish”—at this point he paused to ascertain
+the spelling—“and he saw her face at a window of the house at 10.45
+P.M., last night.”
+
+“Well, sir, and what next?” he went on.
+
+“It seems to me that the next thing is to have the unfortunate lady
+removed to some more suitable place than the river bank,” said Grant,
+rather impatiently. “My story can wait, and so can Bates’s. He knows
+all that I know, and has probably told you already how we came to
+discover the body. You can see for yourself that she must have been
+murdered. It is an extraordinary, I may even say a phenomenal crime,
+which certainly cannot be investigated here and now. I advise you to
+have the body taken to the village mortuary, or such other place as
+serves local needs in that respect, and summon a doctor. Then, if you
+and an inspector will call here, I’ll give you all the information I
+possess, which is very little, I may add.”
+
+Robinson began solemnly to jot down a summary of Grant’s words, and
+thereby stirred the owner of _The Hollies_ to a fury which was
+repressed with difficulty. Realizing, however, the absolute folly of
+expressing any resentment, Grant turned, and, without meaning it,
+looked again in the direction of the cottage on the crest of the
+opposite bank. This time a girl was leaning out of the dormer window.
+She had shaded her eyes with a hand, because the sun was streaming into
+her face, but when she saw that Grant was looking her way she waved a
+handkerchief.
+
+He fluttered his own blood-stained handkerchief in brief
+acknowledgment, and wheeled about, only to find P. C. Robinson watching
+him furtively, having suspended his note-taking for the purpose.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter II.
+P. C. Robinson “Takes a Line”
+
+
+“It will help me a lot, sir,” he said, “if you tell me now what you
+know about this matter. If, as seems more than likely, murder has been
+done, I don’t want to lose a minute in starting my inquiries. In a case
+of this sort I find it best to take a line, and stick to it.”
+
+His tone was respectful but firm. Evidently, P. C.  Robinson was not
+one to be trifled with. Moreover, for a sleuth whose maximum
+achievement hitherto had been the successful prosecution of a poultry
+thief, it was significant that the unconscious irony of “a case of this
+sort” should have been lost on him.
+
+“Do you really insist on conducting your investigation while the body
+is lying here?” demanded Grant, deliberately turning his back on the
+girl in the distant cottage.
+
+“Not that, sir—not altogether—but I must really ask you to clear up one
+or two points now.”
+
+“For goodness’ sake, what are they?”
+
+“Well, sir, in the first place, how did you come to find the body?”
+
+“I walked out into the garden after finishing breakfast a few minutes
+ago, and noticed the rope attached to the staple, just as you see it
+now.”
+
+“Did you walk straight here?”
+
+“No. Not exactly. I was—er—curious about the face I saw, or thought I
+saw, last night, and looked into the room through the same window. By
+doing so I scared Mrs. Bates, who was clearing the table, and she
+screamed—”
+
+“Her would, too,” put in Bates. “Her’d take ’ee for Owd Ben’s ghost.”
+
+“You shut up, Bates,” said the policeman. “Don’t interrupt Mr. Grant.”
+
+Grant was conscious of an undercurrent of suspicion in the constable’s
+manner. He was wroth with the man, but recognized that he had to deal
+with narrow-minded self-importance, so contrived again to curb his
+temper.
+
+“I am not acquainted with old Ben or his ghost,” he said quietly. “I
+can only tell you that I went inside to reassure Mrs. Bates, and then
+strolled slowly to this very spot. Naturally, I could not miss the rope
+and the staple. To my mind, it was not intended that I or anyone else
+should miss them. I regarded them as so peculiar that I shouted for
+Bates. He came at once, and drew the body out of the water.”
+
+“And you recognized the dead woman as the one you saw last night?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“At about ten minutes to eleven?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Is it likely, sir, that any other person saw her in these grounds a
+bit earlier?”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“Well, sir, I can’t put it much plainer. Could anybody else have seen
+her here, say about 10.15?”
+
+Grant met the policeman’s inquiring glance squarely before he answered.
+
+“It is possible, of course,” he said, “but most unlikely.”
+
+“Were you alone here at that hour?”
+
+Again Grant sought and held that inquisitive gaze, held it until
+Robinson affected to consult his notes. There was a moment of tense
+silence. Then the reply came with an icy stubbornness that was not to
+be denied.
+
+“I decline absolutely to be cross-examined about my movements. If you
+are unable or unwilling to order the removal of the body, I’ll
+telegraph to the chief of police at Knolesworth, and ask him to act.
+Further, I shall request Dr. Foxton to examine the poor lady’s
+injuries. It strikes me as a monstrous proceeding that you should
+attempt to record my evidence at this moment, and I refuse to become a
+party to it.”
+
+“Now, then, Robinson, stop yer Sherlock Holmes work, an’ help me to
+lift this poor woman on to the stretcher,” said Bates gruffly.
+
+The policeman’s red face grew a shade deeper with annoyance, but he had
+the sense to avoid a scene. He was not popular in the village, and was
+well aware that the two rustics pressed into service as
+stretcher-bearers would joyfully retail the fact that he had been “set
+down a peg or two by Mr. Grant.”
+
+“I’ll do all that’s necessary in that way, sir,” he said stiffly. “I
+suppose you have no objection to my askin’ if you noticed any strange
+footprints on the ground hereabouts?”
+
+“That was the first thing I looked for, both here and outside the
+window—the latter, of course, for another reason. I found none. These
+stones would show no signs. The ground is so dry that even the five men
+now present leave no traces, but I remember seeing in the bed of the
+stream certain marks which, unfortunately, were obliterated when Bates
+hauled the body ashore. They were valueless, however—shapeless
+indentations in the mud and sand.”
+
+“Were they wide apart or close together, sir?”
+
+“Quite irregular. No one could judge by the length of the stride
+whether they were made by the feet of a man or a woman, if that is what
+you have in mind ... but, really—”
+
+Grant’s impatient motion was not to be misunderstood. Robinson stooped,
+removed the rug, and unfastened the rope, after noting carefully how it
+was tied, a point which he called on the others to observe as well.
+Then he and the villagers went away with their sad burden, the rug
+being requisitioned once more to hide that wan face from the vivid
+sunshine.
+
+Bates had a trick of grasping a handful of his short whiskers when
+puzzled; he did so now; it seemed to be an unconscious effort to pull
+his jaws apart in order to emit speech.
+
+“I’ve a sort of idee, sir,” he said slowly, “that Robinson saw Doris
+Martin on the lawn with ’ee last night.”
+
+Grant turned on his henchman in a sudden heat of anger.
+
+“Miss Martin’s name must be kept out of this matter,” he growled.
+
+But Sussex is not easily browbeaten when it thinks itself in the right.
+
+“All very well a-sayin’ that, sir, but a-doin’ of it is a bird of
+another color,” argued Bates firmly.
+
+“How did you know that Miss Martin was here?”
+
+“Bless your heart, sir, how comes it that us Steynholme folk know
+everythink about other folk’s business? Sometimes we know more’n they
+knows themselves. You’ve not walked a yard wi’ Doris that the women’s
+tittle-tattle hasn’t made it into a mile.”
+
+No man, even the wisest, likes to be told an unpalatable truth. For a
+few seconds, Grant was seriously annoyed with this village Solon, and
+nearly blurted out an angry command that he should hold his tongue.
+Luckily, since Bates was only trying to be helpful, he was content to
+say sarcastically:
+
+“Of course, if you are so well posted in my movements last night, you
+can assure the coroner and the Police that I did not strangle some
+strange woman, tie a rope around her, and throw her in the river.”
+
+“Me an’ my missis couldn’t help seein’ you an’ Doris a-lookin’ at the
+stars through a spyglass when us were goin’ to bed,” persisted Bates.
+“We heerd your voices quite plain. Once ’ee fixed the glass low down,
+an’ said, ‘That’s serious. It’s late to-night.’ An’ I tell ’ee
+straight, sir, I said to the missis:—‘It will be serious, an’ all, if
+Doris’s father catches her gallivantin’ in our garden wi’ Mr. Grant
+nigh on ten o’clock.’ Soon after that ’ee took Doris as far as the
+bridge. The window was open, an’ I heerd your footsteps on the road.
+You kem’ in, closed the window, an’ drew a chair up to the table. After
+that, I fell asleep.”
+
+Perturbed and anxious though he was, Grant could hardly fail to see
+that Bates meant well by him. The mental effort needed for such a long
+speech said as much. The allusion to Sirius, amusing at any other time,
+was now most valuable, because an astronomical almanac would give the
+hour at which that brilliant star became visible. Other considerations
+yielded at once, however, to the fear lest Robinson and his note-book
+were already busy at the post office. Without another word, he hurried
+away by the side-path through the evergreens, leaving Bates staring
+after him, and, with more whisker-pulling, examining the rope and
+staple, which, by the policeman’s order, were not to be disturbed.
+
+Grant reached the highroad just as Robinson and the men with the
+stretcher were crossing a stone bridge spanning the river about a
+hundred yards below _The Hollies_. A slight, youthful, and eminently
+attractive female figure, walking swiftly in the opposite direction,
+came in sight at the same time, and Grant almost groaned aloud when the
+newcomer stood stock still and looked at the mournful procession. He,
+be it remembered, was somewhat of an idealist and a poet; it grieved
+his spirit that those two women, the quick and the dead, should meet on
+the bridge. He took it as a portent, almost a menace, he knew not of
+what. He might have foreseen that unhappy eventuality, and prevented
+it, but his brain refused to work clearly that morning. A terrible and
+bizarre crime had bemused his faculties. He seemed to be in a state of
+waking nightmare.
+
+He was stung into impetuous action by seeing the policeman halt and
+exchange some words with the girl. He began to run, with the quite
+definite if equally mad intent of punching Robinson into reasonable
+behavior. He was saved from an act of unmitigated folly by the girl
+herself. She caught sight of him, apparently broke off her talk with
+the policeman abruptly, and, in her turn, took to her heels.
+
+Thus, on that strip of sun-baked road, with its easy gradient to the
+crown of the bridge, there was the curious spectacle offered by two men
+jogging along with a corpse on a stretcher, a young man and a young
+woman running towards each other, and a discomfited representative of
+the law, looking now one way and now the other, and evidently undecided
+whether to go on or return. Ultimately, it would seem, Robinson went
+with the stretcher-bearers, because Grant and the girl saw no more of
+him for the time.
+
+Grant had received several shocks since rising from the
+breakfast-table, but it was left for Doris Martin, the postmaster’s
+daughter, to administer not the least surprising one.
+
+Though almost breathless, and wide-eyed with horror, her opening words
+were very much to the point.
+
+“How awful!” she cried. “Why should any-one in Steynholme want to kill
+a great actress like Adelaide Melhuish?”
+
+Now, the name of the dead woman was literally the last thing Grant
+expected to hear from this girl’s lips, and the astounding fact
+momentarily banished all other worries.
+
+“You knew her?” he gasped.
+
+“No, not exactly. But I couldn’t avoid recognizing her when she asked
+for her letters, and sent a telegram.”
+
+“But—”
+
+“Oh, Robinson told me she was dead. I see now what is puzzling you.”
+
+“It is not quite that. I mean, why didn’t you tell me she was in
+Steynholme? Has she been staying here any length of time?”
+
+The girl’s pretty face crimsoned, and then grew pale.
+
+“I—had no idea—she was—a friend of yours, Mr. Grant,” she stammered.
+
+“She used to be a friend, but I have not set eyes on her during the
+past three years—until last night.”
+
+“Last night!”
+
+“After you had gone home. I was doing some work, and, having occasion
+to consult a book, lighted a candle, and put it in the small window
+near the bookcase. Then I fancied I saw a woman’s face, _her_ face,
+peering in, and was so obsessed by the notion that I went outside, but
+everything was so still that I persuaded myself I was mistaken.”
+
+“Oh, is that what it was?”
+
+Grant threw out his hands in a gesture that was eloquent of some
+feeling distinctly akin to despair.
+
+“You don’t usually speak in enigmas, Doris,” he said. “What in the
+world do you mean by saying:—‘Oh, is that what it was?’”
+
+The girl—she was only nineteen, and never before had aught of tragic
+mystery entered her sheltered life—seemed to recover her
+self-possession with a quickness and decision that were admirable.
+
+“There is no enigma,” she said calmly. “My room overlooks your lawn.
+Before retiring for the night I went to the window, just to have
+another peep at Sirius and its changing lights, so I could not help
+seeing you fling open the French windows, stand a little while on the
+step, and go in again.”
+
+“Ah, you saw that? Then I have one witness who will help to dispel that
+stupid policeman’s notion that I killed Miss Melhuish, and hid her body
+in the river at the foot of the lawn, hid it with such care that the
+first passerby must find it.”
+
+Every human being has three distinct personalities. Firstly, there is
+the man or woman as he or she really is; secondly, there is the much
+superior individual as assessed personally; thirdly, and perhaps the
+most important in the general scheme of things, there is the same
+individuality as viewed by others. For an instant, the somewhat
+idealized figure which John Menzies Grant offered to a pretty and
+intelligent but inexperienced girl was in danger of losing its
+impressiveness. But, since Grant was not only a good fellow but a
+gentleman, his next thought restored him to the pedestal from which,
+all unknowing, he had nearly been dethroned.
+
+“That is a nice thing to say,” he cried, with a short laugh of sheer
+vexation. “Here am I regarding you as a first-rate witness in my
+behalf, whereas my chief worry is to keep you out of this ugly business
+altogether. Forgive me, Doris! Never before have I been so bothered.
+Honestly, I imagined I hadn’t an enemy in the world, yet someone has
+tried deliberately to saddle me with suspicion in this affair. Not that
+I would give real heed to that consideration if it were not for the
+unhappy probability that, strive as I may, your name will crop up in
+connection with it. What sort of fellow is this police constable? Do
+you think he would keep his mouth shut if I paid him well?”
+
+Grant was certainly far from being in his normal state of mind, or he
+would have caught the tender gleam which lighted the girl’s eyes when
+she understood that his concern was for her, not for himself. As it
+was, several things had escaped him during that brief talk on the
+sunlit road.
+
+On her part, Doris Martin was now in full control of her emotions, and
+she undoubtedly took a saner view of a difficult situation.
+
+“Robinson is a vain man,” she said thoughtfully. “He will not let go
+the chance of notoriety given him by the murder of a well-known
+actress. Was she really murdered? Robinson said so when I met him on
+the bridge.”
+
+“I’m afraid he is justified in that belief, at any rate.”
+
+“Well, Mr. Grant, what have we to conceal? I was in your garden at a
+rather late hour, I admit, but one cannot watch the stars by day, and a
+big telescope with its tripod is not easily carried about. Of course,
+father will be vexed, because, as it happens, I did not tell him I was
+coming out. But that cannot be helped. As it happens, I can fix the
+time you opened your window almost to a minute, because the church
+clock had chimed the quarter just before you appeared.”
+
+Grant, however, was not to be soothed by this matter-of-fact reasoning.
+
+“I am vexed at the mere notion of your name, and possibly your
+portrait, appearing in the newspapers,” he protested. “Miss Melhuish
+was a celebrated actress. The press will make a rare commotion about
+her death. Look at the obvious questions that will be raised. What was
+she doing here? Why was she found in the river bordering the grounds of
+my house? Don’t you see? I had to decide pretty quickly whether or not
+I would admit any previous knowledge of her. I suppose I acted
+rightly?”
+
+“Why hide anything, Mr. Grant? Surely it is always best to tell the
+truth!”
+
+He looked into those candid blue eyes, and drew from their limpid
+depths an element of strength and fortitude.
+
+“By Jove, Doris, small wonder if a jaded man of the world, such as I
+was when I came to Steynholme, found new faith and inspiration in
+friendship with you,” he said gratefully. “But I am wool-gathering all
+the time this morning, it would seem. Won’t you come into the house? If
+we have to discuss a tragedy we may as well sit down to it.”
+
+“No,” she said, with the promptitude of one who had anticipated the
+invitation. “I must hurry home. There are accounts to be made up. And
+Robinson and others will be telegraphing to Knoleworth and London. I
+must attend to all that, because dad gets flustered if several messages
+are handed in at the same time.”
+
+“Come and have tea, then, about four o’clock. The ravens will have fled
+by then.”
+
+“The ravens?”
+
+“The police, you dear child, and the reporters, and the
+photographers—the flock of weird fowl which gathers from all points of
+the compass when the press gets hold of what is called ‘a first-rate
+story,’ By midday I shall be in the thick of it. But, thank goodness,
+they will know nothing to draw them your way until the inquest takes
+place, and not even then if _I_ can manage it.”
+
+“Don’t mind me, Mr. Grant. You must not keep anything back on my
+account. I’ll try and come at four. But I may be very busy in the
+office. By the way, you ought to know. Miss Melhuish came here on
+Sunday evening. She arrived by the train from London. I—happened to
+notice her as she passed in the Hare and Hounds’ bus. She took a room
+there, at the inn, I mean, and came to the post office twice yesterday.
+When I heard her name I recognized her at once from her photographs.
+And—one more thing—I guessed there was something wrong when I saw you,
+and Robinson, and Bates, and the other men standing near a body lying
+close to the river. That is why I came out. Now I really must go.
+Good-by!”
+
+She hastened away. Grant stood in the road and looked after her.
+Apparently she was conscious that he had not stirred, because, when she
+reached the bridge, she turned and waved a hand to him. She was
+exceedingly graceful in all her movements. She wore a simple white
+linen blouse and short white skirt that morning, with brown shoes and
+stockings which harmonized with the deeper tints of her Titian red
+hair. As she paused on the bridge for a second or two, silhouetted
+against the sky, she suggested to Grant’s troubled mind the Spirit of
+Summer.
+
+Returning to the house by way of the main gate, which gave on to the
+highway, he bethought him of Mrs. Bates and Minnie. They must be
+enlightened, and warned as to the certain influx of visitors. He
+resolved now to tackle a displeasing task boldly. Realizing that the
+worst possible policy lay in denying himself to the representatives of
+the press, who would simply ascertain the facts from other sources, and
+unconsciously adopt a critical vein with regard to himself, he
+determined to go to the other extreme, and receive all comers.
+
+Of course, there would be reservations in his story. That is what every
+man decides who faces a legal inquiry as a novice. It is a decision too
+often regretted in the light of after events.
+
+Meanwhile, P. C. Robinson was hard at work. In his own phrase, he “took
+a line,” and the trend of his thoughts was clearly demonstrated when a
+superintendent motored over from Knoleworth in response to a telegram.
+He told how the body had been found, and then went into details
+gathered in the interim.
+
+“Miss Melhuish hadn’t been in the village five minutes,” he said,
+“before she asked Mr. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds, where
+_The Hollies_ was, and how long Mr. Grant had lived in the village. She
+went for a walk in the direction of his house almost at once. Tomlin
+watched her until she crossed the bridge. That was on Sunday evening.”
+
+Superintendent Fowler allowed his placid features to show a flicker of
+surprise. In that rural district an actual, downright murder was almost
+unknown. Even a case of manslaughter, arising out of a drunken quarrel
+between laborers at fair-time, did not occur once in five years.
+
+“Oh, she came here on Sunday, did she?” he asked.
+
+“Yes, sir. Yesterday, too, she spoke of Mr. Grant to Hobbs, the
+butcher, and Siddle, the chemist.”
+
+The two were closeted in the sitting-room of Robinson’s cottage, which
+was situated on the main road near the bridge. It faced the short,
+steep hill overhanging the river. A triangular strip of turf formed the
+village green, and the houses of Steynholme clustered around this and a
+side road climbing the hill. From door and windows nearly every shop
+and residence in the village proper could be seen. In front of the Hare
+and Hounds had gathered a group of men, and it was easy to guess the
+topic they were discussing. The superintendent, who did not know any of
+them, had no difficulty in identifying Hobbs, who looked a butcher and
+was dressed like one, or Tomlin, who was either born an innkeeper or
+had been coached in the part by a stage expert. A thin, sharp-looking
+person, pallid and black-haired, wearing a morning coat and striped
+trousers, must surely be Siddle, while a fourth, the youngest there,
+and of rather sporting guise, was apparently a farmer of a
+horse-breeding turn.
+
+“Who is that fellow in the leggings?” inquired the superintendent
+irrelevantly. He was looking through the window, and Robinson
+considered that the question showed a lack of interest in his
+statement, though he dared not hint at such a thing.
+
+“He’s a Mr. Elkin, sir,” he said. “As I was saying—”
+
+“How does Mr. Elkin make a living?” broke in the other.
+
+“He breeds hacks and polo ponies,” said Robinson, rather shortly.
+
+“Ah, I thought so. Well, go on with your story.”
+
+Robinson was irritated, and justly so. His superior had put him off his
+“line.” He took it up again sharply, leaving out of court for the
+moment the various rills of evidence which, in his opinion, united into
+a swift-moving stream.
+
+“The fact is, sir,” he blurted out, “there is an uncommonly strong case
+against Mr. John Menzies Grant.”
+
+“Phew!” whistled the superintendent.
+
+“I think you’ll agree with me, sir, when you hear what I’ve gathered
+about him one way and another.”
+
+Robinson was sure of his audience now. Quite unconsciously, he had
+applied the chief canon of realism in art. He had conveyed his effect
+by one striking note. The rest of the picture was quite subsidiary to
+the bold splurge of color evoked by actually naming the man he
+suspected of murdering Adelaide Melhuish.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter III.
+The Gathering Clouds
+
+
+Thus, it befell that Grant was not worried by officialdom until long
+after his housekeeper and her daughter had recovered from the shock of
+learning that they were, in a sense, connected at first hand with a
+ghastly and sensational crime.
+
+Like Bates and their employer, neither Mrs. Bates nor Minnie had heard
+or seen anything overnight which suggested that a woman was being
+foully done to death in the grounds attached to the house. As it
+happened, Minnie’s bedroom, as well as that occupied by her parents,
+overlooked the lawn and river. Grant’s room lay in a gable which
+commanded the entrance. He had chosen it purposely because it faced the
+rising sun. The other members of the household, therefore, though in
+bed, had quite as good an opportunity as he, working in the dining-room
+beneath, of having their attention drawn to sounds disturbing the peace
+of the night in a quiet and secluded spot. Moreover, none of them was
+asleep. Minnie Bates, in particular, said that the “grandfather’s
+clock” in the hall struck twelve before she “could close an eye.”
+
+At last, just as Grant was rising from an almost untasted luncheon,
+Mrs. Bates, with a voice of scare, announced “the polis,” and P. C. 
+Robinson introduced Superintendent Fowler. This time Grant did not
+resent questions. He expected them, and had made up his mind to give
+full and detailed answers. Of course, the finding of the body was again
+described minutely. The superintendent, a man of experience, one whose
+manner was not fox-like and irritating like his subordinate’s, paid
+close attention to the face at the window.
+
+“There seems to be little room for doubt that Miss Melhuish did enter
+your grounds about a quarter to eleven last night,” he said
+thoughtfully. “You recognized her at once, you say?”
+
+“I imagined so. Until this horrible thing became known I had persuaded
+myself that the vision was a piece of sheer hallucination.”
+
+“Let us assume that the lady actually came here, and looked in.
+Evidently, her face was sufficiently familiar that you should know
+instantly who this unusual visitor was. I understand, though, that you
+had not the least notion she was staying in Steynholme?”
+
+“Not the least.”
+
+“How long ago is it since you last saw her?”
+
+“Nearly three years.”
+
+“You were very well acquainted with her, then, or you could not have
+glanced up from your table, seen someone staring at you through a
+window, and said to yourself, as one may express it:—‘That is Adelaide
+Melhuish’.”
+
+“We were so well acquainted that I asked the lady to be my wife.”
+
+“Ah,” said the superintendent.
+
+His placid, unemotional features, however, gave no clew to his
+opinions. Not so P. C. Robinson, who tried to look like a judge,
+whereas he really resembled a bull-terrier who has literally, not
+figuratively, smelt a rat.
+
+Despite his earlier good resolutions, Grant was horribly impatient of
+this inquisition. He admitted that the superintendent was carrying
+through an unpleasant duty as inoffensively as possible, but the
+attitude of the village policeman was irritating in the extreme.
+Nothing would have tended so effectively to relieve his surcharged
+feelings as to supply P. C. Robinson then and there with ample material
+for establishing a charge of assault and battery.
+
+“That is not a remarkable fact, if regarded apart from to-day’s
+tragedy,” he said, and there was more than a hint of soul-weariness in
+his voice. “Miss Melhuish was a very talented and attractive woman. I
+first met her as the outcome of a suggestion that one of my books
+should be dramatized, a character in the novel being deemed eminently
+suitable for her special rôle on the stage. The idea came to nothing.
+She was appearing in a successful play at the time, and was rehearsing
+its successor. Meanwhile, I—fell in love with her, I suppose, and she
+certainly encouraged me in the belief that she might accept me. I did
+eventually propose marriage. Then she told me she was married already.
+It was a painful disillusionment—at the time. I only saw her, to speak
+to, once again.”
+
+“Did she reveal her husband’s name?”
+
+“Yes—a Mr. Ingerman.”
+
+The superintendent looked grave. That was a professional trick of his.
+He had never before in his life heard of Mr. Ingerman, but encouraged
+the notion that this gentleman was thoroughly, and not quite favorably,
+known to him. Sometimes it happened that a witness, interpreting this
+sapient look by the light of his or her personal and intimate
+knowledge, would blurt out certain facts, good or bad as the case might
+be, concerning the person under discussion.
+
+But Grant remained obstinately silent as to the qualities of this
+doubtful Ingerman, so Mr. Fowler scribbled the name in a note-book, and
+was particular as to whether it ended in one “n” or two.
+
+Still, he carried other shots in his locker. In fact, Mr. Fowler, had
+he taken in youth to nicer legal subtleties than handcuffs and
+summonses, would have become a shrewd lawyer.
+
+“We’ll leave Mr. Ingerman for the moment,” he said, implying, of
+course, that on returning to him there might be revelations. “I gather
+that you and Miss Melhuish did not agree, shall I put it? as to the
+precise bearing of the marriage tie on your love affair?”
+
+“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow your meaning,” and Grant’s tone
+stiffened ominously, but his questioner was by no means abashed.
+
+“I have no great acquaintance with the stage or its ways, but I have
+always understood that divorce proceedings among theatrical folk were,
+shall we say? more popular than, in the ordinary walks of life,” said
+Mr. Fowler.
+
+Grant’s resentment vanished. The superintendent’s calm method, his
+interpolated apologies, as it were, for applying the probe, were
+beginning to interest him.
+
+“Your second effort is more successful, superintendent,” he said dryly.
+“Miss Melhuish did urge me to obtain her freedom. It was, she thought,
+only a matter of money with Mr. Ingerman, and she would be given
+material for a divorce.”
+
+“Ah,” murmured Fowler again, as though the discreditable implication
+fitted in exactly with the life history of a noted scoundrel in a
+written _dossier_ then lying in his office. “You objected, may I
+suggest, to that somewhat doubtful means of settling a difficulty?”
+
+“Something of the kind.”
+
+Assuredly, Grant did not feel disposed to lay bare his secret feelings
+before this persuasive superintendent and an absurdly conceited village
+constable. Love, to him, was an ideal, a blend of mortal passion and
+immortal fire. But the flame kindled on that secret altar had scorched
+and seared his soul in a wholly unforeseen way. The discovery that
+Adelaide Melhuish was another man’s wife had stunned him. It was not
+until the fire of sacrifice had died into parched ashes that its
+earlier banality became clear. He realized then that he had given his
+love to a phantom. By one of nature’s miracles a vain and selfish
+creature was gifted in the artistic portrayal of the finer emotions. He
+had worshiped the actress, the mimic, not the woman herself. At any
+rate, that was how he read the repellent notion that he should bargain
+with any man for the sale of a wife.
+
+“You might be a trifle more explicit, Mr. Grant,” said the
+superintendent, almost reproachfully.
+
+“In what direction? Surely a three-years-old love affair can have
+little practical bearing on Miss Melhuish’s death?”
+
+“What, then, may I ask, could bear on it more forcibly? The lady
+admittedly visits you, late at night, and is found dead in a river
+bordering the grounds of your house next morning, all the conditions
+pointing directly to murder. Moreover—it is no secret, as the truth
+must come out at the inquest—she had passed a good deal of her time
+while in Steynholme, unknown to you, in making inquiries concerning
+you, your habits, your surroundings, your friends. Surely, Mr. Grant,
+you must see that the history of your relations with this lady, though,
+if I may use the phrase, perfectly innocent, may possibly supply that
+which is at present lacking—a clew, shall I term it, to the motive
+which inspired the man, or woman, who killed her?”
+
+P. C.  Robinson was all an eye and an ear for this verbal
+fencing-match. It was not that he admired his superior’s skill, because
+such finesse was wholly beyond him, but his suspicious brain was
+storing up Grant’s admissions “to be used in evidence” against him
+subsequently. His own brief record of the conversation would have
+been:—“The prisoner, after being duly cautioned, said he kept company
+with the deceased about three years ago, but quarreled with her on
+hearing that she was a married woman.”
+
+The superintendent seldom indulged in so long a speech, but he was
+determined to force his adversary’s guard, and sought to win his
+confidence by describing the probable course to be pursued by the
+coroner’s inquest. But Grant, like the dead actress, had two sides to
+his nature. He was both an idealist and a stubborn fighter, and
+ideality had been shattered for many a day by that grewsome object
+hauled in that morning from the depths of the river.
+
+“I am willing to help in any shape or form, but can only repeat that
+Miss Melhuish and I parted as described. I should add that I have
+never, to my knowledge, met her husband.”
+
+“He may be dead.”
+
+“Possibly. You may know more about him than I.”
+
+“Even then, we have not traveled far as yet.”
+
+Fowler was puzzled, and did not hesitate to show it. He believed, not
+without reasonable cause, that this young man was concealing some
+element in the situation which might prove helpful in the quest for the
+murderer. He resolved to strike off along a new track.
+
+“I am informed,” he went on, speaking with a deliberateness meant to be
+impressive, “that you did entertain another lady as a visitor last
+night.”
+
+Grant allowed his glance to dwell on Robinson for an instant. Hitherto
+he had ignored the man. Now he surveyed him as if he were a viper.
+
+“It will be a peculiarly offensive thing if the personality of a
+helpless and unoffending girl is brought into this inquiry,” he cried.
+“‘Brought in’ is too mild—I ought to say ‘dragged in.’ As it happens,
+astronomy is one of my hobbies. Last evening, as the outcome of a chat
+on the subject, Doris Martin, daughter of the local postmaster, came
+here to view Sirius through an astronomical telescope. There is the
+instrument,” and he pointed through P. C.  Robinson to a telescope on a
+tripod in a corner of the room. The gesture was eloquent. The burly
+policeman might have been a sheet of glass. “As you see, it is a solid
+article, not easily lifted about. It weighs nearly a hundred-weight.”
+
+“Why is it so heavy?”
+
+The superintendent had a knack of putting seemingly irrelevant
+questions. Robinson had been disconcerted by it earlier in the day, but
+Grant seemed to treat the interruption as a sensible one.
+
+“For observation purposes an astronomical telescope is not of much use
+unless the movement of the earth is counteracted,” he said. “Usually,
+the dome of an observatory swings on a specially contrived axis, but
+that is a very expensive structure, so my telescope is governed by a
+clockwork attachment and moves on its own axis.”
+
+Mr. Fowler nodded. He was really a very well informed man for a country
+police-officer; he understood clearly.
+
+“Miss Martin came here about a quarter to ten,” continued Grant, “and
+left within three-quarters of an hour. She did not enter the house. She
+was watching Sirius while I explained the methods whereby the distance
+of any star from the earth is computed and its chemical analysis
+determined—”
+
+“Most instructive, I’m sure,” put in the superintendent.
+
+He smiled genially, so genially that Grant dismissed the notion that
+the other might, in vulgar parlance, be pulling his leg.
+
+“Well, that is the be-all and end-all of Miss Martin’s presence. It
+would be cruel, and unfair, if a girl of her age were forced into a
+distasteful prominence in connection with a crime with which she is no
+more related than with Sirius itself.”
+
+The older man shook his head in regretful dissent.
+
+“That is just where you and I differ,” he said. “That very point leads
+us back to your past friendship with the dead woman.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Surely you see, Mr. Grant, that Miss Melhuish might be, probably was,
+watching your star-gazing, especially as your pupil chanced to be,
+shall I say, a remarkably attractive young lady ... No, no,” for
+Grant’s anger was unmistakable—“It does no good to blaze out in
+protest. An unhappy combination of circumstances must be faced
+candidly. Here are you and a pretty girl together in a garden at a
+rather late hour, and a woman whom you once wanted to marry spying on
+you, in all likelihood. I’ve met a few coroner’s juries in my time, and
+not one of them but would deem the coincidence strange, to put it
+mildly.”
+
+“What in Heaven’s name are you driving at?”
+
+“You must not impute motives, sir. I am seeking them, not supplying
+them.”
+
+“But what am I to say?”
+
+“Perhaps you will now tell me just how Miss Melhuish and you parted.”
+
+The fencers were coming to close quarters. Even P. C. Robinson had to
+admit that his “boss” had cornered the suspect rather cleverly.
+
+Grant realized that there was no room for squeamishness in this affair.
+If he did not speak out now, his motives might be woefully
+misunderstood.
+
+“We parted in wrath and tears,” he said sadly. “Miss Melhuish could
+not, or did not, appreciate my scruples. She professed to be in love
+with me. She even went so far as to threaten suicide. I—hardly believed
+in her sincerity, but thought it advisable to temporize, and asked for
+a few days’ delay before we came to a final decision. We met again, as
+I have said, and discussed matters in calmer mood. Ultimately, she
+professed agreement with my point of view, and we parted, ostensibly to
+remain good friends, but really to separate for ever.”
+
+“Thank you. That’s better. What _was_ your point of view, Mr. Grant?”
+
+“Surely I have made it clear. I could not regard my wife as
+purchasable. The proposed compact was, I believe, illegal. But that
+consideration did not sway me. I had been dreaming, and thought I was
+roaming in an enchanted garden. I awoke, and found myself in a morass.”
+
+The superintendent nodded again. Singularly enough, Grant’s somewhat
+high-flown simile appeared to satisfy his craving for light.
+
+“Do you mind telling me—is there another woman?” he demanded, with one
+of those rapid transitions of topic in which he excelled.
+
+“No,” said Grant.
+
+“You see what I am aiming at. Let us suppose that Miss Melhuish never,
+in her own mind, abandoned the hope that some day the tangle would
+straighten itself. Women are constituted that way. If her husband is
+now dead, and she became free, she might wish to renew the old ties,
+but, being proud, would want to ascertain first whether or not any
+other woman had come into your life.”
+
+“I follow perfectly,” said Grant, with some bitterness. “She would be
+consumed with jealousy because my companion in the garden last night
+happened to be a charming girl of nineteen.”
+
+“It is possible.”
+
+“So she went off and got someone to kill her, and tie her body with a
+rope, and arrange a dramatic setting whereby it would be patent to the
+meanest intelligence that I was the criminal?”
+
+Mr. Fowler smiled, and looked fixedly at P. C.  Robinson.
+
+“No, no,” he said, quite good-humoredly. “That would be carrying
+realism to extremes. Still, I am convinced, Mr. Grant, that this
+mystery is bound up in some way with your romance of three years ago.
+At present, I admit, I am working in the dark.”
+
+He rose. Apparently, the interview was at an end. But, while pocketing
+his note-book, he said suddenly:—
+
+“The inquest will open at three o’clock tomorrow. You will be present,
+of course, Mr. Grant?”
+
+“I suppose it is necessary.”
+
+“Oh, yes. You found the body, you know. Besides, you may be the only
+person who can give evidence of identity. In fact, you and the doctor
+will be the only witnesses called.”
+
+“Dr. Foxton?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Has he made a post-mortem?”
+
+“He is doing so now. You see, there is clear indication that this
+unfortunate lady was struck a heavy blow, perhaps killed, before she
+was put in the river.”
+
+“Good Heavens! Somehow, I was so stunned that I never thought of
+looking for signs of any injury of that sort.”
+
+Grant’s horror-stricken air was so spontaneous that it probably
+justified the severe test of that unexpected disclosure. He was so
+unnerved by it that the two policemen had gone before he could frame
+another question.
+
+Once they were in the open road, and well away from _The Hollies_,
+Robinson ventured to open his mouth.
+
+“He’s a clever one is Mr. Grant,” he said meaningly. “You handled him a
+bit of all right, sir, but he didn’t tell you everything he knew, not
+by long chalks.”
+
+The superintendent walked a few yards in silence. Even when he spoke,
+his gaze was introspective, and seemed to ignore his companion.
+
+“I’m inclined to agree with you, Robinson,” he said, speaking very
+slowly. “We have a big case in our hands, a very big case. We must
+tread warily. You, in particular, mixing with the village folk, should
+listen to all but say nothing. Don’t depend on your memory. Write down
+what you hear and see. People’s actual words, and the exact time of an
+occurrence, often have an extraordinarily illuminating effect when
+weighed subsequently. But don’t let Mr. Grant think you suspect him.
+There is no occasion for that—yet.”
+
+Mr. Fowler could be either blunt or cryptic in speech at will. In one
+mood he was the straightforward, outspoken official; in another the
+potential lawyer. P. C.  Robinson, though unable to describe his
+chief’s erratic qualities, was unpleasantly aware of them. He was not
+quite sure, for instance, whether the superintendent was encouraging or
+warning him, but, being a dogged person, resolved to “take his own
+line,” and stick to it.
+
+Grant passed a distressful day. Work was not to be thought of, and
+reading was frankly impossible. His mind dwelt constantly on the
+tragedy which had come so swiftly and completely into his ordered life.
+He could not wholly discard the nebulous theory suggested by
+Superintendent Fowler, but the more he surveyed it the less reasonable
+it seemed. The one outstanding fact in a chaos of doubt was that
+someone had deliberately done Adelaide Melhuish to death. The murderer
+had been actuated by a motive. What was that motive? Surely, in a place
+like Steynholme no man could come and go without being seen, and the
+murderer must be a stranger to the district, because it was ridiculous
+to imagine that he was one of the residents.
+
+Yet that was exactly what a dunderheaded policeman believed. P. C.
+Robinson had revealed himself by many a covert glance and prick-eared
+movement. Grant squirmed uneasily at the crass conceit, as there was no
+denying that circumstances tended towards a certain doubt, if no more,
+in regard to his own association with the crime.
+
+The admission called for a fierce struggle with his pride, but he
+forced himself to think the problem out in all its bearings, and the
+folly of adopting the legendary policy of the chased ostrich became
+manifest. What, then, should he do? He thought, at first, of invoking
+the aid of a barrister friend, who could watch the inquest in his
+behalf.
+
+Nevertheless, he shrank from that step, which, to his super-sensitive
+nature, implied the need of legal protection, and he fiercely resented
+the mere notion of such a thing. But something must be done. Once the
+murderer was laid by the heels his own troubles would vanish, and the
+storm raised by the unhappy fate of Adelaide Melhuish would subside
+into a sad memory.
+
+He was wrestling with indecision when a newspaper reporter called.
+Grant received the journalist promptly, and told him all the salient
+facts, suppressing only the one-time prospect of a marriage between
+himself and the famous actress.
+
+The reporter went with him to the river, and scrutinized the marks, now
+rapidly becoming obliterated, of the body having been drawn ashore.
+
+“The rope and iron staple, I understand, were taken from the premises
+of a man who lets boats for hire on the dam quarter of a mile away,” he
+said casually.
+
+Grant was astounded at his own failure to make any inquiry whatsoever
+concerning this vital matter. He laughed grimly.
+
+“You can imagine the state of my mind,” he said, “when I assure you
+that, until this moment, it never occurred to me even to ask where
+these articles came from or what had become of them.”
+
+“I can sympathize with you,” said the journalist. “A brutal murder
+seems horribly out of place in this environment. It is a mysterious
+business altogether. I wonder if Scotland Yard will take it up.”
+
+Grant surprised him by clapping him on the back.
+
+“By Jove, my friend, the very thing! Of course, such an investigation
+requires bigger brains than our local police are endowed with. Scotland
+Yard _must_ take it up. I’ll wire there at once. If necessary, I’ll pay
+all expenses.”
+
+The newspaper man had his doubts. The “Yard,” he said, acted in the
+provinces only if appealed to by the authorities directly concerned.
+But Grant was not to be stayed by a trifle like that. He hurried to the
+post office, hoping that Doris Martin might walk back with him.
+
+The girl and her father were busy behind the counter when he entered.
+He noticed that Doris was rather pale. She was about to attend to him,
+but Mr. Martin intervened. It struck Grant that the postmaster was
+purposely preventing his daughter from speaking to him.
+
+For some inexplicable reason, he felt miserably tongue-tied, and was
+content to write a message to the Chief Commissioner of Police, London,
+asking that a skilled detective should be sent forthwith to Steynholme.
+
+Mr. Martin read it gravely, stated the cost, and procured the requisite
+stamps. In the event, Grant quitted the place without exchanging a word
+with Doris, while her father, usually a chatty man, said not a syllable
+beyond what was barely needed.
+
+As he passed down the hill and by the side of the Green he was aware of
+being covertly watched by many eyes. He saw P. C.  Robinson peering
+from behind a curtained window. Siddle, the chemist, came to the shop
+door, and looked after him. Hobbs, the butcher, ceased sharpening a
+knife and gazed out. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds Inn,
+surveyed him from the “snug.”
+
+These things were not gracious. Indeed, they were positively maddening.
+He went home, gave an emphatic order that no one, except Miss Martin,
+if she called, was to be admitted and savagely buried himself in a
+treatise on earth-tides.
+
+But that day of events had not finished for him yet. He had, perforce,
+eaten a good meal, and was thinking of going to the post office in
+order to clear up an undoubted misapprehension in Mr. Martin’s mind,
+when Minnie Bates came with a card.
+
+“If you please, sir,” said the girl, “this gentleman is very pressing.
+He says he’s sure you’ll give him an interview when you see his name.”
+
+So Grant looked, and read:—
+
+Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman
+
+_Prince’s Chambers, London, W._
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IV.
+A Cabal
+
+
+Grant stared again at the card. A tiny silver bell seemed to tinkle a
+sort of warning in a recess of his brain. The name was not engraved in
+copper-plate, but printed in heavy type. Somehow, it looked ominous.
+His first impression was to bid Minnie send the man away. He distrusted
+any first impression. It was the excuse of mediocrity, a sign of
+weakness. Moreover, why shouldn’t he meet Isidor G. Ingerman?
+
+“Show him in,” he said, almost gruffly, thus silencing shy intuition,
+as it were. He threw the card on the table.
+
+Mr. Ingerman entered. He did not offer any conventional greeting, but
+nodded, or bowed. Grant could not be sure which form of salutation was
+intended, because the visitor promptly sat down, uninvited.
+
+Minnie hesitated at the door. Her master’s callers were usually
+cheerful Bohemians, who chatted at sight. Then she caught Grant’s eye,
+and went out, banging the door in sheer nervousness.
+
+Still Mr. Ingerman did not speak. If this was a pose on his part, he
+erred. Grant had passed through a trying day, but he owned the muscles
+and nerves of an Alpine climber, and had often stared calmly down a
+wall of rock and ice which he had just conquered, when the least slip
+would have meant being dashed to pieces two thousand feet below.
+
+There was some advantage, too, in this species of stage wait. It
+enabled him to take the measure of Adelaide Melhuish’s husband, if,
+indeed, the visitor was really the man he professed to be.
+
+At first sight, Isidor G. Ingerman was not a prepossessing person.
+Indeed, it would be safe to assume that if, by some trick of fortune,
+he and not Grant were the tenant of _The Hollies_, P. C.  Robinson
+would have haled him to the village lock-up that very morning. It was
+not that he was villainous-looking, but rather that he looked capable
+of villainy. He was a tall, slender, rather stooping man, with a
+decidedly well-molded, if hawk-like, face. His aspect might be
+described as saturnine. Possibly, when he smiled, this morose
+expression would vanish, and then he might even win a favorable
+opinion. He had brilliant black eyes, close set, and an abundant crop
+of black hair, turning gray, which, in itself, lent an air of
+distinction. His lips were thin, his chin slightly prominent. He was
+well dressed, and managed a hat, stick, and gloves with ease.
+Altogether, he reminded Grant of a certain notable actor who is
+invariably cast for the rôle of a gentlemanly scoundrel, but who, in
+private life, is a most excellent fellow and good citizen. Oddly
+enough, Grant recognized in him, too, the type of man who would
+certainly have appealed to Adelaide Melhuish in her earlier and
+impressionable years.
+
+Meanwhile, the visitor, finding that the clear-eyed young man seated in
+an easy chair (from which he had not risen) could seemingly regard him
+with blank indifference during the next hour, thought fit to say
+something.
+
+“Is my name familiar to you, Mr. Grant?” he inquired.
+
+The voice was astonishingly soft and pleasant, and the accent agreeably
+refined. Evidently, there were surprising points about Mr. Ingerman.
+Long afterwards, Grant learned, by chance, that the man had been an
+actor before branching off into that mysterious cosmopolitan profession
+known as “a financier.”
+
+“No,” said Grant. “I have heard it very few times. Once, about three
+years ago, and today, when I mentioned it to the police.”
+
+The other man’s sallow cheeks grew a shade more sallow. Grant supposed
+that this slight change of color indicated annoyance. Of course, the
+association of ideas in that curt answer was intolerably rude. But
+Grant had been tried beyond endurance that day. He was in a mood to be
+brusque with an archbishop.
+
+“We can disregard your confidences, or explanations, to the police,”
+said Ingerman smoothly. “Three years ago, I suppose, my wife spoke of
+me?”
+
+“If you mean Miss Adelaide Melhuish—yes.”
+
+“I do mean her. To be exact, I mean the lady who was murdered outside
+this house last night.”
+
+Grant realized instantly that Isidor G. Ingerman was a foeman worthy of
+even a novelist’s skill in repartee. Thus far, he, Grant, had been
+merely uncivil, using a bludgeon for wit, whereas the visitor was
+making play with a finely-tempered rapier.
+
+“Now that you have established your identity, Mr. Ingerman, perhaps you
+will tell me why you are here,” he said.
+
+“I have come to Steynholme to inquire into my wife’s death.”
+
+“A most laudable purpose. I was given to understand, however, that at
+one time you took little interest in her living. I have not seen Mrs.
+Ingerman for three years—until last night, that is—so there is a
+chance, of course, that husband and wife may have adjusted their
+differences. Is that so?”
+
+“Until last night!” repeated Ingerman, almost in a startled tone. “You
+admit that?”
+
+Grant turned and pointed.
+
+“I saw, or fancied I saw, her face at that window,” he said. “She
+looked in on me about ten minutes to eleven. I was hard at work, but
+the vision, as it seemed then, was so weird and unexpected, that I went
+straight out and searched for her. Perhaps ‘searched’ is not quite the
+right word. To be exact, I opened the French window, stood there, and
+listened. Then I persuaded myself that I was imagining a vain thing,
+and came in.”
+
+“What was she doing here?”
+
+“I don’t know.”
+
+“She arrived in Steynholme on Sunday evening, I am told.”
+
+“I heard that, too.”
+
+“You imply that you did not meet her?”
+
+“No need to imply anything, Mr. Ingerman. I did not meet her. Beyond
+the fanciful notion that I had seen her ghost last night, the first I
+knew of her presence in the village was when I recognized her dead body
+this morning.”
+
+“Strange as it may sound, I am inclined to believe you.”
+
+Grant said nothing. He wanted to get up and pitch Ingerman into the
+road.
+
+“But who else will take that charitable view?” purred the other, in
+that suave voice which so ill accorded with his thin lips and slightly
+hooked nose.
+
+“I really don’t care,” was the weary answer.
+
+“Not at the moment, perhaps. You have had a trying day, no doubt. My
+visit at its close cannot be helpful. But—”
+
+“I am feeling rather tired mentally,” interrupted Grant, “so you will
+oblige me by not raising too many points at once. Why should you
+imagine that conversation with you in particular should add to my
+supposed distress?”
+
+“Doesn’t it?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Why, then, may I ask, do you so obviously resent my questions? Who has
+so much right to put them as I?”
+
+Grant found that he must bestir himself. Thus far, the honors lay with
+this rather sinister-looking yet quiet-mannered visitor.
+
+“I am sorry if anything I have said lends color to that belief,” he
+answered. “Candidly, I began by assuming that you forfeited any legal
+right years ago to interfere in behalf of Miss Melhuish, living or
+dead. Let us, at least, be candid with each other. Miss Melhuish
+herself told me that you and she had separated by mutual consent.”
+
+“Allow me to emulate your candor. The actual fact is that you weaned my
+wife’s affections from me.”
+
+“That is a downright lie,” said Grant coolly.
+
+Ingerman’s peculiar temperament permitted him to treat this grave
+insult far more lightly than Grant’s harmless, if irritating, reference
+to the police.
+
+“Let us see just what ‘a lie’ signifies,” he said, almost judicially.
+“If a lady deserts her husband, and there is good reason to suspect
+that she is, in popular phrase, ‘carrying on’ with another man, how can
+the husband be lying if he charges that man with being the cause of the
+domestic upheaval?”
+
+“In this instance a hypothetical case is not called for. Three years
+ago, Mr. Ingerman, you had parted from your wife. Your name was never
+mentioned. Apparently, none in my circle had even heard of you. Miss
+Melhuish had won repute as a celebrated actress. I met her, in a sense,
+professionally. We became friends. I fancied I was in love with her. I
+proposed marriage. Then, and not until then, did the ghost of
+Mr.”—Grant bent forward, and consulted the card—“Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman
+intrude.”
+
+“So marriage was out of the question?”
+
+“If you expect an answer—yes.”
+
+Ingerman rested the handle of his stick against his lips.
+
+“That isn’t how the situation was represented to me at the time,” he
+said thoughtfully.
+
+Grant was still sore with the recollection of the way in which the
+superintendent of police had forced him to confess the pitiful scheme
+whereby a woman in love had sought to gain her ends. He refused to
+sully her memory a second time that day, even to gain the upper hand in
+this troublesome controversy.
+
+“I neither know nor care what representations may have been made to
+you,” he retorted. “I merely tell you the literal truth.”
+
+“Possibly. Possibly. It was not I who used the word ‘lie,’ remember.
+But if you are ungracious enough to refuse to withdraw the offensive
+phrase, let it pass. We are not in France. This deadly business will be
+fought out in the law courts. I am here to-night of my own initiative.
+I thought it only fair and reasonable that you and I should meet before
+we are brought face to face at a coroner’s inquest, and, it may be, in
+an Assize Court.... No, no, Mr. Grant. Pray do not put the worst
+construction on my words. _Someone_ murdered my wife. If the police
+show intelligence and reasonable skill, _someone_ will be tried for the
+crime. You and I will certainly be witnesses. That is what I meant to
+convey. The doubt in my mind was this—whether to be actively hostile or
+passively friendly to the man who, next to me, was interested in the
+poor woman now lying dead in a wretched stable of this village.”
+
+The almost diabolical cleverness of this long speech, delivered without
+heat and with singularly adroit stress on various passages, was
+revealed by its effect on Grant. He was at once infuriated and puzzled.
+Ingerman was playing him as a fisherman humors a well-hooked salmon.
+The simile actually occurred to him, and he resolved to precipitate
+matters by coming straightway to the landing-net.
+
+“Is your friendship purchasable?” he inquired, making the rush without
+further preamble.
+
+“My wife was, I was led to believe,” came the calm retort.
+
+Grant threw scruples to the wind now. Adelaide Mulhuish was being
+defamed, not by him, but by her husband.
+
+“We are at cross purposes,” he said, weighing each word. “Your wife,
+who knew your character fairly well, I am convinced, thought that you
+were open to receive a cash consideration for your connivance in a
+divorce.”
+
+“She had told me plainly that she would never live with me again. I was
+too fair-minded a man to place obstacles in the way when she wished to
+regain her freedom.”
+
+“So it was true, then. What was the price? One thousand—two? I am not a
+millionaire.”
+
+“Nor am I. As a mere matter of pounds, shillings, and pence, it was a
+serious matter for me when my wife’s earnings ceased to come into the
+common stock.”
+
+“My first, if rather vague, estimate of you was the correct one. You
+are a good bit of a scoundrel, and, if I guess rightly, a would-be
+blackmailer.”
+
+“You are talking at random, Mr. Grant. The levying of blackmail
+connotes that the person bled desires that some discreditable, or
+dangerous, fact should be concealed.”
+
+“Such is not my position.”
+
+“I—I wonder.”
+
+“I can relieve you of any oppressive doubt. I informed the police some
+few hours ago that you have appeared already in a similar role.”
+
+“Oh, you did, did you?” snarled Ingerman, suddenly abandoning his pose,
+and gazing at Grant with a curiously snakelike glint in his black eyes.
+
+“Yes. It interested them, I fancied.”
+
+Grant was sure of his man now, and rather relieved that the battle of
+wits was turning in his favor.
+
+“So you have begun already to scheme your defense?”
+
+“Hadn’t you better go?” was the contemptuous retort.
+
+“You refuse to answer any further questions?”
+
+“I refuse to buy your proffered friendship—whatever that may mean.”
+
+“Have I offered to sell it?”
+
+“I gathered as much.”
+
+Ingerman rose. He was still master of himself, though his lanky body
+was taut with rage. He spoke calmly and with remarkable restraint.
+
+“Go through what I have said, and discover, if you can, the slightest
+hint of any suggested condonation of your offenses, whether avowed or
+merely suspected. I shall prove beyond dispute that you came between me
+and my wife. Don’t hug the delusion that your three years’ limit will
+save you. It will not. I wish you well of your attempt to prove that I
+was a consenting party to divorce proceedings. I came here to look you
+over. I have done so, and have arrived at a very definite opinion. I,
+also, have been interviewed by the police, and any unfavorable views
+they may have formed concerning me as the outcome of your_ ex parte_
+statements are more than counteracted by the ugly facts of a ghastly
+murder. You were here shortly before eleven o’clock last night. My wife
+was here, too, and alive. This morning she was found dead, by you. At
+eleven o’clock last night I was playing bridge with three city men in
+my flat. When the news of the murder reached me to-day my first
+thought, after the shock of it had passed, was:—‘That fellow, Grant,
+may be innocently involved in a terrible crime, and I may figure as the
+chief witness against him.’ I am not speaking idly, as you will learn
+to your cost. Yet, when I come on an errand of mercy, you have the
+impudence to charge me with blackmail. You are in for a great
+awakening. Be sure of that!”
+
+And Isidor G. Ingerman walked out, leaving Grant uncomfortably aware
+that he had not seen the last of an implacable and bitter enemy.
+
+It was something new and very disturbing for a writer to find himself
+in the predicament of a man with an absolutely clear conscience yet
+perilously near the meshes of the criminal law. He had often analyzed
+such a situation in his books, but fiction diverged so radically from
+hard fact that the sensation was profoundly disconcerting, to say the
+least.
+
+He did not go to the post office. He was not equal to any more verbal
+fire-works that evening. So he lit a pipe, and reviewed Ingerman’s
+well-rounded periods very carefully, even taking the precaution to jot
+down exact phrases. He analyzed them, and saw that they were capable of
+two readings. Of course, it could not be otherwise. The plausible
+rascal must have conned them over until this essential was secured.
+Grant even went so far as to give them a grudging professional tribute.
+They held a canker of doubt, too, which it was difficult to dissect.
+Their veiled threats were perplexing. While their effect, as apart from
+literal significance, was fresh in his mind, he made a few notes of
+different interpretations.
+
+He went to bed rather early, but could not sleep until the small hours.
+Probably his rest, such as it was, would have been even more disturbed
+had he been able to accompany Ingerman to the Hare and Hounds Inn.
+
+A small but select company had gathered in the bar parlor. The two
+hours between eight and ten were the most important of the day to the
+landlord, Mr. Tomlin. It was then that he imparted and received the
+tit-bits of local gossip garnered earlier, the process involving a good
+deal of play with shining beer-handles and attractively labeled
+bottles.
+
+But this was a special occasion. Never before had there been a
+Steynholme murder before the symposium. Hitherto, such a grewsome topic
+was supplied, for the most part, by faraway London. To-night the
+eeriness and dramatic intensity of a notable crime lay at the very
+doors of the village.
+
+So Tomlin was more portentous than usual; Hobbs, the butcher, more
+assertive, Elkin, the “sporty” breeder of polo ponies, more inclined to
+“lay odds” on any conceivable subject, and Siddle, the chemist, a
+reserved man at the best, even less disposed to voice a definite
+opinion.
+
+Elkin was about twenty-five years of age, Siddle looked younger than
+his probable thirty-five years, while the others were on the stout and
+prosperous line of fifty.
+
+They were discussing the murder, of course, when Ingerman entered, and
+ordered a whiskey and soda. Instantly there was dead silence. Looks and
+furtive winks were exchanged. There had been talk of a detective being
+employed. Perhaps this was he. Mr. Tomlin knew the stranger’s name, as
+he had taken a room, but that was the extent of the available
+information.
+
+“A fine evenin’, sir,” said Tomlin, drawing a cork noisily. “Looks as
+though we were in for a spell o’ settled weather.”
+
+“Yes,” agreed Ingerman, summing up the conclave at a glance. “Somehow,
+such a lovely night ill accords with the cause of my visit to
+Steynholme.”
+
+“In-deed, sir?”
+
+“Well, you and these other gentlemen may judge for yourselves. It will
+be no secret tomorrow. I am the husband of the lady who was found in
+the river outside Mr. Grant’s residence this morning.”
+
+Sensation, as the descriptive reporters put it. Mr. Tomlin was dumbly
+but unanimously elected chairman of the meeting, and was vaguely aware
+of his responsibilities. He drew himself a fresh glass of bitter.
+
+“You don’t tell me, sir!” he gasped. “Well, the idee! The pore lady’s
+letters were addressed to Miss Adelaide Melhuish. Perhaps you don’t
+know, sir, that she stayed here!”
+
+“Oh, yes. I was told that by the local police-constable. Have I, by any
+chance, been given her room?”
+
+“No, sir. Not likely. It’s locked, and the police have the key till the
+inquest is done with.”
+
+“As for the name,” explained Ingerman, in his suave voice, “that was a
+mere stage pseudonym, an adopted name. My wife was a famous actress,
+and there is a sort of tacit agreement that a lady in the theatrical
+profession shall be known to the public as ‘Miss’ rather than ‘Mrs.’”
+
+“Well, there!” wheezed Tomlin. “Who’d ever ha’ thought it?”
+
+The landlord was not quite rising to the occasion. He was, in fact,
+stunned by these repeated shocks. So Hobbs took charge.
+
+“It’s a sad errand you’re on, sir,” he said. “Death comes to all of us,
+man an’ beast alike, but it’s a terrible thing when a lady like Miss—
+Mrs. ——”
+
+“Ingerman is my name, but my wife will certainly be alluded to by the
+press as Miss Melhuish.”
+
+“When a lady like Miss Melhuish is knocked on the ’ead like a—”
+
+Mr. Hobbs hesitated again. He also felt that the situation was rather
+beyond him.
+
+“But my wife was flung into the river and drowned,” said Ingerman
+sadly.
+
+“No, sir. She was killed fust. It was a brutal business, so I’m told.”
+
+“Do you mean that she was struck, her skull battered?” came the demand,
+in an awed and soul-thrilling whisper.
+
+“Yes, sir. An’ the wust thing is, none of us can guess who could ha’
+done it.”
+
+“Lay yer five quid to one, Hobbs, that the police cop the scoundrel
+afore this day fortnight,” cried Elkin noisily.
+
+Then Mr. Siddle put in a mild word.
+
+“Gentlemen,” he said, “let me remind you that we four will probably be
+jurors at the inquest.”
+
+That was a sobering thought. Elkin subsided, and Hobbs looked
+critically at the remains of a gill of beer.
+
+Ingerman took stock of the chemist. He might easily induce the others
+to believe that Grant was the real criminal, but the quiet man in the
+black morning-coat and striped cloth trousers was of finer metal. He
+knew instantly that if he could persuade this one “probable juror” of
+Grant’s guilt, the remainder would follow his lead like a flock of
+sheep.
+
+But there was no need to hurry. Next day’s inquest would be a mere
+formality. The real struggle would begin a week or a fortnight later.
+
+“You have said a very wise thing, sir,” he murmured appreciatively.
+“Even my feelings must be kept under better control. But this is no
+ordinary murder. Before it is cleared up there will be astounding
+revelations. Mark the word—astounding.”
+
+Hobbs, whose heavy cheeks were of a brick-red tint, almost startled the
+conclave by a sudden outburst which gave him an apoplectic appearance.
+
+“You’re too kind’earted, Siddle,” he cried. “Wot’s the use of talkin’
+rubbish. We all know where the body was found. We all know that Doris
+Martin an’ Mr. Grant were a’sweet-’eartin’ in the garden—”
+
+“Look here, Hobbs, just keep Doris Martin’s name out of it!” shouted
+Elkin, smiting the table with his fist till the glasses danced.
+
+“Gentlemen!” protested Siddle gently.
+
+“It’s all dashed fine, but I’m not—” blustered Elkin. He yielded to
+Ingerman’s outstretched hand.
+
+“I seem to have brought discord into a friendly gathering,” came the
+mournful comment. “Such was far from being my intent. Landlord, the
+round is on me, with cigars. Now, let us talk of anything but this
+horror. If I forget myself again, pull me up short, and fine me another
+round.”
+
+Siddle half rose, but thought better of it. Evidently, he meant to use
+his influence to stop foolish chatter.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter V.
+The Seeds of Mischief
+
+
+Ingerman was a shrewder judge of human nature than the village chemist.
+As well try to stem the flowing tide as stop tongues from wagging when
+such a theme offered.
+
+Tomlin created a momentary diversion by clattering in the bar. After
+this professional interlude, Ingerman ignored his own compact.
+
+“I’m sure you local residents will be interested, at least, in hearing
+something of my wife’s career,” he said. “There never was a more
+lovable and gracious woman, and no couple could be more united than she
+and I till some three years ago. Then came a break. She was independent
+of me, of course. She was a celebrity, I a mere nobody, best known, if
+at all, as ‘Miss Melhuish’s husband.’ Nevertheless, we were devoted to
+each other until, to her and my lasting misfortune, a certain author
+wrote a book which, when dramatized, contained a part for which my
+wife’s stage presence and talents seemed to be peculiarly suited.”
+
+Siddle stirred uneasily, but the others were still as partridges in
+stubble. Ingerman did not intend to alarm the shy bird of the covey,
+however.
+
+“I name no names,” he said solemnly. “Nor am I telling you anything
+that will not be thoroughly exposed before the coroner and elsewhere.
+From that unhappy period dated our estrangement. My wife fell under a
+fatal influence which lasted, practically unchecked, until the day, if
+not the very hour, of her death. Do I blame her? No—a thousand times
+no! You see me, a plain man, considerably her senior. _I_ had not the
+gift of writing impassioned love passages in which she could display
+her artistic genius. When I came home from the City, tired after the
+day’s work, _she_ was just beginning hers. You know what London
+fashionable life is—the theater, a supper, a dance, some great lady’s
+‘reception,’ and the rest of it. Ah, me! The stage, and literature, and
+the arts generally are not for poor fellows moiling in a City office.
+You gentlemen, I take it, are all happily married—”
+
+“I’m not,” said Elkin, “but I’ll lay you long odds I will be soon.”
+
+For some reason, this remark produced a certain uneasiness among his
+friends. Tomlin stared at the ash of one of the cigars “stood” by this
+talkative Londoner; Hobbs, whose glass had reached a low level again,
+examined the dregs almost fiercely; and Siddle seemed to be about to
+say something, but, with his usual restraint, kept silent. Then
+Ingerman made a very shrewd guess, and wondered who Doris Martin was,
+and what Hobbs’s cryptic allusion had meant.
+
+“Good luck to you, sir,” he said, “but—take no offense—don’t marry an
+actress. There’s an old adage, ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’ I
+would go farther, and interpolate the word ‘should.’ If Adelaide
+Melhuish had never met me, but had married the man who could write her
+plays, this tragedy in real life would never have been.”
+
+“D—n him,” muttered Elkin fiercely. “He’s done for now, anyhow. He’ll
+turn no more girls’ heads for a bit.”
+
+“An’ five minutes since you yapped at me like a vicious fox-terrier for
+’intin’ much the same thing,” chortled Hobbs.
+
+Siddle stood up.
+
+“You ain’t goin’, Mr. Siddle?” went on the butcher. “It’s ’ardly ’arf
+past nine.”
+
+“I have some accounts to get out. It’s near the half year, you know,”
+and Siddle vanished unobtrusively.
+
+Hobbs shook his head, and gazed at Elkin as though the latter was a
+refractory bullock.
+
+“Siddle’s a fair-minded chap,” he said. “He can’t stand ’earin’ any of
+us ’angin’ a man without a fair trial.”
+
+Ingerman had marked the chemist for more subtle treatment when an
+opportunity arose, or could be made. At present, he was not sorry such
+a restraining influence was removed. The next half hour should prove a
+golden one if well utilized. He was right. Before the inn was cleared,
+what between Elkin’s savage comments and the other men’s thinly-veiled
+allusions, he knew all that Steynholme could tell with regard to Grant
+and Doris Martin.
+
+Grant’s first thought next morning was of the girl who had been thrust
+so prominently into his life by the death of another woman. That was,
+perhaps, the strangest outcome of the tragedy. Doris was easily the
+prettiest and most intelligent girl in the village, a rare combination
+in itself, even among young ladies of much higher social position than
+a postmaster’s daughter. But her father was a self-educated man, whose
+life had been given to books, whose only hobby was the culture and
+study of bees. He had often refused promotion, solely because his
+duties at Steynholme were light, and permitted of many free hours. In
+his only child he found a quick pupil and a sympathetic helper. Of her
+own accord she took to poetry and music. In effect, had Doris Martin
+attended the best of boarding-schools and training colleges, she would
+have received a smattering of French and a fair knowledge of the piano
+or violin, whereas, after more humble tuition, it might fairly be said
+of her that few girls of her age had read so many books and assimilated
+their contents so thoroughly. From her mother she inherited her good
+looks and a small yearly income, just sufficient to maintain a better
+wardrobe than her father’s salary would permit.
+
+Grant, newly settled in Steynholme, found the postmaster and his
+daughter intellectually on a par with himself, and this claim could
+certainly not be made on behalf of the local “society” element. The
+three became excellent friends. Naturally, the young people spent a
+good deal of time together. But there had been no love-making—not a
+hint or whisper of it!
+
+And now, by cruel chance, their names were linked by scandal in its
+most menacing form, since there was no gainsaying the fact that Doris’s
+star-gazing on that fatal Monday night was indissolubly bound up with
+the death of Adelaide Melhuish.
+
+For the first time, then, the notion peeped up in Grant’s mind that the
+whirligig of existence might see Doris his wife. But the conceit
+resembled the Gorgon’s teeth, which, when sown in the ground, sprang
+forth as armed men. The very accident which revealed a not unpleasing
+possibility had established a grave obstacle in the way of its ultimate
+realization. Already there was a cloud between him and the Martins,
+father and daughter. To what a tempest might not that cloud develop
+when the questionings and innuendoes of the inquest established an aura
+of suspicion and intrigue around a perfectly innocent meeting in the
+garden of _The Hollies_!
+
+Grant ate his breakfast in wrath. In wrath, too, he glanced through the
+morning newspapers, and saw his own name figuring large in the “story”
+of the “alleged” murder. The reporters had missed nothing. They had
+even got hold of the “peculiar coincidence” of his (Grant’s) glimpse of
+a face at the window. His play was recalled, and Adelaide Melhuish’s
+success in the title-rôle. Then Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman was introduced.
+He was described as “a man fairly well known in the City.” That was
+all. The press could say nothing as yet of marital disagreements, nor
+was any hint concerning Doris Martin allowed to appear. But these
+journalistic fire-works were only held in reserve. “Dramatic and
+sensational developments” were promised, and police activity in “an
+unexpected direction” fore-shadowed.
+
+All of which, of course, was mere journalistic paraphrasing of
+circumstances already known to the writers, and none the less galling
+to Grant on that account.
+
+And there was no answer from the Commissioner of Police at Scotland
+Yard. True, the overnight telegram might have reached the Department
+after office hours. Grant, like most members of the general public,
+held the vague belief that Government officials do very little work.
+Still, one might reasonably expect better things from the institution
+which was supposed to safeguard law-abiding citizens.
+
+Calm analysis of Ingerman’s nebulous threats had revealed a hostile
+force not to be despised. Possibly, the man was already in league with
+that narrow-minded village constable, so every passing hour made more
+urgent the need of a trained intelligence being brought to bear on the
+mystery of Adelaide Melhuish’s killing. Grant racked his brains to
+discover who could possibly have a motive for committing the crime.
+Naturally, his thoughts flew to Ingerman. Surely that sinister-looking
+person should be forced to give an account of himself instead of, as
+was probable, being allowed to instill further nonsense into the
+suspicious mind of P. C.  Robinson.
+
+There were two morning deliveries of London letters in Steynholme, one
+at eight and another at half past ten. Grant waited until the postman
+had left a publisher’s circular (the only letter for _The Hollies_ by
+the second mail). Then, in a fever of impatience, he jammed on a hat
+and went out. He would wait no longer. He would telegraph Scotland Yard
+again, and, incidentally, demand an audience at the post office.
+
+No sooner had he entered the highroad than he saw P. C.  Robinson on
+guard. That important person was standing on the bridge, apparently
+taking the air. He was nibbling the chin-strap of his helmet; both
+thumbs were locked in his belt. From that strategic position three
+roads came under observation.
+
+It was a fine morning, and Grant’s sense of humor was not proof against
+this open espionage. He smiled, and determined to take a rise out of
+“Sherlock,” as Bates had christened the policeman.
+
+The bridge lay a hundred yards to the left. The road was straight until
+it curved around the house and its shrubberies, so the view was blocked
+on that side. Grant filled and lighted a pipe with a deliberateness
+meant to be provoking, glancing several times doubtfully at P. C. 
+Robinson, who, of course, was grandly unaware of his presence. Then he
+strolled off to the right, and, when hidden, took to his heels for a
+hundred yards sprint. Turning into a winding bridle-path tucked between
+hedges of thorn and hazels, he walked to a point where it crossed a
+patch of furze. At a little distance a hand-bridge spanned the river,
+and gave access to the eastern end of the village by a steep climb of
+the wooded cliff. The path, in fact, was a short cut to that part of
+Steynholme.
+
+He sat on a hump of rock, and waited. It was a boyish trick, but very
+successful. Within three minutes, at the utmost, P. C.  Robinson
+hurried past, using a stalking, stealthy stride which was distinctly
+ludicrous.
+
+The eyes of the two men met, but Grant alone was prepared.
+
+“Hello, Robinson!” he cried cheerfully. “What’s the rush? Surely our
+rural peace has not been disturbed again?”
+
+Robinson knew he had been “sold,” but rose to the occasion.
+
+“Excuse me, Mr. Grant,” he puffed. “Can’t wait now. Have an
+appointment. I’ll see you later.”
+
+Honor demanded that he should not relax that swift pace. Unhappily, the
+path up the cliff was visible throughout from Grant’s rock, so, on
+reaching the summit, Robinson was a-boil in more ways than one.
+Moreover, peeping through the first screen of trees that offered, he
+had the mortification of seeing the man who had befooled him go back
+the way he came.
+
+Purple-faced with heat and anger, the policeman forgot his
+surroundings, and glowered at Grant with real fury. So he heard no one
+approaching along the main road until he was hailed a second time with,
+“Hello, Robinson!”
+
+He turned sharply. This was Mr. Elkin.
+
+“Good morning!” he said. “Have you seen the superintendent?”
+
+“What? Mr. Fowler? No. Is _he_ here so early?”
+
+“I must have missed him.”
+
+“Well, you’ll hardly find him on Bush Walk,” which was the name of the
+path.
+
+“You never can tell,” came the dark answer.
+
+At any rate, the policeman elected to abandon his self-imposed vigil,
+and the two walked together into the village.
+
+“My! You look as though you’d run a mile,” commented Elkin.
+
+“This murder has kept me busy,” growled the other, frankly mopping his
+forehead.
+
+“Ay, that’s so. And it isn’t done with yet, by a long way. Pity you
+weren’t in the Hare and Hounds last night. You’d have heard something.
+There’s a chap staying there, name of Ingerman—”
+
+“I’ve met him. The dead woman’s husband.”
+
+“Oh, perhaps you’ve got his yarn already?”
+
+“It all depends what he said to you.”
+
+“Well, he hinted things. Unless I’m greatly mistaken, you’ll soon be
+making an arrest.”
+
+“I believe I could put my hand on the murderer this very minute,” said
+Robinson vindictively.
+
+Elkin laughed, somewhat half-heartedly.
+
+“Lay you fifty to one against the time,” he said. “I’m the only one
+near enough for that limit, you know.”
+
+The policeman realized that he had allowed annoyance to shake his wits.
+He looked at Elkin rather sharply, and noticed that the horse-breeder
+seemed to be nervous and ill.
+
+“I didn’t quite mean that I could grab my man this minute,” he said,
+“but, if I can guess him, it amounts to nearly the same thing. What
+have you been doing to yourself, Mr. Elkin? You look peeky to-day.”
+
+“Too much whiskey and tobacco. I’ll call at Siddle’s for a
+‘pick-me-up.’ Am I wanted for the jury?”
+
+“Yes. I left a notice at your place last evening.”
+
+“I didn’t get it.”
+
+“Been away?”
+
+“No. Fact is, I went home late, and didn’t bother about letters this
+morning. What time is the inquest?”
+
+“Three o’clock, in the club-room of the Hare and Hounds.”
+
+“Will that fellow, Grant, be there?”
+
+“Rather. Dr. Foxton warned him yesterday.”
+
+“Good! What about Doris Martin? Will she be a witness?”
+
+“Not to-day.”
+
+They were entering the village, and could see down the long, wide slope
+of the hill. Grant had just come into sight at its foot.
+
+Both men scowled at the distant figure, but neither passed any comment.
+They parted, the policeman walking straight on, Elkin bearing to the
+left. The chemist’s shop stood exactly opposite the post office, so
+Elkin, arriving first, was aware of his unconscious rival’s
+destination.
+
+He had not answered Mr. Siddle’s greeting, but gazed moodily through a
+barricade of specifics piled in the window. Then he swore.
+
+“What’s wrong now?” inquired the chemist quietly.
+
+“That Grant. Got a nerve, hasn’t he?”
+
+“I can’t say, unless you explain.”
+
+“He’s just gone into the post office.”
+
+“Why shouldn’t he? He wants stamps, may be; plenty of ’em, I should
+imagine.”
+
+“Oh, you’re a fish, Siddle. You aren’t crazy about a girl, like I am.
+The sooner Grant’s in jail the better I’ll be pleased.”
+
+“If you take my advice, which you won’t, I know, you will not utter
+that sort of remark publicly.”
+
+“Can’t help it. Bet you a fiver I’m engaged to Doris Martin within a
+week.”
+
+Mr. Siddle took thought.
+
+“Why so quickly?” he asked, after a pause.
+
+“I’ll catch her on the hop, of course. If she’s engaged to me it’ll
+help her a lot when this case comes into court.”
+
+“I cannot believe that Doris would accept any man for such a reason.”
+
+“I’m not ‘any man.’ She knows I’m after her. Will you take my bet, even
+money?”
+
+“No. I don’t bet.”
+
+“Well, you needn’t put a damper on me. In fact, you can’t. Have you
+that last prescription of Dr. Foxton’s handy? My liver wants a tonic.”
+
+The chemist thumbed a dog-eared volume, read an entry carefully, and
+retired to a dispensing counter in the rear of the shop.
+
+“Shall I send it?” came his voice.
+
+“No. I’ll wait. Give me a dose now, if you don’t mind.”
+
+For some reason, Fred Elkin was not himself that day. He was moody, and
+fretful as a sick colt. But he had diagnosed his ailment and its cause
+accurately; a discreet doctor was probably aware of his failings, and
+had considered them in the “mixture.”
+
+The post office was not busy when Grant entered. A young man, a
+stranger, was seated at the telegraphist’s desk, tapping a new
+instrument. The G. P. O., forewarned, had lent an expert to deal with
+press messages.
+
+Mr. Martin, sorting some documents, came forward when he saw Grant. His
+kindly, somewhat pre-occupied face was long as a fiddle.
+
+“Good morning, Mr. Martin,” said Grant.
+
+“Good morning. What can I do for you?” was the stiff reply. Grant was
+in no mind to be rebuffed, however.
+
+“I must have a word with you in private,” he said.
+
+“I’m sorry—but my time is quite full.”
+
+“I’m sorry, too, but the matter is urgent.”
+
+The click of the sounder became less businesslike. There was an element
+in the tone of each voice that drew the London telegraphist’s
+attention. Martin, usually the mildest-mannered man in Sussex, was
+obviously ill at ease. But he simply could not hold out against Grant’s
+compelling gaze.
+
+“Come into the back room,” he said nervously. “Call me if I’m needed,”
+he added, nodding to his assistant.
+
+Grant did not hesitate an instant when the postmaster reached the “back
+parlor” through another door. The open window, draped in clematis, gave
+a delightful glimpse of _The Hollies_. A window-box of mignonette
+filled the air with its delicate perfume. Grant hoped that Doris would
+be there, but the only signs of her recent presence were a hat and an
+open book on the table.
+
+“Now, Mr. Martin,” he said gravely, “you and I should have a serious
+talk. It is idle to deny that gossip is spreading broadcast certain
+malicious and absurd rumors which closely concern Doris and myself. To
+me these things are of slight consequence. To a girl of your daughter’s
+age they are poisonous. If you, her father, know the whole truth, you
+can regulate your actions so as to defeat the scandalmongers. That is
+why I am here to-day. That is why I came here yesterday, but your
+attitude took me aback, and I was idiot enough to go without a word of
+explanation. I was too shaken then to see my clear course, and follow
+it regardless of personal feelings. This morning I am master of myself,
+and I insist that you listen now while I tell you exactly what occurred
+on Monday night.”
+
+“Surely—these matters—are—for the authorities,” stammered the older
+man.
+
+“What? Your daughter’s good name?”
+
+Mr. Martin reddened. His agitation was pitiful.
+
+“That is hardly in question, sir,” he said brokenly.
+
+“I am speaking of the tongue of slander. Heaven help and direct me! I
+would suffer death rather than see Doris subjected to the leers and
+innuendoes of every lout in the village.”
+
+Grant’s earnestness could hardly fail to impress his friend. But Martin
+had either made up his mind or been warned not to discuss the murder,
+and adhered loyally to that line of conduct. He retreated toward the
+door leading to the post office proper.
+
+“It is too late to interfere now,” he said.
+
+“What on earth do you mean?” demanded Grant, yielding to a gust of
+anger.
+
+“The whole—of the circumstances—are being inquired into by the police,”
+came the hesitating answer.
+
+“Has that prying scoundrel, Robinson, dared to cross-examine Doris?”
+
+“He came here, of course, but Scotland Yard has taken up the inquiry.”
+
+“A detective—here?”
+
+“Yes. He is with Doris in the garden at this moment.”
+
+Grant knew the topography of the house. Without asking permission, he
+tore through yet a third door leading to a kitchen and scullery, nearly
+upsetting a tiny maid who had her ear or eye to the key-hole, and raced
+into the garden in which the postmaster kept his bees.
+
+Doris, standing with her hands behind her back, was looking at The
+Hollies, and deep in conversation with an alert and natty little man
+who was evidently absorbed in what she was saying.
+
+Grant, in a whirl of fury, was only conscious that Doris’s companion
+was slight, almost diminutive, of frame, very erect, and dressed in a
+well-fitting blue serge suit, neat brown boots and straw hat, when the
+two heard his footsteps.
+
+Doris was flustered. Her Romney face held a look of scare.
+
+“Oh, here is Mr. Grant!” she said, striving vainly to speak with
+composure.
+
+The little man pierced Grant with an extraordinarily penetrating glance
+from very bright and deeply-recessed black eyes.
+
+“Ah, Mr. Grant, is it!” he chirped pleasantly. “Good morning! So
+_you’re_ the villain of the piece, are you?”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VI.
+Scotland Yard Takes a Hand
+
+
+It was a singular greeting, to say the least, and the person who
+uttered it was quite as remarkable as his queer method of expressing
+himself seemed to indicate.
+
+Grant, though in a fume of hot anger, had the good sense to choke back
+the first impetuous reprimand trembling on his lips. In fact, wrath
+quickly subsided into blank incredulity. He saw before him, not the
+conventional detective who might be described as a superior
+Robinson—not even the sinewy, sharp-eyed, and well-spoken type of man
+whom he had once heard giving evidence in a famous jewel-robbery
+case—but rather one whom he would have expected to meet in the bar of a
+certain well-known restaurant in Maiden Lane, a corner of old London
+where literally all the world’s a stage, and all the men and women
+merely players.
+
+During his theatrical experiences he had come across scores of such
+men, dapper little fellows, wizened of face yet curiously youthful in
+manner; but they, each and all, were labeled “low comedian.” Certainly,
+a rare intelligence gleamed from this man’s eyes, but that is an
+attribute not often lacking in humorists who command high salaries
+because of their facility in laughter-making. This man, too, had the
+wide, thin-lipped, mobile mouth of the actor. His ivory-white, wrinkled
+forehead and cheeks, the bluish tint on jaws and chin, his voice, his
+perky air, the very tilt of his straw hat, were eloquent of the
+footlights. Even his opening words, bizarre and cheerfully impertinent,
+smacked of “comic relief.”
+
+“I figure prominently in this particular ‘piece,’” snapped Grant. “May
+I ask your name, sir?”
+
+“A wise precaution with suspicious characters,” rejoined the other,
+smiling. Grant was suddenly reminded of a Japanese grinning at a joke,
+but he bent over a card which the stranger had whisked out of a
+waistcoat pocket. He read:
+
+Mr. Charles F. Furneaux,
+
+_Criminal Investigation Department_,
+
+New Scotland Yard, S.W.
+
+He could not control himself. He gazed at Mr. Charles F. Furneaux with
+a surprise that was not altogether flattering.
+
+“Did the Commissioner of Police send _you_ in response to my telegram?”
+he said.
+
+“That is what lawyers call a leading question,” came the prompt retort.
+“And I hate lawyers. They darken understanding, and set honest men at
+loggerheads.”
+
+“But it happens to be very much to the point at this moment.”
+
+“Well, Mr. Grant, if you really press for an answer, it is ‘Yes’ and
+‘No.’ The Commissioner received a certain telegram, but he may have
+acted on other grounds. Even Commissioners can be creatures of impulse,
+or expediency, just as the situation demands.
+
+“You are here, at any rate.”
+
+“That is what legal jargon terms an admitted fact.”
+
+“Then you had better begin by assuming that I am no villain.”
+
+“It is assumed. It couldn’t well be otherwise after the excellent
+character you have been given by this young lady.”
+
+“She, at least, will speak well of me, I do believe,” said Grant, with
+a strange bitterness, for his heart was sore because of the seeming
+defection of his friend, the postmaster. “What I actually had in mind
+was the stupidity of the local policeman, who is convinced that I am
+both a criminal and a fool.”
+
+“The two are often synonymous,” said Furneaux dryly. “But I acquitted
+you on both counts, Mr. Grant, on hearing, and even seeing, how you
+spent Monday evening.”
+
+Grant, who had cooled down considerably, found a hint of badinage in
+this comment.
+
+“You have evidently been told that Miss Martin and I were star-gazing
+in the garden of my house,” he said. “It happens to be true.”
+
+“Oh, yes. There was a very fine cluster of small stars in Canis Major,
+south of Sirius, that night.”
+
+“You know something about the constellations, then?” was the astonished
+query.
+
+“Enough for the purposes of Scotland Yard,” smirked Furneaux, who had
+checked P. C.  Robinson’s one-sided story by referring to Whitaker’s
+Almanack. “It may relieve your mind if I tell you that I have never
+seen a real live astronomer in the dock. Venus and Mars are often in
+trouble, but their devoted observers seldom, if ever.”
+
+Grant warmed to this strange species of detective, though, if pressed
+for an instant decision, he would vastly have preferred that one of
+more orthodox style had been intrusted with an inquiry so vital to his
+own happiness and good repute. Eager, however, to pour forth his
+worries into any official ear, he brought back the talk to a definite
+channel.
+
+“Will you come to my place?” he asked. “I have much to say. Let me
+assure you now, in Miss Martin’s presence, that she is no more
+concerned in this ghastly business than any other young lady in the
+village.”
+
+“But she is interested. And _you_ are. And I am. Why not discuss
+matters here, for the present, I mean? We have a glorious view of your
+house and grounds. We can see without being seen. None can overhear. I
+advise both of you to go thoroughly into this matter here and now.”
+
+Furneaux spoke emphatically. Even Doris put in a timid plea.
+
+“Perhaps that would be the best thing to do,” she said. “Mr. Furneaux
+has been most sympathetic. I am sure he understands things already in a
+way that is quite wonderful to me.”
+
+The very sound of her voice was comforting. Grant might have argued
+with the detective, but could not resist Doris. Without further demur
+he went through the whole story, giving precise details of events on
+the Monday night. Then the recital widened out into a history of his
+relations with Adelaide Melhuish. He omitted nothing. Doris gasped when
+she heard Superintendent Fowler’s version of the view a coroner’s jury
+might take of her presence in the garden of _The Hollies_ at a late
+hour. But Grant did not spare her. He reasoned that she ought to be
+prepared for an ordeal which could not be avoided. He was governed by
+the astute belief that his very outspokenness in this respect would
+weaken the inferences which the police might otherwise draw from it.
+
+Furneaux uttered never a word. He was a first-rate listener, though his
+behavior was most undetective-like, since he hardly looked at Grant or
+the girl, but seemed to devote his attention almost exclusively to the
+scenic panorama in front.
+
+However, when Grant came to the somewhat strenuous passage-at-arms of
+the previous night between Ingerman and himself, the little man broke
+in at once.
+
+“Isidor G. Ingerman?” he cried. “Is he a tall, lanky, cadaverous,
+rather crooked person, with black hair turning gray, and an absurdly
+melodious voice?”
+
+“You have described him without an unnecessary word,” said Grant.
+
+Furneaux clicked his tongue in a peculiar fashion.
+
+“Go on!” he said. “It’s a regular romance—quite in your line, Mr.
+Grant, of course, but none the less enthralling because, as you so
+happily phrased Miss Martin’s lesson in astronomy, it happens to be
+true.”
+
+Grant was scrupulously fair to Ingerman. He admitted the “financier’s”
+adroitness of speech, and made clear the fact that if the visit had the
+levying of blackmail for its object such a possible outcome was only
+hinted at vaguely. Being a novelist, one whose temperament sought for
+sunshine rather than gloom in life, he wound up in lighter vein. The
+ruse which tricked P. C.  Robinson into a breathless scamper of nearly
+a mile on a hot day in June was described with gusto. Doris, who knew
+the village constable well, laughed outright, while Furneaux cackled
+shrilly. None who might be watching the little group in that delightful
+garden, with its scent of old-world flowers and drone of bees, could
+have guessed that a grewsome tragedy formed their major theme.
+
+The girl was the first to realize that even harmless merriment was in
+ill accord with the presence of death, for the body of Adelaide
+Melhuish lay within forty yards of the place where they stood.
+
+“May I leave you now?” she inquired. “Father may be wanting help in the
+office.”
+
+“I shan’t detain you more than a few seconds,” said Furneaux briskly.
+“On Monday evening you two young people parted at half past ten. How do
+you fix the time?”
+
+Doris answered without hesitation:
+
+“The large window of Mr. Grant’s study was open, and we both heard a
+clock in the hall chime the half-hour. I said, ‘Goodness me, is that
+half past ten?’ and started for home at once. Mr. Grant came with me as
+far as the bridge. When I reached my room, in exactly five minutes
+after leaving _The Hollies_, I stood at the open window—that
+window”—and she pointed to a dormer casement above the
+sitting-room—“and looked out. It was a particularly fine night, mild,
+but not very clear, as a slight mist often rises from the river after a
+hot day in summer. I may have been there about ten minutes, no longer,
+when I saw the study window of _The Hollies_ thrown open, and Mr.
+Grant’s figure was silhouetted by the lamp behind him. He seemed to be
+listening for something, so I, who must have heard any unusual sound,
+listened too. There was nothing. I could hear the ripple of the river
+beneath the bridge, so everything was very still. After a minute, or
+two, perhaps—no longer—Mr. Grant went in, and closed the window. Then I
+went to bed.”
+
+“Did Mr. Grant draw any blind or curtains?”
+
+“There are muslin curtains attached to each side of the window. One
+cannot see into the room from a distance.”
+
+Furneaux measured an imaginary line drawn from Doris’s bedroom to the
+edge of the cliff, and prolonged it.
+
+“Nor can you see the river or foot of the lawn from your room,” he
+commented.
+
+“No. In winter I can just make out the edge of the lawn. When the trees
+are in leaf, all the lower part is hidden.”
+
+“You had actually retired to rest about eleven, I suppose?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“So if Mr. Grant came out again you would not know?” Doris blushed
+furiously, but her reply was unfaltering.
+
+“I would have known during the next half-hour, at least,” she said. “An
+inclined mirror hangs in my room. I use it sometimes for adjusting a
+hat. The square of light from Mr. Grant’s room is reflected in it, and
+any sudden increase in the illumination caused by opening the window or
+pulling the curtains aside would certainly have caught my eye.”
+
+“You have an unshakable witness in Miss Martin,” said Furneaux,
+stabbing a finger at Grant. “Now, I’ll hurry off. You and I, Mr. Grant,
+meet at Philippi, otherwise known as the crowner’s quest.”
+
+Any benevolent intent he may have had in leaving these young people
+together was, however, frustrated by Doris, whose composure seemed to
+have fled since her statement about the mirror. She resolutely
+accompanied the detective, and Grant had to follow. All three passed
+into the post office, Doris using the private door. Mr. Martin looked
+up from his desk when they appeared, and requested his daughter to
+check a bundle of postal orders. The pretext was painfully obvious, but
+Grant was not so wishful now to clear up matters with Doris’s father,
+as the girl herself might be trusted to pass on an accurate account of
+the affair from beginning to end.
+
+He was about to reach the street quick on Furneaux’s heels when the
+little man turned suddenly.
+
+“By the way, don’t you want a shilling’s worth of stamps?” he said.
+
+Grant smiled comprehension, and went back to the counter, where Doris
+herself served him. She did not try to avoid his glance, but rather met
+it with a baffling serenity oddly at variance with her momentary loss
+of self-possession in the garden.
+
+When he entered the street the detective had vanished.
+
+He walked down the hill at a rapid pace, disregarding the eyes peeping
+at him through open doorways, over narrow window-curtains, and covertly
+staring when people passed in the roadway. The sensitive side of his
+temperament shrank from this thinly-veiled hostility. He was by way of
+being popular in Steynholme, yet not a soul spoke to him. Before he
+reached the bridge, the other side of him, the man of action, of cool
+resource in an emergency, rose in rebellion against the league of silly
+clodhoppers. Back he strode to the post office and dashed off a
+telegram. It ran:
+
+“Walter Hart, Savage Club, Adelphi, London. Come here and help to lay a
+ghost.”
+
+He signed it in full, name and address. Doris was gone, but her father
+received it, and read the text in a bewildered way.
+
+“I find myself deserted by my Steynholme friends so I am trying to
+import one stanch one,” said Grant, almost vindictively.
+
+Martin murmured the cost, and Grant stormed out again. This time,
+passing the Hare and Hounds, he looked at door and windows. He caught a
+face scowling at him over a brown wire blind bearing the words “Wines
+and Spirits” on it in letters of dull gold. It was a commonplace type
+of face, small-featured, ginger-moustached, and crowned by a billy-cock
+hat set at a rakish angle. Its most marked characteristic was the
+positive hatred which glowed in the sharp, pale-blue eyes. Grant
+wondered who this highly censorious young man might be. At any rate, he
+meant to ascertain whether or not the critic was susceptible of satire
+at his own expense. He walked up to the window, elevated his eyebrows
+at the frowning person within, pretended to read the words on the
+screen, looked again at the man inside, and shook his head gravely in
+the manner of one who has accurately determined cause and effect.
+
+Fred Elkin was quick-witted enough to appreciate Grant’s unspoken
+comment. He was also unmannerly enough to put out his tongue. Then
+Grant laughed, and turned on his heel.
+
+Mr. Siddle, quietly observant of recent comings and goings, was
+standing at the door of the shop, and missed no item of this dumb show.
+He raised both hands in silent condemnation of Elkin’s childishness,
+whereupon the horse-dealer jerked a thumb toward Grant’s retreating
+figure, and went through a rapid pantomime of the hanging process. His
+crony disapproved again, and went in. Now, both those men were on the
+jury panel, so, to all appearance, Grant would be judged by at least
+one deadly enemy, whose animosity might or might not be fairly balanced
+by the chemist’s impartial mind.
+
+The tenant of _The Hollies_ actually dreaded the loneliness of his
+dwelling now, though it was that very quality which had drawn him to
+Steynholme a year earlier. Work or reading was equally out of the
+question that day. He sought the industrious Bates, who was trenching
+celery in the kitchen garden.
+
+“Have ’ee made out owt about un, sir?” inquired that hardy individual,
+pausing to spit on the handle of his spade.
+
+“No,” said Grant. “The thing is a greater mystery than ever.”
+
+“I’m thinkin’ her mun ha’ bin killed by a loony,” announced Bates.
+
+“Something of the kind, no doubt. But why are the little less dangerous
+loonies of Steynholme united in the belief that I am the guilty one?”
+
+“Ax me another,” growled Bates.
+
+“Who is spreading this rumor? Robinson?”
+
+“’E dussen’t, sir. ’E looks fierce, but ’e’ll ’old ’is tongue. T’super
+will see to that.”
+
+“Someone is talking. That is quite certain.”
+
+“There’s a chap in the ’Are an’ ’Ounds—kem ’ere last night.”
+
+“Ingerman?”
+
+“Ay, sir, that’s the name. ’E’s makin’ a song of it, I hear.”
+
+“Anybody else?”
+
+“Fred Elkin is gassin’ about. Do ’ee know un? Breeds ’osses at Mount
+Farm, a mile that-a-way,” and Bates pointed to the west.
+
+Grant hazarded a guess, and described the face of condemnation seen at
+the inn. Bates nodded.
+
+“That’s un,” he said. Then he drove the spade into the rich loam. “They
+do say,” he added, apparently as an after-thought, “as Fred Elkin is
+mighty sweet on Doris, but her’ll ’ave nowt to do wi’ un.”
+
+Grant whistled softly. This explanation threw light on a dark place.
+
+“The plot thickens,” he said. “Mr. Elkin becomes more interesting than
+he looks. Are there other disappointed swains in the offing?”
+
+“What’s that, sir?”
+
+“Has Miss Martin any other suitors?”
+
+“Lots of ’em ’ud be after her like wasps round a plum-tree if she’d
+give ’em ’alf a chance. But _you_ put a stopper on ’em.”
+
+Bates was blunt of speech, though a philosopher withal.
+
+“Elkin is my only serious rival, then?” laughed Grant, passing off as a
+joke a thrust which was shrewder than the gardener knew.
+
+“’E ’as plenty of brass, but I reckon nowt on ’im,” was the
+contemptuous answer.
+
+“Well, he is not a likely person to kill a woman he had never before
+seen. Miss Martin will marry whom she chooses, no doubt. The present
+problem is to find out who murdered Miss Melhuish. Now, had _I_ been
+the victim you would be thinking hard, Bates.”
+
+“I tell ’ee, sir, it wur a loony.”
+
+Nor was Bates to be moved from that opinion. He held to it, through
+thick and thin, for many days.
+
+Grant wandered into the front garden. His eyes rose involuntarily to
+the distant post office, and he noticed at once that the dormer window
+was closed. Yet Doris shared his own love of fresh air, and that window
+had always been open till that very hour. Somehow, this simple thing
+seemed to shut him out of her life. He walked to the river, and gazed
+at the spot where the body was drawn ashore. In the absence of rain the
+water ran clear as gin, and the marks made by the feet of Adelaide
+Melhuish’s murderer were still perceptible. If only those misshapen
+blotches could reveal their secret! If only some Heaven-sent ray of
+intuition would enable him to put the police on the track of the
+criminal! Theoretically, a novelist and essayist should be a first-rate
+detective, yet, brought face to face with an actual felony, here was
+one who perforce remained blind and dumb.
+
+Yet he was not blameworthy for failing to solve a mystery which was
+rapidly establishing a record for bewildering elements. Wherein he did
+err most lamentably was in his reading of a woman’s heart.
+
+No answering telegram came from his friend in London. The day wore
+slowly till it was time to attend the inquest. He found a crowd
+gathered in front of the Hare and Hounds. Superintendent Fowler was
+there, and quite a number of policemen, whose presence was explained
+when a buzz of excitement heralded Grant’s arrival. He decided not to
+stand this sort of persecution a moment longer.
+
+Before the superintendent could interfere, he leaped on to a set of
+stone mounting-steps which stood opposite the door. Instantly, seeing
+that he was about to speak, the angry murmuring of the mob was hushed.
+He looked into a hundred stolid faces, and stretched out his right
+hand.
+
+“I cannot help feeling,” he said, in slow, incisive accents which
+carried far, “that a set of peculiar circumstances has led you
+Steynholme folk to suspect me of being responsible, in some way, for
+the death of the lady whose body was found in the river near my house.
+Now, I want to tell you that I am not only an innocent but a
+much-maligned man. The law of the land will establish both facts in due
+season. But I want to warn some of you, too, I shall not trouble to
+issue writs for libel. If any blackguard among you dares to insult me
+openly, I shall smash his face.”
+
+He knew when to stop. Superintendent Fowler’s nudge was not called for,
+as the orator simply met the scrutiny of all those eyes without another
+word.
+
+Curiously enough, the sense of justice is inherent in every haphazard
+gathering of the public. Grant’s soldierly bearing, his calm defiance
+of hostile opinion, the outspoken threat which he so plainly meant, won
+instant favor. Someone shouted, “Hear, hear!” and the crowd applauded.
+From that moment he had little to complain of in the attitude of the
+community as a whole. There were subtle and dangerous enemies to be
+fought and conquered, but Steynholme looked on, keen to learn of any
+new sensation, of course, but placidly content that the final verdict
+should be left in the hands of the authorities.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VII.
+“Alarums and Excursions”
+
+
+The inquest was surprisingly tame after the stirring events which had
+led up to it. Indeed, save for two incidents, the proceedings were
+almost dull.
+
+The coroner, a Knoleworth solicitor named Belcher, prided himself on
+conducting this _cause célèbre_ with as little ostentation as he would
+have displayed over an ordinary inquiry. Messrs. Siddle, Elkin, Tomlin
+and Hobbs, with eight other local tradesmen and farmers, formed the
+jurors, and the chemist was promptly elected foreman; no witnesses were
+ordered out of court; the formalities of “swearing in” the jury and
+“viewing” the body were carried through rapidly. Almost before Grant
+had time to assimilate these details Superintendent Fowler, who
+marshalled the evidence, called his name. The coroner’s officer
+tendered him a well-thumbed Bible, while the coroner himself
+administered the oath.
+
+Grant eyed the somewhat soiled volume, and opened it before putting it
+to his lips. The action probably did not please the jury. Elkin nudged
+Tomlin, and sniggered at the rest of his colleagues, as much as to say:
+“What did I tell you? The cheek of him!”
+
+Elkin, by the way, looked ill. When his interest flagged for an instant
+his haggard aspect became more noticeable.
+
+Ingerman was there, of course. Furneaux sat beside Mr. Fowler. A
+stranger, whom Grant did not recognize, proved to be the County Chief
+Constable. There was a strong muster of police, and the representatives
+of the press completely monopolized the scanty accommodation for the
+public. To Grant’s relief, Doris Martin was not in attendance.
+
+He told the simple facts of the finding of Adelaide Melhuish’s corpse.
+A harmless question by the coroner evoked the first “scene” which set
+the reporters’ pencils busy.
+
+“Did you recognize the body!” inquired Mr. Belcher.
+
+“I did.”
+
+“Then you can give the jury her name?”
+
+Before Grant could answer, Ingerman sprang up, his sallow face livid
+with passion.
+
+“I protest, sir, against this man being permitted to identify my wife,”
+he said.
+
+He was either deeply moved, or proved himself an excellent actor. His
+flute-like voice vibrated with an intense emotion. Thus might Mark
+Antony have spoken when vowing that Brutus was an honorable man.
+
+“Who are you?” demanded the coroner sharply.
+
+“Isidor George Ingerman, husband of the deceased lady,” came the
+clear-toned reply.
+
+“Well, sit down, sir, and do not interrupt the court again,” said the
+coroner.
+
+“I demand, sir, that you note my protest.”
+
+“Sit down! Were you any other person I would have you removed. As it
+is, I am prepared to regard your feelings to the extent of explaining
+that the witness is not identifying the body but relating a fact within
+his own knowledge.”
+
+Ingerman bowed, and resumed his seat.
+
+For some reason, Grant stared blankly at Furneaux. The latter did not
+meet his glance, but put a finger on those thin lips. It might, or
+might not, be a warning to repress any retort he had in mind. At any
+rate, obeying a nod from the coroner, he merely said:
+
+“She was a well-known actress, Miss Adelaide Melhuish.”
+
+Mr. Belcher’s pen hesitated a little. Then it scratched on.
+Undoubtedly, he was himself exercising the restraint he meant to impose
+on others.
+
+“You are quite sure?” he said, after a pause.
+
+“Quite.”
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Grant. Wait here until you sign your deposition. Of
+course, you are aware that this inquiry will stand adjourned, and the
+whole matter will be gone into fully at a later date.”
+
+“So I have been informed, sir.”
+
+Ingerman was the next witness. _He_, like a good democrat, kissed the
+cover of the Bible. The coroner began by giving him some advice.
+
+“This is a purely formal inquiry, to permit of a death certificate
+being issued. You will oblige me, therefore, by answering my questions
+without introducing any extraneous subject.”
+
+Ingerman adhered to these instructions. Having already shot a
+carefully-prepared bolt, he meant avoiding any further conflict with
+the authorities. His evidence was brief and to the point. The deceased
+was his wife. They were married at a London registrar’s office on a
+given date, six years ago. His wife acted under her maiden name. There
+was no family.
+
+The court was well lighted by four long windows in the eastern wall,
+which each witness faced, so Grant was free to study his avowed enemy
+at leisure. He thought he made out a crafty underlook in Ingerman which
+he had failed to detect the previous night. That slow, smooth voice
+seemed to weigh each syllable. Such a man would never blurt out an
+unconsidered admission. He was a foe to be reckoned with. The subtle
+malignancy of that well-timed outburst was proof positive in that
+respect.
+
+The jury, apparently, attached much weight to his words. On some faces
+there was an expectancy which merged into marked disappointment when
+his evidence came to an end. The foreman alone displayed the judicial
+attitude warranted by the oath he had taken. Somehow, Grant had faith
+in Mr. Siddle. The man looked intellectual. When spoken to in his shop
+his manner was invariably reserved. But that was his general repute in
+Steynholme—a quiet, uninterfering person, who had come to the village a
+young man, yet had never really entered into its life. For instance, he
+neither held nor would accept any public office. At first, people
+wondered how he contrived to eke out a living, but this puzzle was
+solved by his admitted possession of a small annuity.
+
+Dr. Foxton, general practitioner, who held undisputed sway in the
+district, told how he had conducted an autopsy on the body of the
+deceased. He found a deep, incised wound on the back of the skull, a
+wound which would have caused death in any event. The instrument used
+must have been a heavy and blunt one. Miss Melhuish was dead or dying
+when thrown into the river. The body was well nourished, and the vital
+organs sound. Undoubtedly she had been murdered.
+
+Bates followed, and evoked a snigger by the outspokenness of blunt
+Sussex.
+
+“I hauled ’um in,” he said, “an’ knew it wur a dead ’un by the feel of
+the rope.”
+
+The coroner was not curious. He merely wished to put on record the time
+and manner in which Mr. Grant summoned assistance.
+
+Then P. C. Robinson entered the box, and contrived to bring about the
+second “incident.”
+
+He told how, “from information received,” he went to _The Hollies_, and
+found Mr. Grant standing near the river with a dead body at his feet.
+
+“One side of Mr. Grant’s face was covered with blood,” he went on.
+
+If the policeman was minded to create a sensation, he certainly
+succeeded. A slight hum ran through the court, and then all present
+seemed to restrain their breathing lest a word of the evidence should
+be lost. The mention of “blood” in a murder case was a more adroit
+dodge than Robinson himself guessed, perhaps. Few of his hearers
+troubled to reflect that a smudge of fresh gore on Grant’s cheek could
+hardly have any bearing on the death of a woman whose body had
+admittedly lain all night in the river. It sufficed that Robinson had
+introduced a touch of the right color into the inquiry. Even the
+coroner was worried.
+
+“Well!” he said testily.
+
+“I took down his statement, sir,” said the witness, well knowing that
+he had wiped off Grant’s morning score in the matter of Bush Walk.
+
+“Never mind his statement. That must await the adjourned hearing. What
+did you do with the body?”
+
+“Took it to the stable of the Hare and Hounds, sir.”
+
+“Where it was viewed recently by the jury?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“It is the body identified by Mr. Ingerman as that of his wife?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“That will do.... Superintendent Fowler, will this day week at ten
+o’clock suit you?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said the superintendent.
+
+“Then the inquest stands adjourned until that day and hour. Gentlemen
+of the jury, you must be here punctually.”
+
+“Can’t we ask any questions?” cried Elkin, in an injured tone.
+
+“No. You cannot,” snapped the coroner emphatically.
+
+After a few formalities, which included the reading and signing of the
+depositions, the courthouse emptied. The whole thing was over in half
+an hour. Grant, determined to have a word with the representative of
+Scotland Yard, went openly to Furneaux, and asked him to come to The
+Hollies and join him in a cup of tea.
+
+“No,” was the curt answer. “I’m busy. I’ll see you later.”
+
+It was difficult to reconcile the detective’s present stand-off manner
+with his earlier camaradie, to say nothing of the seemingly friendly
+hint conveyed by the signal to pass no comment on Ingerman’s
+interruption.
+
+Rather sick at heart, Grant went out into the sunshine. He was
+snap-shotted a dozen times by press photographers. One man, backing
+impudently in front of him in order to secure a sharp focus, tripped
+over the raised edge of a cartway into a yard, and sat down violently.
+
+The onlookers laughed, but Grant helped the photographer to rise.
+
+“If you want a really good picture of the Steynholme murderer, come to
+my place, and I’ll give you one,” he said.
+
+The pressman was grateful, because Grant’s action had tended to
+mitigate his discomfiture.
+
+“No one but a fool thinks of you as a murderer, Mr. Grant,” he said.
+“What I really want is a portrait of ‘the celebrated’ author in whose
+grounds the body was found.”
+
+“Come along, then, and I’ll pose for you.”
+
+The photographer was surprised, but joyfully accepted the gifts the
+gods gave. He could not guess that his host was pining for human
+companionship. He could not fathom Grant’s disappointment, on reaching
+_The Hollies_, at finding no telegram from a trusted friend, Walter
+Hart. And he was equally unconscious of the immense service he rendered
+by compelling his host to talk and act naturally. He enlightened Grant,
+too, in the matter of inquests.
+
+“Next week there will be a gathering of lawyers,” he said. “The police
+will be represented, probably by the Treasury, if the case is thought
+sufficiently important. That chap, Ingerman, too, will employ a
+solicitor, I expect, judging from his attitude to-day. In fact, any one
+whose interests are affected ought to secure legal assistance. One
+never knows how these inquiries twist and turn.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Grant, smiling at the journalist’s tact. “I’ll order
+tea to be got ready while you’re taking your pictures. By the way, what
+sort of detective is Mr. Charles F. Furneaux?”
+
+“A pocket marvel,” was the enthusiastic answer. “Haven’t you heard of
+him before? Well, you wouldn’t, unless you followed famous cases
+professionally. He seldom appears in the courts—generally manages to
+wriggle out of giving direct evidence. But I’ve never known him to
+fail. He either hangs his man or drives him to suicide. If I committed
+a crime, and was told that Furneaux was after me, I’d own up and save
+trouble, because I wouldn’t have the ghost of a chance of winning
+clear.”
+
+“He strikes one as too flippant for a detective.”
+
+“Yes. Lots of people have thought that, and they’re either disappearing
+in quicklime beneath some corridor of a prison, or doing time at
+Portland. I wonder if Winter also is coming down on this job.”
+
+“Who is ‘Winter’?”
+
+“The Chief Inspector at the ‘Yard.’ A big, cheerful-looking fellow—from
+his appearance might be a gentleman-farmer and J. P., with a taste for
+horses and greyhounds. He and Furneaux are called the Big ’Un and the
+Little ’Un, and each is most unlike the average detective. But Heaven
+help any wrong-doer they set out to trail! They’ll get him, as sure as
+God made little apples.”
+
+“Then the sooner Mr. Winter visits Steynholme the better I shall be
+pleased. This tragedy is becoming a perfect nightmare. You heard that
+fat-headed policeman speak of my face being covered with blood. He did
+it purposely. I made a fool of him this morning, so he paid me out, the
+literal truth being that a branch of that Dorothy Perkins rose there
+caught my cheek as I entered this room on Tuesday morning—before I
+discovered the body—and broke the skin. I suppose the cut is visible
+still? I saw it to-day while shaving.”
+
+“Yes,” said the other, chortling over the “copy” his colleagues were
+missing. “The mark is there right enough. Queer how inanimate objects
+like a rose-tree can make mischief. I remember a case in which a
+chestnut in a man’s pocket sent him to penal servitude. There was
+absolutely no evidence against him, except a possible motive, until
+that chestnut was found and proved to be one of a particular species,
+grown only in a certain locality.”
+
+“How fortunate that the Dorothy Perkins is popular!” laughed Grant.
+“Will your paper publish photographs of the principals in this affair?”
+
+“I expect so. I’ve a fine collection—the jury, all in a row—and you,
+making that speech to the mob.”
+
+“Oh! Will that appear?”
+
+“By Jove, yes, sir. It was wired off before the inquest opened.”
+
+Grant reddened slightly. His own impetuous action had blurted out to
+the whole world that which Steynholme was only thinking. No wonder
+Furneaux had warned him to go slow. Perhaps the little man was annoyed
+because of his challenge to the village crowd? Well, be it so. He
+meant, and would live up to, every word of it!
+
+The afternoon dragged after the pressman’s departure. What Grant really
+hungered for was a heart-to-heart talk between Doris Martin and
+himself. But, short of a foolish attempt to carry the post office by
+storm, he saw no means of realizing his desire. He must, perforce,
+await the less troubled hours of the morrow or next day. Doris would
+surely give her father an exact account of the conversation between
+Grant, Furneaux, and herself that morning, and that greatly perplexed
+man could hardly fail to see how unjust was the tittle-tattle of the
+village.
+
+So, avoiding Mrs. Bates, whose fell intent it was to ask him what he
+wanted for dinner, he struck off along the road to Knoleworth, walked
+eight miles in two hours, and reached _The Hollies_ about seven
+o’clock, rather inclined for a meal and much more contented with life.
+
+Minnie announced that a gentleman “who brought a bag” had been awaiting
+him since half-past five, and was now asleep on the lawn! A glance at
+the aforesaid bag, still reposing in the entrance hall, sent Grant
+quickly into the garden. A long, broad-shouldered person was stretched
+on a wicker chair, and evidently enjoying a nap. A huge meerschaum pipe
+and tobacco pouch lay on the grass. The newcomer’s face was covered by
+a broad-brimmed, decidedly weather-beaten slouch hat, which, legend had
+it, was purchased originally in South America in the early nineties,
+and had won fame as the only one of its kind ever worn in the Strand.
+
+“Hullo! Wally! Glad to see you!” shouted Grant joyously.
+
+The sleeper stirred.
+
+“No, not another drop!” he muttered. “You fellows must have heads of
+triple brass and stomachs of leather!”
+
+“Get up, you rascal, or I’ll spill you out of the chair!” said Grant.
+
+A lazy hand removed the hat, and a pair of peculiarly big and bright
+eyes gazed up into his.
+
+“Oh, it’s you, is it?” drawled a quiet voice. “Why the blazes did you
+send for me? And, having sent, why wake me out of the best sleep I’ve
+had for a week?”
+
+“But why didn’t you let me know you were coming? I would have met the
+train.”
+
+“I did. Here’s the telegram. That pink-cheeked maid of yours nearly had
+a fit when I opened it to show her that I was expected.”
+
+“You wired from Victoria, I suppose?”
+
+“Would you have preferred Charing Cross, or the Temple? Isn’t Victoria
+respectable?”
+
+Grant laughed as they shook hands. Hart was the most casual adventurer
+in existence. His specialty was revolutions. Wherever the flag of
+rebellion was raised against a government, thither went Walter Hart
+post-haste by train, steamer, or on horseback. He had been sentenced to
+death five times, and decorated by successful Jack Cades twice as
+often.
+
+“I’m a sort of outlaw. That’s why I sought your help,” explained Grant.
+
+“I know all about you, Jack,” said Hart slowly, picking up the pipe and
+filling it from the pouch. The meerschaum was carved to represent the
+head of a grinning negro, and was now ebon black from use.
+
+“I felt like a pint of Sussex ale after a hot journey in the train, so
+hied me to the village inn, where several obliging gentlemen told me
+your real name. Two of them, Ingerman and Elkin, apparently make a
+hobby of enlightening strangers as to your right place in society.”
+
+“I must interview Elkin.”
+
+“Not worth while, my boy. Ingerman is the crafty one. I thought I might
+be doing you more harm than good, or I would have given him a thick ear
+this afternoon ... Oh, by the way, what time is it?”
+
+“Seven o’clock.”
+
+“A little fellow named Furneaux is coming here to dinner at
+seven-thirty. Said he would drop in by the back door, and mutter ‘Hush!
+I’m Hawkshaw, the detective.’ He resembles a cock-sparrow, so I asked
+him why he didn’t fly in through an attic window. He took my point at
+once, and remarked that he wanted none of my lip, or he would ask me
+officially what became of Don Ramon de Santander’s big pink pearl. It’s
+a queer yarn. There was a bust-up in Guatemala—”
+
+“Look here, Wally,” broke in Grant anxiously. “Are you serious? Did
+Furneaux really say he was coming here?”
+
+“He did, and more—he expressed a partiality for a chicken roasted on a
+spit. You have a spit in your kitchen, he says, and a pair of chickens
+in your larder.”
+
+“How did you contrive to meet him?”
+
+“You’re a poor guesser, Jack. _He_ met _me_. ‘That you, Mr. Hart?’ he
+said. ‘Mr. Grant’s house is the first on the right across the bridge.
+Tell him’—and the rest of it.”
+
+“Have you warned Mrs. Bates?”
+
+“Mrs. Bates being?”
+
+“My housekeeper.”
+
+“No, sir. If she’s anything like your housemaid, I’m glad I didn’t, or
+I should have been chucked into the road. I had the deuce of a job to
+reach the lawn. Had I ordered dinner I might now have been in the
+village lockup.”
+
+Grant hurried away, and placated Mrs. Bates after a stormy interlude.
+Precisely at 7.30 p. m. Minnie came and said that “Mr. Hawkshaw” had
+arrived.
+
+“Bring him out here,” said Grant. “Fetch some sherry and glasses, and
+give us five minutes’ notice before dinner is served.”
+
+“Please, sir,” tittered Minnie, “the gentleman prefers to stay indoors.
+He said his complexion won’t stand the glare.”
+
+“Very well,” smiled Grant, rising. “Put the sherry and bitters on the
+sideboard.”
+
+“Say,” murmured Hart, “is this chap really a detective?”
+
+“Yes. He stands high at Scotland Yard.”
+
+“Never more than five feet four, I’ll swear. But I wouldn’t have missed
+this for a pension. I have a revolver in my hip pocket, of course. One
+would feel lonely without it, even in England. But I hope you can stage
+a few knives and daggers, and a red light. I can cut masks out of a
+strip of black velvet. That girl will have a piece stowed away
+somewhere.”
+
+The two entered the dining-room study, where the table was now laid for
+dinner. Furneaux was seated on the edge of a chair in the darkest
+corner. His eyes gleamed at them strangely.
+
+“Can you trust Bates?” he said to Grant.
+
+It was a wholly unexpected question, and Grant answered sharply:
+
+“Of course, I can.”
+
+“Tell him to make sure that no one trespasses on your lawn between now
+and ten o’clock. Close that window, draw the blind and curtains, and
+block that small window, the one through which you saw the ghost.”
+
+“Ye gods!” cackled Hart ecstatically.
+
+“Why all these precautions?” demanded Grant, rather amused now.
+
+“I’m supposed to be on the very verge of arresting you, and it would
+weaken the faith of my allies if I were seen drinking your wines and
+eating your chicken.”
+
+“By the way, how did you know I had chickens in store, and a spit on
+which to roast them?”
+
+“I looked you over at five-thirty this morning, having traveled from
+London by the mail train. I must lecture you on your inefficient
+window-catches, Mr. Grant. Several self-respecting burglars of my
+acquaintance would give your house the go-by as being too easy. And,
+one other matter. I suggest that any man who mentions the Steynholme
+murder again before the coffee arrives shall be fined a sovereign for
+each offense, such fine, or fines, to form a fund for the relief of his
+hearers. _Cré nom d’un pipe_! Three intelligent men can surely discuss
+more interesting topics while they eat!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VIII.
+An Interrupted Symposium
+
+
+“Have a cigarette,” said Grant to Furneaux, when the blinds were drawn,
+a lamp lighted, and the sherry dispensed.
+
+“Thank you.”
+
+The self-invited guest took one. He sniffed it, broke the paper
+wrapping, and crumbled some of the tobacco between finger and thumb.
+
+“Ah, those Greeks!” he said sadly. “They simply can’t go straight. This
+brand of Turk used to be made of a tobacco grown on a slope above
+Salonica. A strip of sun-baked soil built up a reputation which is now
+being bartered for filthy lucre by the use of Egyptian ‘fillings.’”
+
+“You’re a connoisseur, Mr. Hawknose—try these,” said Hart, proffering a
+case, from which the detective drew a cigarette, throwing the other one
+aside.
+
+“Why ‘Hawknose’?” he inquired.
+
+“A blend. First syllable of Hawkshaw and second of Furneaux—the latter
+Anglicized, of course.”
+
+“And vulgarized.”
+
+“You prefer Furshaw, perhaps?”
+
+“Either effort is feeble for a man who can write about South America,
+and be lucid. Do you smoke this stuff, may I ask?” While talking, he
+had smelt and destroyed the second cigarette.
+
+“If it’s a fair question, what the devil do _you_ smoke?” cried Hart.
+
+“Nothing. I’m a non-smoker. My profession demands a clear intellect,
+not a brain atrophied by nicotine.”
+
+“Piffle! Carlyle and Bismarck were smokers.”
+
+“Who reads Carlyle now-a-days? And what modern German pays heed to
+Bismarck’s dogmas? Look at that pipe of yours. It was once a pure ivory
+white. Now it is black—soiled by tobacco juice. Your lungs are slowly
+emulating it, and your wits will cloud in time. Read Tolstoi, Mr. Hart.
+He will teach you how nicotine deadens the conscience.”
+
+“At last I know why I smoke like a Thames tug,” laughed Hart, “but I’m
+blest if I can understand why _you_ make such a study of the vile
+weed.”
+
+“Most criminals are addicted to the habit. I classify them by their
+brand of tobacco. For instance, a clever forger would never descend to
+thick twist, while a swell mobsman would turn with horror from a
+woodbine.”
+
+Minnie entered, and nodded, whereupon Grant led the others upstairs to
+wash. From the bathroom he looked out over a darkening landscape.
+Doris’s dormer window was open. She was leaning on the sill, but he
+could not tell whether or not her eyes were turned his way. Her
+attitude was pensive, disconsolate, curiously forlorn for a girl
+normally high-spirited. He was on the point of signaling to her when he
+remembered Furneaux’s presence. There was something impish, almost
+diabolically clever, in that little man’s characteristics which induced
+wariness.
+
+The dinner was a marvel, considering the short notice given to the
+cook. Luckily, Mrs. Bates, a loyal soul, had resolved to tempt her
+employer’s appetite that evening. Village gossip had it that the police
+were about to arrest him, and she was determined he should enjoy at
+least one good meal before being haled to prison. Hence, the materials
+were present. The rest was a matter of quantities, and Sussex seldom
+stints itself in that respect.
+
+The chatter round the table was light and amusing. The three were well
+matched conversationally. Furneaux evidently held the opinion once
+expressed by a notable Walrus—that the time had come
+
+_To talk of many things:
+Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
+Of cabbages—and kings._
+
+
+He was in excellent form, and the others played up to him. Hart’s slow
+drawl was ever trenchant and witty, and Grant forgot his woes in
+congenial company. As for the mercurial detective himself, it might be
+said of him as of the school-master of Auburn:
+
+_And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,
+That one small head could carry all he knew._
+
+
+It was he who dropped them with a bounce from the realm of fancy to the
+unpleasing region of ugly fact. No sooner had Minnie cleared the table,
+and brought in the coffee, than he whisked around on Grant as though
+hitherto he had been only awaiting an opportunity of scarifying him.
+
+“Now,” he said, propping an elbow on the table, and supporting his chin
+on a clenched fist, “the embargo is off the Steynholme affair. _You_
+didn’t kill Adelaide Melhuish, Mr. Grant. Who did?”
+
+“I wish I could tell you,” was the emphatic answer.
+
+“Do you suspect anybody? You needn’t fear the libel law in confiding
+your secret thought to me, and I assume that Mr. Hart is
+trustworthy—where his friends are concerned?”
+
+“Why that unkind differentiating clause, my pocket Vidocq?” put in
+Hart.
+
+“Because two Kings and a baker’s dozen of Presidents have, at various
+times, sent most unflattering reports to this country about you.”
+
+“I must have annoyed ’em most damnably.”
+
+“You had. I congratulate you, but Heaven only knows where I may convoy
+you some day on an extradition warrant....Proceed, Mr. Grant.”
+
+“I assure you, on my honor, that the only reasonable suggestion I can
+make is that put forward by my gardener to-day,” said Grant. “He thinks
+that the murder must have been committed by a lunatic. I can offer no
+other hypothesis.”
+
+“Your gardener may be right. But what lunatic, barring yourself and the
+horse-coper, Elkin, is in love with Doris Martin?”
+
+Like Elkin the previous night, Grant struck the table till things
+rattled.
+
+“Keep her name out of it,” he cried fiercely. “You are a man of the
+world, not a suspicious idiot of the Robinson type. You heard to-day
+the full and true explanation of her presence here on Monday night. It
+was a sheer accident. Why harp on Doris Martin rather than any member
+of the Bates family?”
+
+“Who, may I ask, is Doris Martin?” put in Hart.
+
+“The Steynholme postmaster’s daughter,” said Furneaux. “A remarkably
+pretty and intelligent girl. If her father was a peer she would be the
+belle of a London season. As it is, her good looks seem to have put a
+maggot in more than one nut in this village.”
+
+Hart waved the negro’s head in the air.
+
+“The lunatic theory for mine,” he declared. “If one woman’s lovely face
+could bring a thousand ships to Ilion, why should not another’s drive
+men to madness in Steynholme?”
+
+“Well phrased, sir,” cackled Furneaux delightedly. “I’ll wangle that in
+on a respected colleague of mine, who is a whale at deducing a
+proposition from given premises, but cannot induce a general fact from
+particular instances to save his life ... Now, stifle your romantic
+frenzy, Mr. Grant, and listen to me. If you were minded to instruct me
+in the art of writing good English, I would sit at your feet an
+attentive disciple. When I, Furneaux, of the ‘Yard,’ lay down a first
+principle in the investigation of crime, I expect deference on your
+part. I tell you unhesitatingly that if Doris Martin didn’t exist,
+Adelaide Melhuish would be alive now. That, as a thesis, is nearly as
+certain a thing as that the sun will rise to-morrow. I go farther, and
+hazard the guess, not the fixed belief, though my guesses are usually
+borne out by events, that if Doris Martin had not been in this garden
+at half past ten on Monday night, Adelaide Melhuish would not have been
+killed some twenty minutes later. It is useless for you to fume and
+rage in vain effort to disprove either of these presumptive facts. You
+are simply beating the air. This mystery centers in and around the
+postmaster’s daughter. Come, now, you are a reasonable person. Admit
+the cold, hard truth, and then give play to your fancy.”
+
+“Sir,” said Hart, brandishing his pipe again, “I suggest that you and
+I, here and now, form a mutual admiration society.”
+
+“It is a cruel and bitter thing that an innocent girl should be dragged
+into association with a foul crime,” said Grant stubbornly. “I am not
+disputing the force of your acumen, Mr. Furneaux. My only desire is to
+shield the good name of a very charming young lady.”
+
+“What’s done can’t be undone,” countered the detective, well knowing
+that Grant confessed himself beaten.
+
+“But what is all the bother about? You heard from Miss Martin’s own
+lips absolutely the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Put her in
+the witness-box, and what more can she tell you?”
+
+“I am not worrying about her appearance in the witness-box,” said
+Furneaux dryly. “Long before that stage is reached I shall be hunting a
+star burglar, or, perhaps, looking into the Foreign Office _dossier_ of
+our worthy friend here, as to-day’s papers hint at trouble in
+Venezuela. No, sir. The county police will get all the credit. P. C. 
+Robinson will be swanking about then, telling the yokels what _he_ did.
+I, with Olympic nod, say, ‘There’s your man!’ and the handcuffs’
+brigade do the rest. So far as I can foresee, Miss Martin’s name may be
+spared any undue prominence in this inquiry. I go even farther, and
+promise that anything I can do in that way shall be done.”
+
+“That is very kind and considerate of you,” said Grant gratefully.
+
+“Don’t halloo till you’re out of the wood.” said Furneaux, sitting back
+suddenly and nursing his left knee with clasped hands. “I can’t control
+other people’s actions, you know. What I insist on to-night is that you
+shall envisage this affair in its proper light. We have a long way to
+travel before counsel rises with his smug ‘May it please you, me lud,
+and gentlemen of the jury.’ But, having persuaded you to agree that,
+willy nilly, Miss Doris is the hub of our little universe for the hour,
+I now swear you and this fire-eater in as assistants. There must be no
+more speeches, no punching of heads, very little love-making, and that
+by order—”
+
+“Has the postmaster’s daughter a delectable sister, O Liliputian cop?”
+demanded Hart.
+
+“No. Two of ’em would have caused a riot long since. Mr. Grant will do
+all, and more than all, necessary in that direction.”
+
+Grant leaned forward. He spoke very earnestly.
+
+“I want you to believe me when I tell you,” he said, “that I never gave
+serious thought to the notion of marrying Miss Martin until such a
+possibility was suggested last night by that swab, Ingerman.”
+
+“Ah, Ingerman! You kept a record of what he said, I gather?”
+
+“Yes, here it is.”
+
+Grant rose, and went to a writing-desk with nests of drawers which
+stood against the wall on the left of the door. He never used it for
+its primary purpose. When the table was laid for meals, Minnie or her
+mother had orders to remove all papers and books to the top of the
+desk. The house contained no other living-room of size. The hall was
+spacious; a smoking den next the dining-room had degenerated into a
+receptacle of guns, fishing-rods, golf-clubs, Alpenstocks, skis and
+other such sporting accessories. The remainder of the ground-floor
+accommodation was given up to the Bateses.
+
+Unlocking a drawer, Grant produced a notebook, which he handed to
+Furneaux. The detective laid it on the table. He was sitting with his
+back to the large window. Hart faced him. Grant’s chair was between the
+two.
+
+“By the way, as you’re on your feet, Mr. Grant,” said Furneaux, “you
+might just show me exactly where you were standing when you saw the
+face at the window.”
+
+“For the love of Mike, what’s this?” gurgled Hart. “‘The face at the
+window’; ‘the postmaster’s daughter.’ How many more catchy cross-heads
+will you bring into the story?”
+
+“Poor Adelaide Melhuish undoubtedly came here on Monday night and
+looked in at me while I was at work,” said Grant sadly. “You know the
+history of my calf love three years ago, Wally.”
+
+“Shall I ever forget it? You bored me stiff about it. Then, when the
+crash came, you walked me off my legs in the Upper Engadine. Ugh! That
+night on the Forno glacier. It gives me a chill to think of it now.
+Furneaux, pass the port. Your name is wrongly spelt. It should be
+_fourneau_, not Furneaux. A little oven. Hot stuff. Got me?”
+
+“My _dear_ Hart, you flatter me,” retorted the detective instantly.
+
+“How long am I to pose here?” snapped Grant.
+
+“Sorry,” said Furneaux. “These interruptions are banal. Is that where
+you were?”
+
+“Yes. I had my hand outstretched for a book. It’s dark in this corner.
+When I want to find a book I light a candle, which is always placed on
+the ledge of the window for the purpose. The blind was not drawn that
+night. It seldom is. I had the book in my hand, and had found the
+required passage when I chanced to look at the window and saw _her_
+face.”
+
+“Do you mind reconstructing the scene. This lamp was on the table, I
+suppose?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, pull up the blind, light your candle, and find the book. Act the
+whole incident, in fact.”
+
+Grant obeyed. He held the candlestick until he had picked out the
+particular volume; then he placed it in the recess of the window, and
+searched through the pages of the book.
+
+Furneaux bent forward so as to watch the rehearsal and catch the effect
+of the light externally. The hour was not so late as when Adelaide
+Melhuish, or her ghost, gazed in through one of those narrow panes, but
+the night was dark enough to lend the necessary _vraisemblance_. Hart,
+deeply interested, looked on with rapt, eager eyes. For a full minute
+the tableau remained thus. Then, with a rapidity born of many a close
+’scape in wild lands, Hart drew a revolver from a hip pocket, and fired
+at the window.
+
+He alone was in a position to see through all parts of it. Grant was
+still thumbing a small brown volume in the manner of one who knew that
+a certain passage would be found therein but was ignorant of its exact
+place in the text. Furneaux, intent on his every movement, had only a
+side-long view of the window, which, it will be remembered, formed a
+tiny rectangle in a thick wall.
+
+The revolver was a heavy-caliber weapon, and the explosion blew out the
+lamp. The flame of the candle flickered, owing either to the passage of
+the bullet or the disturbance of the air. But it burnt steadily again
+within the fifth part of a second, and they all saw a starred hole in
+the center pane of glass of the second tier from the bottom.
+
+“What fool’s game are you playing?” shrilled Furneaux, nevertheless
+active as a wildcat in his spring to the French window, there to snatch
+at the blind and turn the knob which controlled a lever bolt.
+
+“Laying another ghost—one with whiskers,” said Hart coolly. “I got him,
+too, I think.”
+
+“You must be mad, mad!” shrieked the detective, tearing open the
+window, and vanishing.
+
+“For Heaven’s sake, Wally, no more shooting!” cried Grant, running
+after Furneaux.
+
+Minnie and her mother appeared at the dining-room door. Finding the
+place in semi-obscurity, and reeking with gunpowder, they screamed
+loudly.
+
+“You Steynholme folk are all on the jump,” said Hart. “Cheer up, fair
+dames! Thunder relieves the atmosphere, you know, and one live
+cartridge is often more effective than an ocean of talk.”
+
+“Bub-bub-but who’s shot, sir?” gasped Minnie.
+
+“A ghost, a most scoundrelly apparition, with fearsome eyes, offensive
+whiskers, and a hat which is a base copy of mine.”
+
+“Owd Ben!” sighed Mrs. Bates, collapsing straightway in a faint.
+
+Luckily, Minnie caught her mother and broke her fall, because the
+housekeeper was large and solid, and might have been seriously injured
+otherwise. Hart was distressed by this development, but, being
+eminently a ready person in an emergency, he rose to the occasion by
+extracting the empty case from the revolver, and holding it to the poor
+woman’s nostrils, while supporting her with an arm and a knee.
+
+“This is far more effective than burnt brown paper, Minnie,” he said.
+“Now, don’t get excited, but mix some brandy and water, and we’ll have
+your mother telling us who Owd Ben is, or was, before Hawk-eye comes
+back to disturb us. Judging by the noises I hear, he’s busy outside.”
+
+“That’s father!” shrieked Minnie hysterically.
+
+“Good Lord! Has your father—”
+
+For an instant, Hart was nearly alarmed, but Grant’s voice came
+authoritatively:
+
+“It’s all right, Bates. Let go, I tell you!”
+
+“Phew!” said Hart. “I was on the point of confusing your respected dad
+with Owd Ben ... That’s it, ma! Sniff hard! As a cook you’re worth your
+weight in gold, which is some cook.”
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux, seeing that no dead body was stretched on the
+strip of grass beneath the window, dashed into the shrubbery to the
+right, and was clutched in a mighty embrace by an older but much more
+powerful man in Bates, who had hurried from the front of the house on
+hearing the pistol-shot. Most fortunately, the gardener, deeming his
+vigil a needless one, had not armed himself with a stick, or the
+consequences might have been grave. As it was, no one except Hart had
+been vouchsafed sight or sound of the latest specter, which, however,
+had left a very convincing souvenir of its visit in the shape of a soft
+felt hat with two bullet holes through the crown.
+
+Furneaux, quivering with silent wrath, soon abandoned the search when
+this _pièce de conviction_ was found at the root of the Dorothy Perkins
+rose-tree. Seeing the lamp relighted, he peremptorily bade Grant and
+Bates come in with him. He closed the window, adjusted the blind again,
+and poured generous measures of port wine into two glasses. Handing one
+to Bates, he took the other himself.
+
+“Friend,” he said, “some men have fame thrust upon them, but you have
+achieved it. To-night you pierced the heel of Achilles. Here’s to you!”
+
+“I dunno wot ’ee’s saying mister, but ‘good health’,” said Bates,
+swigging the wine with gusto.
+
+“Now, for your master’s sake, not a word to a soul about this hubbub.”
+
+“Right you are, sir! But that there pryin’ Robinson wur on t’ bridge
+five minutes since. And, by gum, here he is!”
+
+A determined knock and ring came at the front door. Minnie, helped by
+Hart, had just escorted Mrs. Bates to the kitchen.
+
+“Let _me_ go!” said Furneaux, darting out into the hall. He opened the
+door, and thrust his face into the police-constable’s, startling the
+latter considerably. Before Robinson could utter a syllable, the
+detective hissed a question.
+
+“Did anyone cross the bridge after that shot was fired?”
+
+“Nun—No, sir,” stuttered the other.
+
+“You saw no one running along the road?”
+
+“Saw nothing, sir.”
+
+“Very well. Glad to find you’re on the job. Don’t let on you met me
+here. Good-night!”
+
+Mighty is Scotland Yard with the provincial police. Robinson was back
+on his self-imposed beat before he well realized that he knew neither
+why nor by whom nor by what sort of weapon the commotion had been
+created. But he was quite sure the noise came from the garden front of
+Mr. Grant’s house.
+
+“That little hop-o’-me-thumb thinks he’s smart, dam smart,” he communed
+angrily, “but I’ve taken a line of me own, an’ I’ll stick to it, though
+the Yard sends down twenty men!”
+
+He heard footsteps coming down a paved footpath which ran like a white
+riband through the cobble-beaded width of the high-street, and withdrew
+swiftly to the shelter of a disused tannery adjoining the village end
+of the bridge. A cloaked female figure sped past. Though the night was
+rather dark for June, he had no difficulty in recognizing Doris
+Martin’s graceful movements. No other girl in Steynholme walked like
+her. She was slim enough to dispense with tight corsets, and tall
+enough to wear low-heeled shoes, nor did she need to pinch her toes in
+order to gain the semblance of small feet.
+
+After her went Robinson, keyed to exultation by this outcome of his
+watchfulness. She was going to _The Hollies_, of course. The road led
+to Knoleworth, and no young woman of her age in the village would dream
+of taking a lonely walk in the country at ten o’clock at night.
+
+For a man of his height and somewhat ponderous build, the policeman
+followed with real stealth. Thus, when she turned in at the gate, he
+was there by the time she had reached the front door. He heard her pull
+the bell. Curiously enough, to his thinking, Furneaux again appeared.
+
+“Is Mr. Grant at home?” he heard Doris say.
+
+“Yes. Will you come in?” replied the detective.
+
+“Is he—is all well here?”
+
+“Quite, I assure you. But _do_ come in. I’ll escort you home. I’m going
+to the inn in five minutes.”
+
+Doris, after hesitating a little, entered.
+
+Robinson crept on tiptoe over a stretch of gravel, and took to the
+shrubbery. It was high time, he thought, that the local constabulary
+learnt what was going on in that abode of mystery.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IX.
+How Whom the Cap Fits—
+
+
+Several minutes had elapsed between the two unexpected visits. During
+those minutes a somewhat acrimonious discussion broke out in the
+dining-room. Bates went to reassure his wife, and Hart sauntered back
+from the kitchen. He was received by Furneaux and Grant more in sorrow
+than in anger, a pose on their part which he blandly disregarded. He
+helped himself to the remains of the decanter of port.
+
+“The next point of vital interest in the narrative is to establish, by
+such evidence as is available, who Owd Ben is, or was,” he said. “I
+presume, since he had attained local celebrity as a ghost, he has
+passed over, as the spiritists say.”
+
+“Sit down!” cried Furneaux savagely.
+
+Hart sat down, and began filling that portentous pipe.
+
+“You fellows merely ran into each other outside, I take it,” he said,
+apparently by way of a chatty remark. “The crack of the pistol-shot and
+the supposed resurrection of Owd Ben threw Mrs. Bates temporarily off
+her balance, so I helped in reviving her. Between such a cook and such
+a ghost, who would hesitate?”
+
+When Furneaux was really irritated, he swore in French.
+
+_“Nom d’un bon petit homme gris!”_ he almost squealed, “why did you
+whip out that infernal revolver? You spoiled everything, everything!
+Have you no sense in that picturesque head of yours? Your skull is big
+enough to hold brains, not soap-bubbles.”
+
+“Did your French father marry a Jap?” inquired Hart, with sudden
+interest.
+
+“And now you’re insulting my mother,” yelped the detective.
+
+“Not I. You know nothing about the finest race of little women in the
+world, or you would not even imagine such rubbish.”
+
+“But why, why, didn’t you tell me that you saw someone outside?”
+
+“You wouldn’t have believed me. The goblin was disappearing. I had to
+shoot quick.”
+
+“Why shoot at all?”
+
+“Sir, there are certain manifestations I object to on principle. What
+self-respecting ghost ever wore whiskers?”
+
+“This was no ghost. You shot the man’s hat off.”
+
+“Then what the blazes are you growling at? Had I, in blood-curdling
+whisper, told you that once again there was a face at the window, you
+would have scoffed at me. The ill-looking scamp caught my eye after his
+first glance at Grant. He was mizzling when I fired. You would have sat
+there and argued about hypnosis, with our worthy author’s skilled
+support. And there would have been no hat! I do an admirable bit of
+trick shooting, yet I am only reviled for my dexterity. Really, Charles
+François!”
+
+“Ah! You remember, at last,” and the detective smiled sourly.
+
+“_Parfaitement_! as they say in Paris, where you and I met once, though
+’twas in a crowd. But _I_ didn’t steal the blessed pearl. I believe it
+was that blatant patriot, Domengo Suarez.”
+
+“You’ve got _some_ brains, then. Why not use them? Don’t you see what a
+fix we three would have found ourselves in had you shot the man?”
+
+“But, consider, Carlo mio! A spook with whiskers! What court would find
+me guilty? Let me produce the authentic record of Owd Ben, and I have
+no doubt but that the Lord Chief Justice himself would have potted his
+representative. He’d be bound to confess it.”
+
+Furneaux was cooling down.
+
+“You’ve shaken my confidence,” he said. “Unless I have your promise
+that you will never do such a thing again while in my company, I shall
+ban you from this inquiry with bell, book, and candle.”
+
+“Very well. It’s a bargain. Now let us ponder Exhibit A.”
+
+He stretched a long arm over the table, and took the hat.
+
+“Put it on!” commanded the detective.
+
+Hart did so, and scowled frightfully. Furneaux bent forward and
+squinted.
+
+“Notice the line of those bullet-holes,” he said to Grant.
+
+“Any man wearing that hat must have had his scalp ploughed up,” said
+Grant instantly.
+
+“Well, we know that nothing of the kind happened. Why?”
+
+“It was perched on top of a wig,” drawled Hart.
+
+Furneaux was slightly disappointed—there was no denying it. Being a
+vain little person, he liked to show off in a minor matter such as
+this.
+
+“Yes,” he admitted, “and what’s the corollary?”
+
+“That the wearer is probably a clean-shaven person with thin hair, a
+daring scoundrel who is well posted in the leading characteristics of
+Owd Ben. Charles le Petit, time is now ripe for details of that hairy
+goblin.”
+
+“Where did you dig him up from, anyhow?” said the detective testily.
+
+“Mrs. Bates recognized him from my vivid description.”
+
+“Her husband can tell us the story,” put in Grant. “I’ll fetch him.”
+
+He had not moved ere the front door bell rang a second time.
+
+“Here is Owd Ben himself, I expect,” said Hart.
+
+“If it’s that Robinson—” growled Furneaux vexedly, hastening to
+forestall Minnie.
+
+But it was Doris Martin, and very pretty she looked as she entered the
+room, her high color being the joint outcome of a rapid walk and a very
+natural embarrassment at finding the frankly admiring eyes of a
+stranger fixed on her.
+
+“I don’t quite know why I’m here,” she said, with a nervous laugh,
+addressing Grant directly. “You will think I am always gazing in the
+direction of _The Hollies_, but my room commands this house so fully
+that I cannot help seeing or hearing anything unusual. A few minutes
+ago I heard what I thought was a muffled gunshot. I looked out, and saw
+your window thrown open, though the light was dim, and only a candle
+was showing in the smaller window. I was alarmed, so came to inquire
+what had happened. You’ll pardon me, I’m sure.”
+
+“Say you don’t, Jack, I implore you, and let me apologize for you,”
+pleaded Hart.
+
+“Doris, this is my good friend, Wally Hart,” smiled Grant. “Won’t you
+sit down? We have an exciting story for you.”
+
+“Father will be horribly anxious if he knows I have gone out.”
+
+Nevertheless, there was sufficient spice of Mother Eve in Doris that
+she should take the proffered chair.
+
+“Sorry to interrupt,” broke in Furneaux. “Did you meet P. C. Robinson!”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You came by way of the bridge?”
+
+“There is no other way, unless one makes a detour by Bush Walk.”
+
+The detective whirled round on Grant.
+
+“What room is over this one?”
+
+“Minnie’s.”
+
+“She’s in the kitchen, with her mother. See that she doesn’t come
+upstairs while I’m absent. You three keep on talking.”
+
+“Thanks,” said Hart.
+
+Doris, more self-possessed now, read the meaning of the quip promptly.
+
+“Mr. Grant has often spoken of you,” she said. “You talk, and we’ll
+listen.”
+
+“Not so, divinity,” came the retort. “I may be a parrot, but I don’t
+want my neck wrung when you’ve gone.”
+
+“Don’t encourage him, Doris,” said Grant, “or you’ll be here till
+midnight.”
+
+“If that’s the best you can do, you had better leave the recital to
+me,” laughed Hart.
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had stolen noiselessly to the bedroom overhead. The
+casement window was open—he had noted that fact while in the garden. He
+peeped out, and was just in time to see Robinson emulating a Sioux
+Indian on the war-path. The policeman removed his helmet, and was about
+to peer cautiously through the small window. The detective’s blood ran
+cold. What if Hart discovered yet another ghost?
+
+“Robinson—go home!” he said, in sepulchral tones.
+
+The constable positively jumped. He gaped on all sides in real terror.
+He, too, had heard hair-raising tales of Owd Ben.
+
+“Go home!” hissed Furneaux, leaning out.
+
+Then the other looked up.
+
+“Oh, it’s you, sir!” he gasped, sighing with relief.
+
+“Man, you’ve had the closest shave of your life! There’s a fellow below
+there who shoots at sight.”
+
+“But I’m on duty, sir.”
+
+“You’ll be in Kingdom Come if you gaze in at that window. Be off!”
+
+“I—”
+
+“Robinson, you and I will quarrel if you don’t do as I bid you. And
+that would be a pity, because I want to inform Mr. Fowler that he has a
+particularly smart man in Steynholme.”
+
+“Very well, sir, if _you’re_ satisfied, I _must_ be.”
+
+And away went the eavesdropper, crushed, still tingling with that fear
+of the supernatural latent in every heart, but far from convinced.
+
+Furneaux tripped downstairs. The routing of Robinson had put him into a
+real good humor. He found the three in the dining-room gazing
+spell-bound at the felt hat.
+
+“Now, young lady, you’re coming with me,” he said, grinning amiably.
+“The Sussex constabulary is quelled for the hour.”
+
+“But, Mr. Furneaux, I recognize that hat!” said Doris, and it was
+notable that even Hart remained silent.
+
+The detective looked at her strangely, but put no question.
+
+“I am almost sure it belongs to our local Amateur Dramatic Society,”
+went on the girl. “It was worn by Mr. Elkin last November. He played a
+burlesque of Svengali. I was Trilby, and caught a horrid cold from
+walking about without shoes or stockings.”
+
+“Don’t tell me any more,” was Furneaux’s surprising comment. “I’ll do
+the rest. But let me remark, Miss Martin, that I experienced great
+difficulty, not so long ago, in persuading friend Grant that you were
+the only important witness this case has provided thus far. Playing in
+a burlesque, were you? We’ve been similarly engaged to-night. The farce
+must stop now. It makes way for grim tragedy. Not one word of
+to-night’s events to anyone, please.... Are you ready?”
+
+Doris stood up. Hart thrust the negro’s head at the detective.
+
+“Fouché,” he said, “do you honestly mean slinging your hook without
+making any inquiry as to Owd Ben?”
+
+“Oh, the ghost!” said Doris eagerly. “The Bateses would think of him,
+of course. An old farmer named Ben Robson used to live in this house
+about the time of Napoleon. He was suspected by the authorities to be
+an agent of the smugglers, and the story goes that his own daughter
+quarreled with him and betrayed him. He narrowly escaped hanging, owing
+to his age, I believe, and was sentenced to a long term of
+imprisonment. At last he was released, being then a very old man, and
+he came straight here and strangled his daughter. It is quite a
+terrible story. He was found dead by her side. Then people remembered
+that she had spoken of someone scaring her by looking in through that
+small window some nights previously. Naturally, a ghost was soon
+manufactured. I really wonder why the man who rebuilt and renamed the
+place in the middle of last century didn’t have the window removed
+altogether.”
+
+“Glad I began the work of demolition tonight,” said Hart, and, for
+once, his tone was serious.
+
+“Why did you never tell me that scrap of history, Doris?” inquired
+Grant.
+
+“You liked the place so much that father and I agreed not to mar your
+enthusiasm by recalling an unpleasant legend,” she said frankly. “Not
+that what I’ve related isn’t true. The record appears in a Sussex
+Miscellany of those years.... Oh, my goodness, can it be eleven
+o’clock!”
+
+The hall clock had no doubt on the point. Furneaux pocketed the written
+notes regarding Ingerman, and grabbed the hat off the table. Grant, for
+some reason, was aware that the detective repressed an obvious
+reference to the last occasion on which the girl had heard that same
+clock announce the hour.
+
+Furneaux would allow no other escort. He and Doris made off
+immediately.
+
+When they were gone, Hart stared fixedly at an empty decanter.
+
+“My dim recollection of your port, Jack, is that it was a wine of many
+virtues and few vices,” he mused aloud.
+
+Grant took the hint, and went to a cellar. Returning, he found his
+crony poring over the book which, singularly enough, figured
+prominently on each occasion when the specter-producing window was
+markedly in evidence. Hart glanced up at his host, and nodded
+cheerfully at a dust-laden bottle.
+
+“What is there in ‘The Talisman’ which needed so much research?” he
+asked.
+
+“Some lines by Sir David Lindsay, quoted by Scott,” was the answer.
+
+“Are these they?” And Hart read:
+
+_One thing is certain in our Northern land;
+Allow that birth, or valor, wealth, or wit,
+Give each precedence to their possessor,
+Envy, that follows on such eminence,
+As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck’s trace,
+Shall pull them down each one._
+
+
+“Yes,” said Grant.
+
+“Love isn’t mentioned. The fair Doris will be true. You’re in luck, my
+boy. But somebody is out for your blood, and here is clear warning. Gee
+whizz! If I remain in Steynholme a week I shall become an occultist.
+What is a lyme-hound?”
+
+“‘Lyme,’ or ‘leam,’ is the old-time word for ‘leash.’”
+
+“Good!” said Hart. “That will appeal to Furneaux. Have him in to dinner
+every day, Jack. He’s a tonic!”
+
+Furneaux, for some reason known only to himself, did not accompany
+Doris to the post office. Once they were across the bridge, and the
+broad village street, more green than roadway, was seen to be empty, he
+tapped her on the shoulder and said pleasantly:
+
+“Run away home now, little girl. Sleep well, and don’t worry. The
+tangle will right itself in time.”
+
+“Poor Mr. Grant is suffering,” she ventured to murmur.
+
+“And a good thing, too. It will steady him. Hurry, please. I’ll wait
+here till you are behind a locked door.”
+
+“No one in Steynholme will hurt me,” she said.
+
+“You never can tell. I’m not taking any chances to-night, however.”
+
+So Doris sped swiftly up the hill. Arrived at her house, she waved a
+hand to the detective, who flourished his straw hat in response. A fine
+June night in England is never really dark, so the two could not only
+see each other but, when Doris disappeared, Furneaux, turning sharply
+on his heel, was able to make out the sudden straightening of a pucker
+in the blind of a ground-floor room in P. C.  Robinson’s abode.
+
+The detective walked straight there, and tapped lightly on the window.
+Robinson, after an affected delay, came to the door.
+
+“Who’s there?” he demanded.
+
+“As if you didn’t know,” laughed Furneaux.
+
+Robinson turned a key, and looked out.
+
+“Oh, it’s you, sir?” he cried.
+
+“You’ll get tired of saying that before I quit Steynholme,” said the
+detective. “May I come in? No, don’t show a light here. Let’s chat in
+the back kitchen.”
+
+“I was just going to have a bite of supper, sir,” began Robinson
+apologetically. “It’s laid in the kitchen. On’y bread and cheese an’ a
+glass of beer. Will you join me?”
+
+“With pleasure, if I hadn’t stuffed myself at Grant’s place. Nice
+fellow, Grant. Pity you and he don’t seem to get on together. Of
+course, we policemen cannot allow friendship to interfere with duty,
+but, between you and me, Robinson—strictly in confidence—Grant had no
+more to do with the actual murder of Miss Melhuish than either of us
+two.”
+
+Robinson had turned up a lamp, and hospitably installed Furneaux in his
+own easy-chair.
+
+“The ‘actual murder,’ you said, sir?” he repeated.
+
+“Yes. It was his presence at _The Hollies_ which brought an infatuated
+woman there, and thus directly led to her death. That is all. Grant is
+telling the truth. I assure you, Robinson, I never allow myself to
+break bread with a man whom I may have to convict. So, I’ll change my
+mind, and take a snack of your bread and cheese.”
+
+The village constable, by no means a fool, grinned at the implied
+tribute. What he did not appreciate so readily was the fact that his
+somewhat massive form was being twiddled round the detective’s little
+finger.
+
+“Right you are, sir,” he cried cheerily. “But, if Mr. Grant didn’t kill
+Miss Melhuish, who did!”
+
+“In all probability, the man who wore that hat,” chirped Furneaux,
+taking a nondescript bundle from a coat pocket, and throwing it on the
+table.
+
+Robinson started. This June night was full of weird surprises. He set
+down a jug of beer with a bang—his intent being to fill two glasses
+already in position, from which circumstance even the least observant
+visitor might deduce a Mrs. Robinson, _en negligé_, hastily flown
+upstairs.
+
+He examined the hat as though it were a new form of bomb.
+
+“By gum!” he muttered. “Are these bullet-holes?”
+
+“They are.”
+
+“An’ is this what someone fired at?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“But how in thunder—”
+
+He checked himself in time. He did not want to admit that he had been
+watching the only recognized road to Grant’s house all the evening.
+
+“Quite so!” chortled Furneaux, with admirable misunderstanding. “You’re
+quick on the trigger, Robinson—almost as quick as that friend of
+Grant’s who arrived by the 5.30 from London. You perceive at once that
+no ordinary head could have worn that hat without having its hair
+combed by the same bullet. It was stuck on to a thick wig. Now, tell me
+the man, or woman, in Steynholme, who wears a wig and a hat like that,
+and you and I will guess who killed Miss Melhuish.”
+
+Robinson suspected that, as he himself would have put it, his leg was
+being pulled rather violently. Furneaux read his face like a printed
+page. Chewing, much against his will, a mouthful of bread and cheese,
+he mumbled in solemn, broken tones:
+
+“Think—Robinson. Don’t—answer—offhand. Has—anybody—ever worn—such
+things—in a play?”
+
+Then the policeman was convinced, galvanized by memory, as it were.
+
+“By gum!” he cried again. “Fred Elkin—in a charity performance last
+winter.”
+
+Furneaux choked with excitement.
+
+“A horsey-looking chap, on to-day’s jury,” he gurgled.
+
+“That’s him!”
+
+“The scoundrel!”
+
+“No wonder he looked ill.”
+
+“No wonder, indeed. How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes
+ill deeds done!”
+
+“But, sir—”
+
+Robinson was flabbergasted. He could only murmur “Fred Elkin!” in a
+dazed way.
+
+“Have a drink,” said Furneaux sympathetically. “I’ll wet my whistle,
+too. Only half a glass, please. Now, we mustn’t jump to conclusions.
+This Elkin looks a villain, but may not be one. That is to say, his
+villainy may be confined to dealings in nags. But you see, Robinson,
+what a queer turn this affair is taking. We must get rid of
+preconceived notions. Superintendent Fowler and you and I will go into
+this matter thoroughly to-morrow. Meanwhile, breathe not a syllable to
+a living soul. If I were you, I’d let Mr. Grant understand that we
+regard him as rather outside the scope of our inquiry. This beer is
+very good for a country village. You know a good thing when you see it,
+I expect. Pity I don’t smoke, or I’d join you in a pipe. I must get a
+move on, now, or that fat landlord will be locking me out. Good night!
+Yes. I’ll take the hat. _Good_ night!”
+
+While walking up the hill Furneaux fanned himself with the straw hat.
+
+“One small bit of my brain is evidently a hereditary bequest from a
+good-natured ass!” he communed. “Here am I, Furneaux, plagued beyond
+endurance by a first-class murder case, and I must go and busy myself
+with the love affair of a postmaster’s daughter and a feather-headed
+novelist!”
+
+When Tomlin admitted him to the Hare and Hounds, he buttonholed the
+landlord, who, at that hour, was usually somewhat obfuscated.
+
+“Sir,” said the detective gravely, “I am told that you Steynholme folk
+indulge occasionally in such frivolities as amateur theatricals?”
+
+“Once in a way, sir. Once in a way. Afore I lock up the bar, will you—”
+
+“Not to-night. I’ve mixed port and beer already, and I’m only a little
+fellow. Now you, Mr. Tomlin, can mix anything, I fancy?”
+
+“I’ve tried a few combinations in me time, sir.”
+
+“But, about these theatrical performances—is there any scenery,
+costumes, ‘props’ as actors call them?”
+
+“Yes, sir. They’re stored in the loft over the club-room—the room where
+the inquest wur held.”
+
+“What, _here_?”
+
+Furneaux’s shrill cry scared Mr. Tomlin.
+
+“Y-yes, sir,” he stuttered.
+
+“Is that my candle?” said the detective tragically. “I’m tired, dead
+beat. To-night, Mr. Tomlin, you are privileged to see the temporary
+wreck of a noble mind. God wot, ’tis a harrowing spectacle.”
+
+Furneaux skipped nimbly upstairs. Tomlin proceeded to lock up.
+
+“It’s good for trade,” he mumbled, “but I’ll be glad when these ’ere
+Lunnon gents clears out. They worry me, they do. Fair gemme a turn, ’e
+did. A tec’, indeed! He’s nothin’ but a play-hactor hisself!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter X.
+The Case Against Grant
+
+
+Next morning, after a long conference with Superintendent Fowler, from
+which, to his great chagrin, P. C. Robinson was excluded, Furneaux went
+to the post office, dispatched an apparently meaningless telegram to a
+code address, and exchanged a few orthodox remarks with Doris and her
+father about the continued fine weather. While he was yet at the
+counter, Ingerman crossed the road and entered the chemist’s shop.
+
+“Let me see,” said the detective musingly, “by committing a slight
+trespass on your left-hand neighbor’s garden, can I reach the yard of
+the inn?”
+
+“What the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve over,” smiled Doris.
+“Mrs. Jefferson went to Knoleworth early to-day, and took her maid. By
+shopping at the stores there, they save their fares, and have a day out
+each week.”
+
+“May I go that way, then?” he said. “Suppose you send that goggle-eyed
+skivvy of yours on an errand.”
+
+This was done, and Furneaux made the desired transit.
+
+Now, Tomlin, to whom the comings and goings of all and sundry formed
+the staple of the day’s gossip, had seen the detective go out, but
+could “take his sollum davy” that the queer little man had not
+returned. He, too, had watched Ingerman going to Siddle’s. Ten minutes
+later Elkin came down the hill, and headed for the same rendezvous.
+Five minutes more, and Hobbs, the butcher, joined the others. Tomlin
+was seething with curiosity, but there were some casual customers in
+the “snug,” so he could not abandon his post.
+
+Soon, however, Ingerman led Elkin and Hobbs to the inn. Evidently, the
+“financier” had been making some small purchases. He was in high
+spirits. Ordering appetizers before the mid-day meal, he announced that
+he was returning to London that afternoon, but would be in Steynholme
+again for the adjourned inquest.
+
+“No matter how my business suffers, I mean to see this affair through,”
+he vowed. “You gentlemen can pretty well guess my private convictions.
+You were good enough to give me your friendship, so I spoke as openly
+as one dares when no charge has actually been laid against any
+particular person.”
+
+“Ay,” said Elkin, with whom sunshine seemed to disagree, because he
+looked miserably ill. “We know what you mean, Mr. Ingerman. If the
+police were half sharp they’d have nabbed their man before this ... Did
+you put any water in this gin, Tomlin?”
+
+“Water?” wheezed Tomlin indignantly. _“Water?”_
+
+“Well, no offense. I can’t taste anything. I believe I could swallow
+dope and not feel it on my tongue.”
+
+“You do look bad, an’ no mistake, Fred,” agreed Hobbs. “Are you vettin’
+yerself? Don’t. Every man to his trade, sez I. Give Dr. Foxton a call.”
+
+“I’m taking his medicine regular. Perhaps I need a change.”
+
+“’Ave a week-end in Lunnon,” said Hobbs, with a broad wink.
+
+“Change of medicine, I mean. I’m not leaving Steynholme till things
+make a move. My next trip to London will be my honeymoon.”
+
+“You look like a honeymooner, I don’t think,” guffawed Hobbs.
+
+“You wouldn’t laugh if I told _you_ what you really look like,” cried
+Elkin angrily. “Bet you a level fiver I’m married this year. Now, put
+up or shut up!”
+
+Furneaux peeped in, through a door, always open, which led to the
+stairs.
+
+“Can I have my account, Mr. Tomlin?” he said. “I’m going to town by the
+next train.”
+
+“You don’t mean to say, Mr. Furneaux, that you are abandoning the case
+so soon?” broke in Ingerman.
+
+“Did I say that?” inquired the detective meekly.
+
+“No. One can’t help drawing inferences occasionally.”
+
+“Great mistake. Look at our worthy landlord. He’s been drawing
+inferences as well as corks, and he’s beat to the world.”
+
+Tomlin was, indeed, gazing at his smaller guest open-mouthed.
+
+“S’elp me!” he gurgled. “I could ha’ sworn—”
+
+“Bad habit,” and Furneaux crooked a waggish forefinger at him. “Even
+the wisest among us may err. Last night, for instance, I blundered. I
+really fancied I had a clew to the Steynholme murderer. And where do
+you think it ended? In the loft of your club-room, Mr. Tomlin. In a box
+of old clothes at that. Silly, isn’t it?”
+
+“Wot! Them amatoor play-hactin’ things?”
+
+“Exactly.”
+
+Elkin grunted, though intending to laugh.
+
+“Not so sharp for a London ’tec, I must say,” he cried. “Why, those
+props have been there since before Christmas.”
+
+“Yes. I know now,” was the downcast reply. “Twelve hours ago I thought
+differently. Didn’t I, Mr. Tomlin?”
+
+Tomlin tried hard to look knowing.
+
+“Oh, is that wot you wur drivin’ at?” he said. “Dang me, mister, I
+could soon ha’ put you right ’ad you tole me.”
+
+“Well, well. Can’t be helped. I may do better in London. What do _you_
+say, Mr. Ingerman? The City is the real mint of money and crime. Who
+knows but that a stroll through Cornhill may have some bearing on the
+Steynholme mystery?”
+
+“May be you’d get a bit nearer if you took a stroll along the
+Knoleworth Road, and not so very far, either,” guffawed Elkin.
+
+“Who knows?” repeated Furneaux sadly. “Good-day, gentlemen. Some of
+this merry party will meet again, of course, if not here, at the
+Assizes. Don’t forget my bill. Mr. Tomlin. By the way, one egg at
+breakfast had seen vicissitudes. It shouldn’t be rated too highly.”
+
+“I’m traveling by your train,” cried Ingerman.
+
+“So I understood,” said Furneaux over his shoulder.
+
+There was silence for a moment after he had gone. Ingerman looked
+thoughtful, even puzzled. He was casting back in his mind to discover
+just how and when the detective “understood” that his departure was
+imminent, since he himself had only arrived at a decision after leaving
+the chemist’s.
+
+“That chap is no good,” announced Elkin. “I’ll back old Robinson
+against him any day.”
+
+“Sh-s-sh! He may ’ear you,” muttered the landlord.
+
+“Don’t care if he does. Cornhill! What the blazes has Cornhill to do
+with the murder at _The Hollies_?”
+
+Ingerman appreciated the value of that concluding phrase. Elkin had
+used it once before in Siddle’s shop, and was quietly reproved by the
+chemist for his outspokenness.
+
+Ingerman, however, did not inform the company that his office lay in an
+alley off Cornhill. He elected to rub in Elkin’s words.
+
+“Mr. Siddle seemed to object to _The Hollies_ being mentioned as the
+scene of the crime,” he said. “I wonder why?”
+
+“Because he’s an old molly-coddle,” snapped the horse-dealer. “Thinks
+everyone is like himself, a regular slow-coach.”
+
+Tomlin closed the door into the passage, closed it for the first time
+in living memory, whereat Furneaux, on the landing above, grinned
+sardonically, and ran downstairs.
+
+“Wot’s this about them amatoor clo’es?” he inquired portentously. “Oo
+’as the key of that box?”
+
+“_I_ have,” said Elkin. “I locked it after the last performance, and,
+unless you’ve been up to any monkey tricks, Tomlin, the duds are there
+yet.”
+
+“You’re bitin’ me ’ead off all the mornin’, Fred,” protested the
+aggrieved landlord. “Fust, the gin was wrong, an’ now I’m supposed to
+’ave rummidged yur box. Wot for?”
+
+Furneaux popped in.
+
+“My bill ready?” he squeaked.
+
+“No, sir. The train—”
+
+“Leaves at two, but I’m driving to Knoleworth with Superintendent
+Fowler.”
+
+The door closed behind him. Tomlin shook his head.
+
+“Box! Jack-in-the-box, I reckon,” he said darkly, turning to a
+dog-eared ledger.
+
+Neither at Knoleworth nor Victoria did Ingerman catch sight of the
+detective, though he was anxious either to make the journey in the
+company of the representative of Scotland Yard or arrange an early
+appointment with him. True, he was not inclined to place the
+strange-mannered little man on the same high plane as that suggested by
+certain London journalists to whom he had spoken. But he wanted to win
+the confidence of “the Yard” in connection with this case, and the
+belief that he was being avoided was nettling. He found consolation, of
+a sort, in the illustrated papers. One especially contained two pages
+of local pictures. “Mr. Grant addressing the crowd,” with full text,
+was very effective, while there were admirable studies of _The Hollies_
+and the “scene of the tragedy.” His own portrait was not flattering.
+The sun had etched his Mephistophelian features rather sharply, whereas
+Grant looked a very fine fellow.
+
+Ingerman would have been more than surprised were he privileged to
+overhear a conversation which began and ended before he reached his
+flat in North Kensington.
+
+Furneaux, who had jumped into the fore part of the train at Knoleworth,
+and was out in a jiffy at Victoria, handed his bag to a station
+detective, and turned into Vauxhall Bridge Road, one of the quietest of
+London’s main thoroughfares. There he met a big man, dressed in tweeds,
+whose manifest concern at the moment seemed to center in a rather bad
+wrapping of a very good cigar.
+
+“Ah! How goes it, Charles?” cried the big man heartily, affecting to be
+aware of Furneaux’s presence when the latter had walked nearly a
+hundred yards down a comparatively deserted street.
+
+“What’s wrong with the toofa?” inquired Furneaux testily.
+
+“My own carelessness. Stupid things, bands on cigars.... Well, what’s
+the rush?”
+
+“There’s a train to Steynholme at five o’clock. I want you to take
+hold. I must have help. Like your cigar, this case has come unstuck.”
+
+Mr. James Leander Winter, Chief Inspector under the Criminal
+Investigation Department, whistled softly.
+
+“Tut, tut!” he said. “One can never trust the newspapers. Reading this
+morning’s particulars, it looked dead easy.”
+
+“Tell me how it struck you. Sometimes the uninformed brain is
+vouchsafed a gleam of unconscious genius.”
+
+Winter appeared to be devoting his mind to circumventing the vagaries
+of a fragile tobacco-leaf. He was a man of powerful build, over forty,
+heavy but active, deep-chested, round-headed, with bulging blue eyes
+which radiated kindliness and strength of character. The press
+photographer described him accurately to Grant. The average Londoner
+would have taken him for a county gentleman on a visit to the
+Agricultural Show at Islington, with a morning at Tattersall’s as a
+variant. Yet, Sam Weller’s extensive and peculiar knowledge of London
+compared with his as a freshman’s with a don’s of a university. It
+would be hard to assess, in coin of the realm, the value of the
+political and social secrets stowed away in that big head.
+
+“First, I must put a question or two,” he said, smiling at a baby which
+cooed at him from the shaded depths of a passing perambulator. “Is
+there another woman?”
+
+“Yes, the postmaster’s daughter, Doris Martin.”
+
+“Shy, pretty little bird, of course?”
+
+“Everything that is good and beautiful.”
+
+“Is Grant a Lothario?”
+
+“Excellent chap. Quarter of an hour before the murder he was giving
+Doris a lesson in astronomy in the garden of _The Hollies_.”
+
+“Never heard it called _that_ before.”
+
+“This time the statement happens to be strictly accurate.”
+
+“Honest Injun?”
+
+“I’m sure of it. If anything, the death of Adelaide Melhuish cleared
+the scales off their eyes. Those two have never kissed or squeezed—yet.
+They’ll be starting quite soon now.”
+
+“How old is Doris?”
+
+“Nineteen.”
+
+“But a really good-looking girl of nineteen must have had admirers
+before Grant went to the village.”
+
+“She had, and has. Having educated herself out of the rut, however, she
+left many runners at the post. One is persistent—a youngish horse-coper
+named Elkin. Adelaide Melhuish probably saw her with Grant. Neither
+Doris nor Grant knew that Adelaide Melhuish, as such, was in
+Steynholme. That is to say, the girl had seen Miss Melhuish in the post
+office, and recognized her as a famous actress, but that is all. And
+now I shan’t tell you any more, or you’ll know all that I know, which
+is too much.”
+
+The cigar was behaving itself at last, having burnt down to the
+fracture, so Winter’s thoughts could be given exclusively to the less
+important matter of the Steynholme affair.
+
+“To begin with,” he said instantly. “Ingerman can establish a cast-iron
+alibi.”
+
+“So I imagined. But he’s a bad lot. I throw in that item gratuitously.”
+
+The oddly-assorted pair walked in silence until Vauxhall Bridge was in
+sight. Winter pulled out a watch.
+
+“What time did you say my train left Victoria?” he inquired.
+
+“Plenty of time yet to make your guess and listen to further details,”
+scoffed Furneaux.
+
+“Frankly, I give it up. But, if I must share in the hunt, I tell you
+now that, metaphorically speaking, I shall cling to the postmaster’s
+daughter till torn away by sheer force of evidence.”
+
+Furneaux dug his colleague in the ribs.
+
+“That’s the effect of constant association with me, James,” he cackled
+gleefully. “Ten years ago you would have pounced on Elkin. You’ve hit
+it! I’m a prood mon the day. The pupil is equaling the master.”
+
+“You little rat, I had hanged my first murderer before you knew the
+meaning of _habeas corpus_! Let’s turn now, and get to business.”
+
+Few Treasury barristers, leading for the Crown, could have marshaled
+the facts with such lucidity and fairness as Furneaux during that
+saunter to Victoria Station.
+
+“Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice,” said Othello to
+Lodovico, and these Scotland Yard men, charged with so great a
+responsibility, never forgot the great-hearted Moor’s advice.
+
+When Winter took his seat in the train at five o’clock he could have
+drawn a plan of Steynholme, which he had never seen, and marked thereon
+the exact position of each house mentioned in this record. Moreover, he
+was acquainted with the chief characters by sight, as it were. And,
+finally, he and Furneaux had arranged a plan of campaign.
+
+Furneaux refreshed a jaded intellect by an evening at the opera. Next
+morning, at eleven o’clock, he was inquiring for Mr. Ingerman at an
+office in a certain alley off Cornhill.
+
+A smart youth interposed a printed formula between the visitor and a
+door marked “Private.” Furneaux wrote his name, and put “Steynholme” in
+the space reserved for “business.” He was admitted at once. Mr.
+Ingerman, apparently, was immersed in a pile of letters, but he swept
+them all aside, and greeted the caller affably.
+
+“Glad to see you, Mr. Furneaux,” he said. “I missed you on the train
+yesterday. Did you—”
+
+“Nice quiet place you’ve got here, Mr. Ingerman,” interrupted the
+detective.
+
+“Yes. But, as I was about to—”
+
+“Artistically furnished, too,” went on Furneaux dreamily. “Oak,
+self-toned carpets and rugs, restful decorations. Those etchings, also,
+show taste in the selection. ‘The Embankment—by Night.’ Fitting sequel
+to ‘The City—by Day.’ I’m a child in such matters, but, ’pon my honor,
+if tempted to pour out my hard-earned savings into the lap of a City
+magnate, I would disgorge here more readily than in some saloon-bar of
+finance, where the new mahogany glistens, and the typewriters click
+like machine-guns.”
+
+Ingerman was nettled. He glanced at his correspondence.
+
+“You have a somewhat far-fetched notion of my position,” he said, with
+a staccato quality in his velvet voice. “I am not a magnate, and I toil
+here to make, not to lose, money for my clients.”
+
+“A noble ideal. Forgive me if my rhapsody took the wrong line.”
+
+“And I’m sure you will forgive me if I now put the question which leads
+to the probable cause of your visit. Did you travel by the two o’clock
+train yesterday?”
+
+“Yes. I avoided you purposely.”
+
+“May I ask, why?”
+
+“My mind was weary. I wanted my wits about me when I tackled you.”
+
+Ingerman smiled, and leaned back, resting both elbows on the arms of
+the chair, and bringing the tips of his fingers together.
+
+“Proceed,” he said.
+
+“You prefer that I should drag out a statement piecemeal rather than
+receive it _en bloc_?”
+
+“Put it that way, if you like.”
+
+“I shall even enjoy it. To clear the ground, are you the Isidor G.
+Ingerman who exploited the A1 Mine in Abyssinia?”
+
+Ingerman’s finger-tips whitened under a sudden pressure, but his voice
+remained calm.
+
+“An unfortunate episode,” he said.
+
+“And the Aegean Transport Company, Limited?”
+
+“Into which I was inveigled by Greeks. But why this history of ruined
+enterprises?”
+
+“It’s a sort of schooling. I have noticed that the smartest counsel
+invariably begin with a few fireworks in order to induce the proper
+frame of mind in a witness.”
+
+“Does that mean that you want me to blurt out bitter and prejudiced
+accusations against Mr. Grant?”
+
+“I want to hear what you have to say about the death of your wife. You
+forced the cross-examining role on me. I’m doing my best.”
+
+Ingerman kept silent during many seconds. When he spoke, his cultured
+voice was suave as ever.
+
+“Perhaps it was my fault, Mr. Furneaux,” he said. “You gave me a strong
+hint. I should have taken it, and we might have started an interesting
+chat on pleasanter lines. So, with apologies for my insistence about
+the train, I make a fresh start. I believe firmly that Grant was
+directly concerned in the murder. And I shall justify my belief. Within
+the past fortnight a _rapprochement_ between my wife and myself became
+possible. It was spoken of, even reduced to the written word. I have
+her letters. Mine should be found among her belongings. May I take it
+that they _have_ been found?”
+
+“Yes,” said Furneaux.
+
+“Ah. So far, so good. My poor wife reached the parting of the ways. She
+saw that her life was becoming an empty husk. I think the theater was
+palling on her. But I see now that she still cherished the dream of
+winning the man she loved—not me, her husband, but that handsome
+dilettante, Grant. I take it, therefore, that she went to Steynholme to
+determine whether or not the glamour of the past was really dead.
+Unfortunately, she witnessed certain idyllic passages between her
+one-time lover and a charming village girl. Imagine the effect of this
+discovery on one of the artistic temperament. ‘Hell hath no fury like a
+woman scorned,’ and my unhappy wife would lash herself into an
+emotional frenzy. She would tear a passion to rags. Her very training
+on the stage would come to her aid in scathing words—perhaps threats.
+If Grant remained cold to her appeal the village beauty should be made
+to suffer. Then _he_ would flame into storm. And so the upas-tree of
+tragedy spread its poisonous shade until reason fled, and some demon
+whispered, ‘Kill!’ I find no flaw in my theory. It explains the
+inexplicable. Now, how does it strike you, Mr. Furneaux?”
+
+“As piffle.”
+
+“Is that so? I have the advantage, of course, in knowing my wife’s
+peculiarities. And I have made some study of Grant. He admits already
+that he is under suspicion. Why, if he is innocent? Mind you, I pay
+little heed to the crude disposal of the body. Horace, I think, has a
+truism that art lies in concealing art. My wife’s presence in
+Steynholme was no secret. She would have been missed from the inn.
+Search would be made. The murder must be revealed sooner or later, and
+the murderer himself was aware that by no twisting or turning could his
+name escape association with that of his victim. Why not face the music
+at once? he would argue. The very simplicity of the means adopted to
+fasten a kind of responsibility on him might prove his best safeguard.
+Even now I doubt whether any jury will find him guilty on the evidence
+as it stands, but my duty to my unhappy wife demands that I shall
+strengthen the arm of justice by every legitimate means in my power.”
+
+“Is that your case, Mr. Ingerman?”
+
+“At present, yes.”
+
+“It assumes that the police adopt your view.”
+
+“Not necessarily. The police must do their work without fear or favor.
+But Grant can be committed for trial on a coroner’s warrant.”
+
+“Grant is certainly in an awkward place.”
+
+“Only a little while ago you dismissed my theory of the crime as airy
+persiflage.”
+
+“That was before you quoted Horace. I have a great respect for Horace.
+His ode to the New Year is a gem.”
+
+“Would you care to see my wife’s recent letters?”
+
+“If you please.”
+
+“They are at my flat, I’ll send you copies. The originals are always at
+your disposal for comparison, of course. Now may I, without offense,
+ask a question?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Is it wise that the emissary of Scotland Yard should leave
+Steynholme?”
+
+“But didn’t I tell you that I might obtain light in the neighborhood of
+Cornhill?”
+
+“True. I could have given you the facts in Steynholme.”
+
+“I’m a greater believer in what the theater people call ‘atmosphere.’
+Some of your facts, Mr. Ingerman, remind me of an expert’s report in a
+mining prospectus. When tested by cyanide of potassium the gold in the
+ore often changes into iron pyrites. But don’t hug the delusion that I
+shall neglect Steynholme. The murderer is there, not in London, and,
+unless my intellect is failing, he will be tried for his life at the
+next Lewes Assizes. Meanwhile, may I give you a bit of advice?”
+
+“By all means.”
+
+“Employ a sound lawyer, one who will avoid needless mud-slinging. Good
+day! Send those letters to the Yard by to-night’s post if practicable.”
+
+“It shall be done.”
+
+When the door closed on Furneaux, Ingerman smiled.
+
+“I’ve given that little Frenchman furiously to think,” he murmured.
+
+But the “little Frenchman” was smiling, too. He had elaborated the
+scheme already discussed with Winter. It was much to his liking, though
+unorthodox, rather crack-brained, more than risky, and altogether
+opposed to the instructions of the Police Manual. Each of these
+drawbacks was a commendation to Furneaux. In fact, the Steynholme
+mystery had taken quite a favorable turn during that talk with
+Ingerman.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XI.
+P. C. Robinson Takes Another Line
+
+
+About the time Furneaux was whisked past _The Hollies_ in
+Superintendent Fowler’s dogcart, Grant and Hart were finishing
+luncheon, and planning a long walk to the sea. Grant would dearly have
+liked to secure Doris’s company, but good taste forbade that he should
+even invite her to share the ramble. Thus, the death of a woman with
+whom he had not exchanged a word during three years had already set up
+a barrier between Doris and himself. Though impalpable, it was
+effective. It could neither be climbed nor avoided. Quiet little
+Steynholme had suddenly become a rigid censor of morals and etiquette.
+Until this evil thing was annihilated by slow process of law, Doris and
+he might meet only by chance and never remain long together.
+
+When the two were ready to start, Hart elected to dispense with his
+South American sombrero.
+
+“I am sensitive to ridicule,” he professed. “The village urchins will
+christen me ‘Owd Ben,’ and the old gentleman’s character was such that
+I would feel hurt. So, for to-day, I’ll join the no hat brigade.”
+
+“I wonder if we’ll meet Furneaux,” said Grant, selecting a
+walking-stick. “It’s odd that we should have seen nothing of him this
+morning.”
+
+“It would be still more odd if we had, remembering the precautions he
+took not to be observed coming here last night.”
+
+“Well, that’s so. I forgot to ask the reason. There was one, I
+suppose.”
+
+“Of the best. That little man is a live wire of intelligence. He’s
+wasted on Scotland Yard. He ought to be a dramatist or an ambassador.”
+
+“Quaint alternatives, those.”
+
+“Not at all. Each profession demands brains, and is at its best in
+coining cute phrases. I’ve met scores of both tribes, and they’re like
+as peas in a pod.”
+
+A bell rang.
+
+“That’s the front door,” said Grant. “It’s Furneaux himself, I hope.”
+
+But the visitor was P. C.  Robinson, who actually smiled and saluted.
+
+“Glad I’ve caught you before you went out, sir,” he said. “Mr. Furneaux
+asked me to tell you he had to hurry back to London. I was also to
+mention that he had got the whiskers.”
+
+“What whiskers? Whose whiskers?”
+
+“That’s all he said, sir—he’d got the whiskers.”
+
+“Why, Owd Ben’s whiskers, of course. How dense you are, Jack!” put in
+Hart.
+
+Now, this was the first Robinson had heard of whiskers in connection
+with the crime. He remembered Elkin’s make-up as Svengali, of course,
+and could have kicked himself for not associating earlier a set of
+sable whiskers with the black wig and the bullet-torn hat.
+
+But, Owd Ben! What figure did that redoubtable ghost cut in the
+mystery?
+
+“There are certain _lacunae_ in your otherwise vigorous and thrilling
+story, constable,” went on Hart.
+
+“Very likely, sir,” agreed Robinson, much to the surprise of his
+hearers. He had not the slightest notion what a _lacuna_, or its
+plural, signified. He was only adopting Furneaux’s advice, and trying
+to be civil.
+
+“Ah, you see that, do you?” said Hart. “Well, fill ’em in. When, where,
+and how did the midget sleuth obtain the specter’s hairy adornments?”
+
+The policeman, whose wits were thoroughly on the alert, realized that
+he had scored a point, though he knew not how.
+
+“He did not tell me, sir,” he answered. “It’s a rum business, that’s
+what it is, no matter what way you look at it.”
+
+Grant, agreeably aware of the village constable’s change of front,
+accepted the olive branch readily.
+
+“We’re just going for a walk,” he said. “If you have ten minutes to
+spare, Mrs. Bates will find you some luncheon, I have no doubt.”
+
+“Well, sir, meals are a trifle irregular during a busy time like this,”
+admitted Robinson, feeling that his luck was in, because tongues would
+surely be loosened in the kitchen to an official guest introduced by
+the master of the establishment. He was right. No member of the Bates
+family dreamed of reticence, now that the household was restored to
+favor with “the force.” Before Robinson departed, he was full of
+information and good food.
+
+What more natural, then, an hour later, than that he should contrive to
+meet Elkin as the horse-dealer was taking home a lively two-year-old
+pony he had been “lungeing” on a strip of common opposite his house?
+
+Each was eager to question the other, but Elkin opened fire.
+
+“Anything fresh?” he cried. “You have a fair course now, Robinson. That
+little London ’tec has bunked home.”
+
+“Has he?” In the language of the ring, Robinson thought fit to spar for
+an opening.
+
+“Oh, none of your kiddin’,” said Elkin, stroking the nervous colt’s
+neck. “You know he has. You don’t miss much that’s going on. Bet you
+half a thick ’un you’d have put someone in clink before this if the
+murder at _The Hollies_ had been left in your hands.”
+
+“That’s as may be, Mr. Elkin. But this affair seems to have gripped you
+for fair. You look thoroughly run down. Sleepin’ badly?”
+
+“Rotten! Hardly got a wink last night.”
+
+“You shouldn’t be out so late. Why, on’y a week ago you were in bed
+regular at 10.15.”
+
+“That inquest broke up the day yesterday, so I was delayed at
+Knoleworth.”
+
+“What time did you reach home?”
+
+“Dashed if I know. After twelve before I was in bed. By the way, what’s
+this about things missing from a box owned by the Amateur Dramatic
+Society? That silly josser of a detective—What’s his name?”
+
+“Furneaux,” said Robinson, who was clever enough not to appear too
+secretive, and was thanking his stars that Elkin had introduced the
+very topic he wanted to discuss.
+
+“Ay, Furneaux. I remember now. He worried old Tomlin last night about
+that box, which is kept in the loft over the club-room. So Tomlin and
+I, and Hobbs, just to satisfy ourselves, went up there as soon as
+Furneaux left to-day. And, what do you think? The box was unlocked,
+though I locked it myself, and have the key; and a hat and wig and
+whiskers I wore when we played a skit on ‘Trilby’ were missing. If that
+isn’t a clew, what is?”
+
+“A clew!” repeated the bewildered Robinson.
+
+“Yes. I’m telling you, though I kept dark before the other fellows.
+Didn’t you say Grant’s cheek was bleeding on Tuesday morning?”
+
+“I did.”
+
+“Well, the whiskers were held on by wires that slip over the ears. One
+wire was sharp as a needle. I know, because it stuck into a finger more
+than once. Why shouldn’t it scratch a man’s cheek, and the cut open
+again next morning?”
+
+“By jing, you’ve got your knife into Mr. Grant, an’ no mistake,”
+commented Robinson.
+
+“You yourself gave him a nasty jab at the inquest,” sneered Elkin.
+
+“I was just tellin’ the facts.”
+
+“So am I. I think you ought to know about that hat and the other
+things. I would recognize them anywhere. Furneaux had something up his
+sleeve, too, or he wouldn’t have pumped Tomlin... Woa, boy! So long,
+Robinson! I must put this youngster into his stall.”
+
+“I’ll wait, Mr. Elkin,” said Robinson solemnly. “I want to have a word
+with you.”
+
+The policeman was glad of the respite. He needed time to collect his
+thoughts. The story of the dinner-party and its excitement disposed
+completely of Elkin’s malicious theory with regard to Grant, but, since
+the horse-dealer was minded to be communicative, it would be well to
+encourage him.
+
+“Come in, and have a drink,” said Elkin, when the colt had been
+stabled.
+
+“No, thanks—not when I’m on duty.”
+
+Elkin raised his eyebrows sarcastically. He could not possibly guess
+that Robinson was adopting Furneaux’s pose of never accepting
+hospitality from a man whom he might have to arrest.
+
+“Well, blaze away. I’m ready.”
+
+The younger man leaned against a gate. He looked ill and physically
+worn.
+
+“Your business has kept you out late of a night recently, you say, Mr.
+Elkin,” began the other, speaking as casually as he could contrive.
+“Now, it might help a lot if you can call to mind anyone you met on the
+roads at ten or eleven o’clock. For instance, last night—”
+
+Elkin laughed in a queer, croaking way.
+
+“Last night my mare brought me home. I was decidedly sprung, Robinson.
+Glad you didn’t spot me, or there might have been trouble. What between
+the inquest, an’ no food, an’ more than a few drinks at Knoleworth, I’d
+have passed Owd Ben himself without seeing him, though I believe I did
+squint in at _The Hollies_ as I went by.”
+
+“What time would that be?”
+
+“Oh, soon after eleven.”
+
+“Sure.”
+
+“I can’t be certain to ten minutes or so. The pubs hadn’t closed when I
+left Knoleworth. What the devil does it matter, anyhow?”
+
+It mattered a great deal. Robinson could testify that Elkin did not
+cross Steynholme bridge “soon after eleven.”
+
+“Nothing much,” was the answer. “You see, I’m anxious to find out who
+might be stirring at that hour, an’ you know everybody for miles
+around. I’d like to fix your journey by the clock, if I could.”
+
+“Dash it all, man, I was full to the eyes. There! You have it
+straight.”
+
+“Were you out on Monday night?”
+
+“The night of the murder?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I left the Hare and Hounds at ten, and came straight home.”
+
+“Who was there with you?”
+
+“The usual crowd—Hobbs, and Siddle, and Bob Smith, and a commercial
+traveler. Siddle went at half past nine, but he generally does.”
+
+“You met no one on the road?”
+
+“No.”
+
+The monosyllable seemed to lack Elkin’s usual confidence. It sounded as
+if he had been making up his mind what to say, yet faltered at the last
+moment.
+
+Robinson ruminated darkly. As a matter of fact, long after eleven
+o’clock on that fateful night, he himself had seen Elkin walking
+homeward. He was well aware that the licensing hours were not strictly
+observed by the Hare and Hounds when “commercial gentlemen” were in
+residence. Closing time was ten o’clock, but the “commercials,” being
+cheery souls, became nominal hosts on such occasions, and their guests
+were in no hurry to depart. Robinson saw that he had probably jumped to
+a conclusion, an acrobatic feat of reasoning which Furneaux had
+specifically warned him against. At any rate, he resolved now to leave
+well enough alone.
+
+“Well, we don’t seem to get any forrarder,” he said. “You ought to take
+more care of your health, Mr. Elkin. You’re a changed man these days.”
+
+“I’ll be all right when this murder is off our chests, Robinson. You
+won’t have a tiddley? Right-o! So long!”
+
+Robinson walked slowly toward Steynholme. At a turn in the road he
+halted near the footpath which led down the wooded cliff and across the
+river to Bush Walk. He surveyed the locality with a reflective frown.
+Then, there being no one about, he made some notes of the chat with
+Elkin. The man’s candor and his misstatements were equally puzzling.
+None knew better than the policeman that the vital discrepancy of fully
+an hour and a half on the Monday night would be difficult to clear up.
+Tomlin, of course, would have no recollection of events after ten
+o’clock, but the commercial traveler, who could be traced, might be
+induced to tell the truth if assured that the police needed the
+information solely for purposes in connection with their inquiry into
+the murder. That man must be found. His testimony should have an
+immense significance.
+
+That evening, shortly before seven o’clock, a stalwart,
+prosperous-looking gentleman in tweeds “descended” from the London
+express at Knoleworth. The local train for Steynholme stood in a bay on
+the opposite platform, and this passenger in particular was making for
+it when he nearly collided with another man, younger, thinner,
+bespectacled, who hailed him with delight.
+
+“You, too? Good egg!” was the cry.
+
+The gentleman thus addressed did not seem to relish this geniality.
+
+“Where the deuce are you off to?” he demanded.
+
+“To Steynholme—same as you, of course.”
+
+“Look here, Peters, a word in your ear. If you know me during the next
+few days, you’ll never know me again. I suppose you’ll be staying at
+the local inn—there’s only one of any repute in the place?”
+
+“That’s so. I’ve got you. May I take it that you will reciprocate when
+the time comes?”
+
+“Have I ever failed you?”
+
+“No. We meet as strangers.”
+
+Peters bustled off. He had the reputation of being the smartest “writer
+up” in London of mystery cases. The Steynholme affair had interested
+both him and a shrewd news-editor.
+
+The pair arrived at the Hare and Hounds within a few minutes of each
+other. The big man registered as “Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina.” Peters
+ordered a chop, and went off at once to interview the local policeman.
+Mr. Franklin took more pains over the prospective meal.
+
+“Have you a nice chicken?” he inquired.
+
+Yes, Mr. Tomlin had a veritable spring chicken in the larder at that
+moment.
+
+“And do you think your cook could provide a _tourne-dos_?”
+
+“A what-a, sir?” wheezed Tomlin.
+
+The visitor explained. He liked variety, he said. Half the chicken
+might be deviled for breakfast. The two dishes, with plain boiled
+potatoes and French beans, would suit him admirably. He was sorry he
+dared not try Tomlin’s excellent claret, but a dominating doctor had
+put him on the water-cart. In effect, Mr. Franklin impressed the
+landlord as a man of taste and ample means.
+
+Peters had gobbled his chop before Franklin entered the dining-room,
+but they met later in the snug, where Elkin was being chaffed by Hobbs
+anent his carryin’s on in Knoleworth the previous night.
+
+Siddle came in, but the chatter was not so free as when the habitués
+had the place to themselves.
+
+Now, Peters had marked the gathering as one that suited his purpose
+exactly, so he gave the conversation the right twist.
+
+“I suppose you local gentlemen have been greatly disturbed by this
+sensational murder?” he said.
+
+Hobbs took refuge in a glass of beer. Siddle gazed contemplatively at
+his neat boots. Tomlin meant to say something; Elkin, eying the
+stranger, and summing him up as a detective, answered brusquely:
+
+“The murder is bad enough, but the fat-headed police are worse. Three
+days gone, and nothing done!”
+
+“What murder are you discussing, may I ask?” put in Franklin.
+
+Peters turned on him with astonishment in every line of a peculiarly
+mobile face.
+
+“Do you mean to say, sir, that you haven’t heard of the Steynholme
+murder?” he gasped.
+
+“I seldom, if ever, read such things in the newspapers, and, as I
+landed in England only a week ago from France, my ignorance, though
+abyssmal, is pardonable. Moreover, I can say truly that I am far more
+interested in pedigree horses than in vulgar criminals.”
+
+Peters explained fluently. This was no ordinary crime. A beautiful and
+popular actress had been done to death in a brutal way, and the country
+was already deeply stirred by the story.
+
+Elkin waited impatiently till the journalist drew breath. Then he broke
+in.
+
+“Pedigree horses you mentioned, sir,” he said, his rancor against Grant
+being momentarily conquered by the pertinent allusion to his own
+business. “What sort? Racing, coaching, roadsters, or hacks?”
+
+“All sorts. The Argentine, where I have connections, offers an
+ever-open door to good horseflesh.”
+
+“Are you having a look round?”
+
+“Yes. There are several decent studs within driving distance of
+Steynholme. Isn’t that so, landlord?”
+
+“Lots, sir,” said Tomlin. “An’ the very man you’re talkin’ to has some
+stuff not to be sneezed at.”
+
+“Is that so?” Mr. Franklin gazed at Elkin in a very friendly manner.
+“May I ask your name, sir?”
+
+Elkin produced a card. Every hoof in his stables appreciated in value
+forthwith, but he was far too knowing that he should appear to rush
+matters.
+
+“Call any day you like, sir,” he said. “Glad to see you. But give me
+notice. I generally have an appetizer here of a morning about eleven.”
+
+“An’ you want it, too, Fred,” said Hobbs. “Dash me, you’re as thin as a
+herrin’. Stop whiskey an’ drink beer, like me.”
+
+“And you might also follow that gentleman’s example,” interposed Siddle
+quietly, nodding towards Mr. Franklin.
+
+“What’s that?” snapped Elkin.
+
+“Don’t worry about murders.”
+
+“That’s a nice thing to say. Why should _I_ worry about the d—d
+mix-up?”
+
+The chemist made no reply, but Hobbs stepped into the breach valiantly.
+
+“Keep yer ’air on, Fred,” he vociferated. “Siddle means no ’arm. But
+wot else are yer a-doing of, mornin’, noon, an’ night?”
+
+Elkin laughed, with his queer croak.
+
+“If you stay here a day or two, you’ll soon get to know what they’re
+driving at, sir,” he said to Franklin. “The fact is that this chap,
+Grant, who found the body, and in whose garden the murder was
+committed, has been making eyes at the girl I’m as good as engaged to.
+That would make anybody wild—now, wouldn’t it?”
+
+“Possibly,” smiled Franklin. “Of course there is always the lady’s
+point of view. The sex is proverbially fickle, you know. ‘Woman, thy
+vows are traced in sand,’ Lord Byron has it.”
+
+“Ay, an’ some men’s, too,” guffawed Hobbs. “Wot about Peggy Smith,
+Fred?”
+
+Elkin blew a mouthful of cigarette smoke at the butcher.
+
+“What about that tough old bull you bought at Knoleworth on Monday?” he
+retorted.
+
+Hobbs’s face grew purple. Mr. Franklin beckoned to Tomlin.
+
+“Ask these gentlemen what they’ll have,” he said gently. The landlord
+made a clatter of glasses, and the threatened storm passed.
+
+“You’ve aroused my curiosity,” remarked Franklin to Peters, but taking
+the company at large into the conversation. “This does certainly strike
+one as a remarkable case. Is there no suspicion yet as to the actual
+murderer?”
+
+“None whatever,” said Peters.
+
+“That’s what you may call the police opinion,” broke in Elkin. “We
+Steynholme folk have a pretty clear notion, I can assure you.”
+
+“The matter is still _sub judice_, and may remain so a long time,” said
+Siddle. “It is simply stupid to attach a kind of responsibility to the
+man who happens to occupy the house associated with the crime. I have
+no patience with that sort of reasoning.”
+
+Hobbs, who did not want to quarrel with Elkin, suddenly championed him.
+
+“That’s all very well,” he rumbled. “But the hevidence you an’ me
+’eard, Siddle, an’ the hevidence we know we’re goin’ to ’ear, is a lot
+stronger than that.”
+
+“I’m sure you’ll pardon me, friends,” said Siddle, rising with an
+apologetic smile, “but I happen to be foreman of the coroner’s jury,
+and I feel that this matter is not for me, at any rate, to discuss
+publicly.”
+
+Out he went, not even heeding Tomlin’s appeal to drink the ginger-ale
+he had just ordered.
+
+“Just like ’im,” sighed Hobbs. “Good-’earted fellow! Would find
+hexcuses for a black rat.”
+
+Elkin talked more freely now that the chemist’s disapproving eye was
+off him. Ultimately, Mr. Franklin elected to smoke a cigar in the open
+air, and strolled forth. He sauntered down the hill, stood on the
+bridge, and admired the soft blue tones of the landscape in the half
+light of a summer evening. Shortly before closing time, Robinson
+appeared, it being part of his routine duty to see that no noisy
+revelers disturbed the peace of the village. He noticed the stranger at
+once, and elected to walk past him.
+
+Thus, he received yet another shock when Mr. Franklin addressed him by
+name.
+
+“Good evening, Robinson,” said the pleasant, clear-toned voice. “I’ve
+been expecting you to turn up. Kindly go back home, and leave the door
+open. I want to slip in quietly. I am Chief Inspector Winter, of
+Scotland Yard.”
+
+“You don’t say so, sir!” stammered Robinson.
+
+“But I do say it, and will prove it to you, of course. I’ll be with you
+in a minute or two. There’s someone coming. You and I must not be seen
+together.”
+
+Robinson made off, and Winter lounged along the Knoleworth road. He met
+Bates, going to the post with letters.
+
+Naturally, Bates looked him over. Returning from the post office, he
+kept a sharp eye for the unknown loiterer, but saw him not. He even
+walked quickly to the bend of the road, but the other man had vanished.
+
+Grant and Hart were talking of anything but the murder when Bates
+thrust his head in. He was grasping his goatee beard, sure sign of some
+weight on his mind.
+
+“Beg pardon,” he said, “but I thought you’d like to know. The place is
+just swarmin’ with ’em.”
+
+“Bees?” inquired Hart.
+
+Bates stared fixedly at the speaker for a second or two.
+
+“No, sir, ’tecs,” he said. “There’s a big ’un now—just the opposite to
+the little ’un, Hawkshaw. I ’ope I ’aven’t to tackle this customer,
+though. He’d gimme a doin’, by the looks of ’im.”
+
+Bates had disappeared before Grant remembered that the press
+photographer had mentioned the Big ’Un and the Little ’Un of the Yard.
+
+“Now, I wonder,” he said.
+
+His wonder could hardly have equaled Winter’s had he heard the
+gardener’s words. The guess was a distinct score for blunt Sussex,
+though it was founded solely on the assumption that all comers now,
+unless Bates was personally acquainted with them, were limbs of the
+law.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XII.
+Wherein Winter Gets to Work
+
+
+Winter had identified Bates at the first glance. The letters in the
+man’s hand, too, showed his errand, so, while the gardener was climbing
+the hill, the detective slipped into Robinson’s cottage.
+
+He found the policeman awaiting him in the dark, because a voice said:
+
+“Beg pardon, sir, but the other gentleman from the ‘Yard’ asked me to
+take him into the kitchen. A light in the front room might attract
+attention, he thought.”
+
+“Just what Mr. Furneaux would suggest, and I agree with him,” said
+Winter, quite alive to the canny discretion behind those words, “the
+other gentleman.”
+
+Robinson led the way. Supper was laid on the table. Poor Mrs. Robinson
+had again beaten a hasty retreat.
+
+“Now, Robinson,” said the Chief Inspector affably, “before we come to
+business I’ll prove my bona fides. Here is my official card, and I’ll
+run quickly through events until 1.30 p.m. to-day. I met Mr. Furneaux
+at Victoria, and he posted me fully up to that hour.”
+
+So the policeman listened to a clear summary of the Steynholme case as
+it was known to the authorities.
+
+“I did not warn either Mr. Fowler or you of my visit because a telegram
+could hardly be explicit enough,” concluded Winter. “At the inn I am
+Mr. Franklin, an Argentine importer of blood stock in the horse line.
+At this moment the only other man beside yourself in Steynholme who is
+aware of my official position is Mr. Peters, and he is pledged to
+secrecy. To-morrow or any other day until further notice, you and I
+meet as strangers in public. By the way, Mr. Furneaux asked me to tell
+you that he found the wig and the false beard in the river early this
+morning. The wearer had apparently flung them off while crossing the
+foot-bridge leading from Bush Walk, having forgotten that they would
+not sink readily. Perhaps he didn’t care. At any rate, Mr. Hart’s
+bullet seems to have laid Owd Ben’s ghost. Now, what of this fellow,
+Elkin? He worries me.”
+
+“Can I offer you a glass of beer, sir?”
+
+“With pleasure. May I smoke while you eat? You see, I differ from Mr.
+Furneaux in both size and habits.”
+
+Robinson poured out the beer. He was preternaturally grave. The
+somewhat incriminating statements he had wormed out of the horse-dealer
+that afternoon lay heavy upon him. But he told his story succinctly
+enough. Winter nodded to emphasize each point, and congratulated him at
+the end.
+
+“You arranged that very well,” he said. “I gather, though, that Elkin
+spoke rather openly.”
+
+“Just as I’ve put it, sir. He tripped a bit over the time on Monday
+night. But it’s only fair to say that he might have had Tomlin’s
+license in mind.”
+
+“That issue will be settled to-morrow. I’ll find out the commercial
+traveler’s name, and send a telegram from Knoleworth before noon....
+Who is Peggy Smith?”
+
+Robinson set down an empty glass with a stare of surprise.
+
+“Bob Smith’s daughter, sir,” he answered.
+
+“No doubt. But, proceed.”
+
+“Well, sir, she’s just a village girl. Her father is a blacksmith. His
+forge is along to the right, not far. She’ll be twenty, or
+thereabouts.”
+
+“Frivolous?”
+
+“Not more than the rest of ’em, sir.”
+
+“Have you seen her flirting with Elkin?”
+
+Robinson took thought.
+
+“Now that I come to think of it, she might be given a bit that way. Her
+father shoes Elkin’s nags, so there’s a lot of comin’ an’ goin’ between
+the two places. But folks would always look on it as natural enough.
+Yes, I’ve seen ’em together more than once.”
+
+“In that case, he can hardly grumble if the postmaster’s daughter has
+an eye for another young man.”
+
+“Miss Martin!” snorted Robinson. “She wouldn’t look the side of the
+road he was on. Fred Elkin isn’t her sort.”
+
+“But he said to-night in the Hare and Hounds that he and Miss Martin
+were practically engaged.”
+
+“Stuff an’ nonsense! Sorry, sir, but I admire Doris Martin. I like to
+see a girl like her liftin’ herself out of the common gang. She’s the
+smartest young lady in the village, an’ not an atom of a snob. No, no.
+She isn’t for Fred Elkin. Before this murder cropped up everybody would
+have it that Mr. Grant would marry her.”
+
+“How does the murder intervene?”
+
+Robinson shifted uneasily in his chair. He knew only too well that he
+himself had driven a wedge between the two.
+
+“Steynholme’s a funny spot, sir,” he contrived to explain. “Since it
+came out that Doris an’ Mr. Grant were in the garden at _The Hollies_
+at half past ten on Monday night, without Mr. Martin knowin’ where his
+daughter was, there’s been talk. Both the postmaster an’ the girl
+herself are up to it. You can see it in their faces. They don’t like
+it, an’ who can blame ’em!”
+
+“Who, indeed? But this Elkin—surely he had some ground for a definite
+boast, made openly, among people acquainted with all the parties?”
+
+“There’s more than Elkin would marry Doris if she lifted a finger,
+sir.”
+
+“Can you name them?”
+
+“Well, Tomlin wants a wife.”
+
+Winter laughed joyously.
+
+“Next?” he cried.
+
+“They say that Mr. Siddle is a widower.”
+
+“The chemist? Foreman of the jury?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“From appearances, he is a likelier candidate than either Elkin or
+Tomlin. Anybody else?”
+
+“I shouldn’t be far wrong if I gave you the name of most among the
+young unmarried men in the parish.”
+
+“Dear me! I must have a peep at this charmer. But I want those names,
+Robinson.”
+
+Winter produced a note-book, so he was evidently taking the matter
+seriously. The policeman, however, was flustered. His thoughts ran on
+Elkin, whereas this masterful person from London insisted on discussing
+Doris Martin.
+
+“My difficulty is, sir, that she has never kep’ company with any of
+’em,” he said.
+
+“Never mind. Give me the name of every man who, no matter what his
+position or prospects, might be irritated, if no more, if he knew that
+Miss Martin and Mr. Grant were presumably spooning in a garden at a
+rather late hour.”
+
+It was a totally new line of inquiry for Robinson, but he bent his wits
+to it, and evolved a list which, if published, would certainly be
+regarded with incredulous envy by every other girl in the village than
+the postmaster’s daughter; as for Doris herself, she would be mightily
+surprised when she saw it, but whether annoyed or secretly gratified
+none but a pretty girl of nineteen can tell.
+
+Winter departed soon afterwards. Before going to the inn he had a look
+at the forge. A young woman, standing at the open door of the adjoining
+cottage, favored him with a frank stare. There was no light in the
+dwelling. When he returned, after walking a little way down the road,
+the door was closed.
+
+Next morning, Bates heard of Peters as the detective and of Mr.
+Franklin as a “millionaire” from South America. Moreover, he
+scrutinized both in the flesh, and saw Robinson salute Peters but pass
+the financial potentate with indifference.
+
+Alas, that a reputation, once built, should be destroyed!
+
+“I was mistook, sir,” he reported to Grant later. “There’s another ’tec
+about, but ’e ain’t the chap I met last night. They say this other
+bloke is rollin’ in money, an’ buyin’ hosses right an’ left.”
+
+“Then he’ll soon be rolling in the mud, and have no money,” put in
+Hart.
+
+“Who is he?” inquired Grant carelessly.
+
+“A Mr. Franklin, from South America, sir.”
+
+Grant and Hart exchanged glances. Curiously enough, Hart remained
+silent till Bates had gone.
+
+“I must look this joker up, Jack,” he said then. “To me the mere
+mention of South America is like Mother Gary’s chickens to a sailor, a
+harbinger of storm.”
+
+But Hart consumed Tomlin’s best brew to no purpose—in so far as seeing
+Mr. Franklin was concerned, since the latter was in Knoleworth, buying
+a famous racing stud. Being in the village, however, this fisher in
+troubled waters was not inclined to return without a bag of some sort.
+
+He walked straight into the post office. Doris and her father were
+there, the telegraphist being out.
+
+“Good day, everybody,” he cried cheerfully. “Grant wants to know, Mr.
+Martin, if you and Miss Doris will come and dine with him, us, this
+evening at 7.30?”
+
+The postmaster gazed helplessly at this free-and-easy stranger. Doris
+laughed, and blushed a little.
+
+“This is Mr. Hart, a friend of Mr. Grant’s, dad,” she explained. “I’m
+afraid we cannot accept the invitation. We are so busy.”
+
+“The worst of excuses,” said Hart.
+
+“But there is a London correspondent here who hands in a long telegram
+at that hour.”
+
+“What’s his name?”
+
+“Mr. Peters.”
+
+“Great Scott! Jimmie Peters here? I’ll soon put a stopper on him. He’ll
+come, too—jumping. See if he doesn’t. Is it a bargain? Short telegram
+at six. Dinner for five at 7.30. Come, now, Mr. Martin. It’s up to you.
+I can see ‘Yes’ in Doris’s eye. Over the port—most delectable, I assure
+you—I’ll give full details of the peculiar case of a man in
+Worcestershire whose crop of gooseberries increased fourfold after
+starting an apiary. And what does it matter if you do lose a queen or
+two in June? The drones will attend to that trifle.... It’s a fixture,
+eh? Where’s Peters? In the Pull and Push? I’ll rout him out.”
+
+The whirlwind subsided, but quickly materialized again.
+
+“Peters nearly fell on his knees and wept with joy,” announced Hart.
+“He believes he was given a bull steak for luncheon. He pledges himself
+to have only five hundred words on the wire at five o’clock.”
+
+Meanwhile, father and daughter had decided that there was no valid
+reason why they should not dine with Mr. Grant. Martin already
+regretted his aloofness on the day of the inquest, though, truth to
+tell, Hart’s expert knowledge of bee-culture was the determining
+factor. On her part, Doris was delighted. Her world had gone awry that
+week, and this small festivity might right it.
+
+Not one word of the improvised dinner-party did Hart confide to Grant.
+He informed the only indispensable person, Mrs. Bates, and left it at
+that. Grant, a restless being these days, took him for another long
+walk. It chanced that their road home led down the high-street. The
+hour was a quarter past seven, and Peters hailed them.
+
+Hart introduced the journalist, saying casually:
+
+“Jimmie is coming to dinner, Jack.”
+
+“Delighted,” said Grant, of course.
+
+Peters looked slightly surprised, but passed no comment. Then Doris and
+her father appeared. They joined the others, shook hands, and, to
+Grant’s secret perplexity, the whole party moved off down the hill in
+company. When the Martins turned with the rest to cross the bridge,
+Grant began to suspect his friend.
+
+“Wally,” he managed to whisper, “what game have you been playing?”
+
+“Aren’t you satisfied?” murmured Hart. “Sdeath, as they used to say in
+the Surrey Theater, you’re as bad as Furshaw!”
+
+There were others far more perturbed by that odd conjunction of diners
+than the puzzled host, who merely expected Mrs. Bates to belabor him
+with a rolling pin. Mr. Siddle, for instance, had just closed his shop
+when the five met. That is to say, the dark blue blind was drawn, but
+the door was ajar. He came to the threshold, and watched the party
+until the bridge was neared, when one of them, looking back, might have
+seen him, so he stepped discreetly inside. Being a non-interfering,
+self-contained man, he seemed to be rather irresolute. But that
+condition passed quickly. Leaning over the counter, he secured a hat
+and a pair of field-glasses, and went out. He, too, knew of Mrs.
+Jefferson’s weakness for shopping in Knoleworth, and that good lady had
+gone there again. Her train was due in ten minutes. A wicket gate led
+to a narrow passage communicating with the back door of her residence.
+He entered boldly, reached the garden, and hurried to the angle on the
+edge of the cliff next to the Martins’ strip of ground.
+
+Yes, a spacious dinner-table was laid at _The Hollies_. Doris, Mr.
+Martin, and Peters soon strolled out on to the lawn. The pedestrians
+had obviously gone upstairs to wash after their tramp.
+
+Mr. Siddle rather forgot himself. He stared so long and earnestly
+through the field-glasses that he ran full tilt into Mrs. Jefferson and
+maid before regaining the high-street. But the chemist was a ready man.
+He lifted his hat with an inquiring smile.
+
+“Didn’t you say you wanted some anti-arthritic salts early in the
+week?” he asked.
+
+“Yes,” said Mrs. Jefferson, “but I got some to-day in Knoleworth, thank
+you.”
+
+“Well, I was just making up an indent, and might as well include your
+specific if you really needed it.”
+
+Which was kind and thoughtful of Mr. Siddle, but not quite true, though
+it fully explained his presence at Mrs. Jefferson’s gate.
+
+Mr. Franklin, escorting a fragrant Havana up the hill (he had traveled
+by the same train) saw the meeting, and, being aware of Mrs.
+Jefferson’s frugal habits, since Furneaux had omitted no item of his
+movements in Steynholme, remembered it later during the nightly
+gathering in the inn.
+
+Elkin greeted Mr. Franklin respectfully when the great man joined the
+circle.
+
+“Did you see anything worth while at Knoleworth, sir?” he said.
+
+“No. I was unlucky. All the principals were at a race meeting.”
+
+“By gum! That’s right. It’s Gatwick today. Dash! I might have saved you
+a journey.”
+
+“Oh, it doesn’t matter. In my business there is no call for hurry.”
+
+Elkin looked around.
+
+“Where’s our friend, the ’tec?” he said.
+
+“I think you’re wrong about ’im, meanin’ Mr. Peters,” said Tomlin.
+“’E’s ’ere for a noospaper, not for the Yard.”
+
+“That’s his blarney,” smirked Elkin. “A detective doesn’t go about
+telling everybody what he is.”
+
+“Whatever his profession may be,” put in Siddle’s quiet voice, “I
+happen to know that he is dining with Mr. Grant. So are Mr. Martin and
+Doris. By mere chance I called at Mrs. Jefferson’s. I went to the back
+door, and, finding it closed, looked into the garden. From there I
+couldn’t help seeing the assembly on the lawn of _The Hollies_.”
+
+“Dining at Grant’s?” shouted Elkin in a fury. “Well, I’m—”
+
+“’Ush, Fred!” expostulated Tomlin with a shocked glance at Mr.
+Franklin. “Wot’s wrong wi’ a bit of grub, ony ways? A very nice-spoken
+young gent kem ’ere twiced, an’ axed for Mr. Peters the second time.
+He’s a friend o’ Mr. Grant’s, I reckon.”
+
+“What’s wrong?” stormed the horse-dealer. “Why, everything’s wrong! The
+bounder ought to be in jail instead of giving dinner-parties. Imagine
+Doris eating in that house!”
+
+“Ay! Sweetbreads an’ saddle o’ lamb,” interjected Hobbs with the air of
+one imparting a secret.
+
+Elkin was pallid with wrath. He glared at Hobbs.
+
+“What I had in my mind was the impudence of the blighter,” he said
+shrilly. “That poor woman’s body leaves here to-morrow for some
+cemetery in London, and Grant invites folk to a small dinner to-night!”
+
+A sort of awe fell on the company. None of the others had as yet put
+the two events in juxtaposition, and they had an ugly sound. Even Mr.
+Siddle stifled a protest. Elkin had scored a hit, a palpable hit, and
+no one could gainsay him. He felt that, for once, the general opinion
+was with him, and drove the point home.
+
+“Hobson—the local joiner and undertaker”—he explained for Mr.
+Franklin’s benefit—“came this morning to borrow a couple of horses for
+the job. It’s to be done in style—‘no expense spared’ was Mr.
+Ingerman’s order—and the poor thing is in her coffin now while Grant—”
+
+He stopped. Mr. Siddle coughed.
+
+“You’ve said enough, Elkin,” murmured the chemist. “This excitement is
+harmful. You really ought to be in bed for the next forty-eight hours,
+dieting yourself carefully, and taking Dr. Foxton’s mixture regularly.
+He has changed it, I noticed.”
+
+“Bed! Me! Not likely. I’m going to kick up a row. What are the police
+doing? A set of blooming old women, that’s what they are. But I’ll stir
+’em up, if I have to write to the Home Secretary.”
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Franklin, smiling genially, “I cannot help taking
+a certain interest in this affair. May I, then, as a complete stranger
+to all concerned, tell you how this minor episode strikes me. Mr.
+Grant, I understand, denies having seen or spoken to Miss Melhuish
+during the past three years. None of the others now in his house had
+met her at all. Really, if a man may not give a dinnerparty in these
+conditions, dining-out would become a lost art.”
+
+Elkin was obviously seeking for some retort which, though forcible,
+would not offend a possible patron. But Siddle answered far more deftly
+than might be looked for from the horse-dealer.
+
+“Your contention, sir, is just what the man of the world would hold,”
+he said, “but, in this village, where we live on neighborly terms, such
+an incident would be impossible in almost any other house than _The
+Hollies_.”
+
+Mr. Franklin nodded. He was convinced. Tomlin, Hobbs, and a local
+draper bore out the chemist’s reasonable theory. Next morning
+Steynholme was again united in condemning Grant, while the postmaster
+and his daughter were not wholly exempted from criticism.
+
+The dinner itself was an altogether harmless and cheery meal. By common
+consent not one word was said about the murder. Hart was amusing on the
+question of bees—almost flippant, Mr. Martin deemed him. Peters had a
+wide store of strange experiences to draw on, while Grant, if rather
+silent in deference to two such brilliant talkers, found much
+satisfaction in regarding Doris as a hostess.
+
+The next day being Saturday, or market day, the village was busy. At
+eleven o’clock there was a somewhat unnecessary display of nodding
+plumes and long-tailed black horses at the removal of the coffin to the
+railway station. For some reason, the funeral arrangements had not been
+bruited about until Elkin made that envenomed attack on Grant in the
+Hare and Hounds the previous night. Ingerman had sent a gorgeous
+wreath, the only one forthcoming locally. This fact, of course, invited
+comment, though no whisperer in the crowd troubled to add that the
+interment was only announced in that day’s newspapers.
+
+Peters, meeting Mr. Franklin on the stairs of the inn, put a note into
+his hand. It read:
+
+“Why don’t you have a chat with Grant? The public mind is being
+inflamed against him. It’s hardly fair.”
+
+Mr. Franklin, meeting Peters in the passage, winked at him, and the
+journalist tortured his brains to turn out some readable stuff which
+should grip the million on Sunday yet not to be damaging to the man
+whose hospitality he enjoyed over night.
+
+In a word, the passing of Adelaide Melhuish was exploited thoroughly as
+an indictment of her one-time lover, and the only two in Steynholme not
+aware of the fact were Grant, himself, and Wally Hart.
+
+By a singular coincidence, not ridiculously beyond the ken of a verger,
+when Doris went to church on Sunday morning, she found herself beside
+Mr. Franklin.
+
+At the close of the service the same big man whom she had noticed as a
+neighbor in the pew overtook her at the post office door. He lifted his
+hat. A passer-by heard him say distinctly:
+
+“Pardon me for troubling you, but can you tell me at what time the mail
+closes for London?”
+
+“At four-thirty,” said Doris.
+
+No other person overheard Mr. Franklin’s next words:
+
+“I am now going to drop a letter in the box. It’s for you. Get it at
+once. It is of the utmost importance.”
+
+Doris was startled, as well she might be. But—she went straight for the
+letter. It was marked: “Private and Urgent,” and ran:
+
+_Dear Miss Martin.
+
+I am here_ vice _Mr. Furneaux, who is engaged on other phases of the
+same inquiry. My business is absolutely unknown. I figure at the inn as
+“Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina.” Indeed, Mr. Furneaux left the village
+because he realized the difficulties facing him in that respect. Now, I
+trust you, and I hope you will justify my faith. You know
+Superintendent Fowler. I want you to meet me and him this afternoon at
+two o’clock at the crossroads beyond the mill. A closed car will be in
+waiting, and we can have half an hour’s talk without anyone in
+Steynholme being the wiser. Remember that this village, like the night,
+has a thousand eyes. Naturally, I would not trouble you in this way if
+the cause was not vital to the ends of justice. Whether or not you
+decide to keep this appointment, I have every confidence that you will
+respect my wish that_ no one_, other than yourself, shall be informed
+of my identity. But I believe you will be wise, and come._
+
+
+_I am,
+Yours faithfully,
+J. L. Winter,
+Chief Inspector, C. I. D., Scotland Yard, S. W._
+
+
+A card was inclosed, as a sort of credential. But, somehow, it was not
+needed. Doris had seen “Mr. Franklin” more than once, and she had heard
+him singing the hymns in church. He looked worthy of credence. His
+written words had the same honest ring. She resolved to go.
+
+Her father, sad to relate, had found three dead queens in the hives. He
+was busy, but spared a moment to tell her that Mr. Siddle was coming to
+tea at four o’clock. Doris was rather in a whirl, and seemed to be
+unnecessarily astonished.
+
+“Mr. Siddle! Why?” she gasped.
+
+“Why not!” said her father. “It’s not the first time. You can entertain
+him. I’ll look after the letters.”
+
+“I must get some cakes. We have none.”
+
+“Well, that’s simple. I wonder if that fellow Hart really understands
+apiaculture? You might invite him, too.”
+
+With that letter in her pocket Doris had suddenly grown wary. Hart and
+Siddle would not mix, and her woman’s intuition warned her that Siddle
+had chosen the tea-hour purposely in order to have an uninterrupted
+conversation with her. She disliked Mr. Siddle, in a negative way, but
+the very nearness of the detective was stimulating. Let Mr. Siddle
+come, then, and come alone!
+
+“No, dad,” she laughed. “Mr. Hart’s knowledge will be available
+to-morrow. In his presence, poor Mr. Siddle would be dumb.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIII.
+Concerning Theodore Siddle
+
+
+Winter, being a cheerful cynic, had not erred when he appealed to that
+love of mystery which, especially if it is spiced with a hint of
+harmless intrigue, is innate in every feminine heart. Indeed, he was so
+assured of the success of his somewhat dramatic move that as he walked
+to a rendezvous arranged with Superintendent Fowler on the Knoleworth
+road he reviewed carefully certain arguments meant to secure Doris’s
+assistance.
+
+Passing _The Hollies_, he smiled at the notion that Furneaux would
+undoubtedly have brought Grant to the conclave. It was just the sort of
+difficult situation in which his colleague would have reveled. But the
+Chief Inspector was more solid, more circumspect, even, singularly
+enough, more sensitive to the probable comments of a crusty judge if
+counsel for the defense contrived to elicit the facts.
+
+“Anything fresh?” inquired the superintendent, when a smart car drew
+up, and Winter entered.
+
+Mr. Fowler was in plain clothes, and the blinds were half drawn. No one
+could possibly recognize either of the occupants unless the car was
+halted, and the inquisitor literally thrust his head inside. The motor
+was a private one, borrowed for the occasion.
+
+“Yes, a little,” said Winter, as the chauffeur put the engine in gear.
+“Your man, Robinson, has been drawing Elkin, or Elkin drew him—I am not
+quite sure which, but think it matterless either way.”
+
+He sketched Robinson’s activities briefly, but in sufficient outline.
+
+“A new figure has come on the screen—Siddle, the chemist,” he added
+thoughtfully.
+
+“Siddle!” Mr. Fowler was surprised. “Why, he is supposed to be a model
+of the law-abiding citizen.”
+
+“I don’t say he has lost his character in that respect,” said Winter.
+“Still, he puzzles me. Elkin is a loud-mouthed fool. The verbal bricks
+he hurls at Grant are generally half baked, and crumble into dust.
+Hitherto, Siddle has tried to repress him, with a transparent honesty
+that rather worried me. On Friday night, however, Siddle attacked Grant
+with poisoned arrows. He did more damage in two minutes than Elkin
+could achieve in as many months.”
+
+“How?”
+
+“He showed very clearly that Grant was guilty of gross bad taste in
+inviting Mr. Martin and his daughter to dinner that evening. I’m
+inclined to agree with him, if the story has been told fairly. But that
+is beside the main issue. Siddle aroused the sleeping dogs of the
+village, and the pack is in full cry again. Grant seems to have been
+popular here; he had almost recovered from the blow of Miss Melhuish’s
+death by the straightforward speech he made before the inquest. But
+Siddle threw him back into the mud by a few skillful words. What is
+Siddle’s record? Is he a local man?”
+
+“I think not. Robinson can tell us.”
+
+“Robinson says he ‘believes’ Siddle is a widower. That doesn’t argue
+long and close knowledge.”
+
+“We must look into it. Robinson has been stationed here four years.
+Siddle is not old, but he has been in business in Steynholme more years
+than that. But—you’ll pardon me, I’m sure, Mr. Winter—may I take it
+that you are really interested in the chemist’s history?”
+
+The superintendent was perplexed, or he would not have adopted his
+professional method of semi-apologetic questions with a man from the
+C.I.D.
+
+“I hardly know what I’m interested in,” laughed Winter. “Grant didn’t
+kill the lady. I shall be slow to credit Elkin with being the scoundrel
+he looks. Siddle, and Tomlin, if you please, are regarded as starters
+in the Doris Martin Matrimonial Stakes, and I don’t think Tomlin could
+ever murder anything but the King’s English. It is Siddle’s _volte
+face_ that bothers me.”
+
+“Um!” murmured Mr. Fowler. He was not an uneducated man, but _volte
+face_, correctly pronounced, was unfamiliar in his ears.
+
+“The change was so marked,” went on the detective. “I gather that
+Siddle is a stickler for charity and fair dealing. He didn’t abandon
+the role, of course. It was the sheer ingenuity of his method that
+caught my attention. So I simply catalogue him for research.”
+
+“Has Miss Martin promised to meet us?” inquired the other, feeling that
+he was on the track of _volte face_.
+
+“No. But there she is!” cried Winter. “She has just heard the car. Tell
+your chauffeur to slow up. The road is empty otherwise. By the way, you
+help her in. She might be a bit shy of me, and I don’t want a second’s
+delay.”
+
+Winter’s judgment was not at fault. Doris _was_ feeling a trifle
+uncertain, seeing that she was about to encounter a complete stranger.
+Moreover, she had come a good half mile from the shop whence the cakes
+for tea were to be procured at the back door, and as a favor. Her eyes
+were fixed on the slowing car with a timid anxiety that betrayed no
+small degree of doubt as to the outcome of this Sunday afternoon
+escapade. She was pale and nervous. At that moment Doris wished herself
+safe at home again.
+
+“One word,” broke in the superintendent hurriedly. “Why are you so sure
+that Grant is innocent, Mr. Winter?”
+
+“I’m sure of nothing with regard to this case. But I have great faith
+in Furneaux’s flair for the true scent. It has never failed yet.”
+
+Mr. Fowler wished his companion would not use such uncommon words.
+However, he got out, and took off his hat with a courteous sweep. Doris
+had to look twice at him. Hitherto, she had always seen him in uniform.
+Winter smiled at the unmistakable expression of relief in her face. She
+was almost self-possessed as she took the seat by his side.
+
+“Good day, Mr. Winter,” she said.
+
+“Mr. Franklin, please. Better become used to my pseudonym.... Plenty of
+room for your feet, Mr. Fowler? That’s it. Now we’re comfy. The
+chauffeur will bring us back here in half an hour, Miss Martin. Will
+that suit your convenience?”
+
+“Oh, yes. I am free till nearly four o’clock. We have a guest to tea
+then.”
+
+“I have a well-developed bump of curiosity these days. Who is it, may I
+ask?”
+
+“Mr. Siddle, the local chemist.”
+
+“Indeed. An old friend, I suppose?”
+
+“We have known him seven years, ever since he came to Steynholme.”
+
+“Ah. He is not a native of the place?”
+
+“No. He bought Mr. Benson’s business. He’s a Londoner, I believe.”
+
+“Is there—a Mrs. Siddle?”
+
+“No. I—er—that is to say, gossip has it that he was married, but his
+wife died.”
+
+“He doesn’t speak of her? Is that it? One would have thought that in a
+house where he is well known—”
+
+“We don’t really know him well. No one does, I think.”
+
+“You’ve invited him to tea, at any rate,” laughed Winter.
+
+“No,” said Doris. “He invited himself. At least, so I gathered from
+dad.”
+
+“Ah, well. He feels lonely, no doubt, and wishes to chat about recent
+strange events in Steynholme. And that brings me to the reason why I
+sought this chat under such peculiar conditions. You realize my
+handicap, Miss Martin? If I were seen talking to you, or even entering
+your house as apart from the post office, people would begin to wonder.
+You follow that, don’t you?”
+
+Yes, Doris did follow it. What she did not follow was the veiled
+admiration in Superintendent Fowler’s glance at the detective. Those
+few inconsequential questions had shed a flood of light on Siddle’s
+past and present, yet the informant was blissfully unaware of their
+real purport. And the way was opened so deftly. The purchase of a
+chemist’s business would almost certainly be negotiated through a local
+lawyer. Let him be found, and Siddle’s pre-Steynholme days could be
+“looked into,” as the police phrase has it. The superintendent had the
+rare merit of being candid with himself. He had no previous experience
+of Scotland Yard men or methods, and was inclined to be skeptical about
+Furneaux. But Winter’s prompt use of a chance opening, and the
+restraint which cut off the investigation before the girl could suspect
+any ulterior motive, displayed a technique which the Sussex
+Constabulary had few opportunities of acquiring.
+
+“Now, Miss Martin,” began Winter, “if ever you have the misfortune to
+fall ill—touch wood, please—and call in a doctor, you’ll tell him the
+facts, eh?”
+
+“Why consult him at all, if I don’t?” she smiled.
+
+“Exactly. To-day I’m somewhat in the position of a Harley-street
+specialist, summoned to assist an eminent local practitioner in Dr.
+Fowler. That’s a sort of gentle preliminary, leading up to the
+disagreeable duty of putting some questions of a personal nature. What
+you may answer will not go beyond ourselves. I promise you that. You
+will not be quoted, or requested to prove your statements. Such a thing
+would be absurd. If I were really a doctor, and you needed my advice,
+you might easily describe your symptoms all wrong. It would be my
+business to listen, and deduce the truth, and I would never dream of
+rating you for having misled me. You see my point?”
+
+“Yes, but Mr. Win—Mr. Franklin, I know nothing whatever about the
+murder.”
+
+“I’m sure you don’t. It was a wicked trick of Fate that took you to Mr.
+Grant’s garden last Monday night.”
+
+“It was really an astronomical almanac,” retorted Doris, who now felt a
+growing confidence in this nice-spoken official. “Sirius is a star
+remarkable for its beautiful changing lights, and on Monday evening was
+at its best. I think I ought to explain,” and she blushed delightfully,
+“that the village gossip about Mr. Grant and me is entirely mistaken.
+We are not—well, I had better use plain English—we are not lovers. My
+father and I are just on close, friendly terms with Mr. Grant. I—my
+position hardly warrants even that relationship with an author of some
+distinction. But please set aside any notion of us as likely to become
+engaged. For one thing, it is preposterous. For another, I shall not
+leave my father.”
+
+Poor Doris! She little guessed how accurately this skilled student of
+human nature read the hidden thought behind that vehement protest. Even
+the note of vague rebellion against social disabilities was pathetic
+yet illuminating. Of course, he took her quite seriously.
+
+“Let us keep to the hard road of fact,” he said. “What you really mean
+is that Mr. Grant has never made love to you. But I must be candid,
+young lady. There is no earthly reason why he shouldn’t, though I could
+name offhand half a dozen why he should.... Well, well, I must not pay
+compliments. My friend, Mr. Furneaux, can manage that with much greater
+facility, being half a Frenchman. And now I’m going to say an
+unpleasant thing. I ask your forgiveness in advance. Both Mr. Furneaux
+and I agree in the opinion that your imaginary love affair is
+indissolubly bound up with the mystery of Miss Melhuish’s death. In a
+word, I have brought you here today to discuss your prospective
+marriage, and nothing else. That astonishes you, eh? Well, it’s the
+truth, as I shall proceed to make clear. There’s a Mr. Fred Elkin, for
+instance—”
+
+Doris uttered a little laugh of dismay. Winter’s emphatic words had
+astounded her, but the horse-dealer’s name acted as comic relief.
+
+“I can’t bear the man,” she protested.
+
+“I have no doubt. But you ought to know that he is loudly proclaiming
+his determination to marry you before the year is out.”
+
+The girl’s face reddened again, and her eyes sparkled.
+
+“I wouldn’t marry him if he were a peer of the realm,” she said
+indignantly.
+
+“Quite so. But he is an avowed suitor. Now don’t be vexed. Has he never
+declared his intentions to _you_?”
+
+“He would never dare. I sing and act a little, at village concerts and
+dramatic performances, and he has annoyed me at times by an officious
+pretense that he was deputed by my father to see me home. I came here
+quite a little girl, so people learnt to use my Christian name. I don’t
+object to it at all. But I simply hate hearing it on Mr. Elkin’s lips.”
+
+“Exit Fred!” said Winter solemnly. “Next!”
+
+Doris, after a period of calm, was now profoundly uncomfortable. This
+kind of prying was the last thing she had expected. She had come
+prepared to defend Grant, but, beyond one exceedingly personal
+reference, the detective had studiously shut him out of the
+conversation.
+
+“What am I to say?” she cried. “Do you want a list of all the young men
+who make sheep’s eyes at me?”
+
+“No. I can get that from the Census Bureau. Come, now, Miss Martin.
+_You_ know. Has any man in the village led you to suspect, shall we put
+it? that sometime or other, he might ask you to become his wife?”
+
+Lo, and behold! Doris’s pretty eyes filled with tears. Superintendent
+Fowler was so pleased at hearing Scotland Yard introducing a
+parenthetical query into its sentences that he, sitting opposite, was
+taken aback when Winter said in a fatherly way:
+
+“I’ve been rather clumsy, I’m afraid. But it cannot be helped. I must
+go blundering on. I’m groping in the dark, you know, but it’s a
+thousand pities I shall have to tread on _your_ toes.”
+
+“It isn’t that,” sobbed Doris. “I hate to put my thoughts into words.
+That’s all. There _is_ a man whom I’m—afraid of.”
+
+“Siddle?”
+
+She turned on Winter a face of sudden awe.
+
+“How can you possibly guess?” she said wonderingly, and sheer
+bewilderment dried her tears.
+
+“My business is nine-tenths guesswork. At any rate, we are on firm
+ground now. If you could please yourself, I suppose, Mr. Siddle would
+not come to tea to-day!”
+
+“He certainly would not,” declared the girl emphatically.
+
+“You believe he is coming for a purpose?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Elkin—I must drag him in again for an instant—pretends that the
+commotion aroused in the village by this murder would incline you
+favorably to a proposal of marriage. Mr. Siddle may have discovered
+some virtue in the theory.”
+
+“Did Mr. Elkin really hint that I needed _him_ as a shield?”
+
+Doris was genuinely angry now. She little imagined that Winter was
+playing on her emotions with a master hand.
+
+“Don’t waste any wrath on Elkin,” he soothed her. “The fellow isn’t
+worth it. But his crude idea might be developed more subtly by an abler
+man.”
+
+“I think it odd that Mr. Siddle should choose to-day, of all days, for
+a visit,” she admitted.
+
+Winter relapsed into silence for a while. The car was running through a
+charming countryside, and a glimpse of the sea was obtainable from the
+crest of each hill. Mr. Fowler was too circumspect to break in on the
+thread of his coadjutor’s thoughts. The inquiry had taken a curious
+turn, and was momentarily beyond his grasp.
+
+“It’s singular, but it’s true,” said the detective musingly when next
+he spoke, “that I am now going to ask you to act differently than was
+in my mind when I sought this interview. I should vastly like to be
+present when Siddle bares his heart to you this afternoon.
+
+“I can invite you to tea.”
+
+“Alas! that won’t serve our ends. But, if you feel you have a purpose,
+you will be nerved to deal with him. Bring him out into that secluded
+garden of yours—”
+
+“The first thing he will suggest,” and Doris’s voice waxed
+unconsciously bitter. “He knows that dad will be busy with the mails
+for an hour after tea.”
+
+“Good!”
+
+“I think it bad, most disagreeable.”
+
+“You won’t find the position so awkward if you are playing a part. And
+that is what I want—a bit of clever acting. Lean on those railings, and
+make Siddle believe that your heart is on Mr. Grant’s lawn. You know
+the kind of thing I mean. Dreamy eyes, listless manner, inattention,
+with smiling apologies. You will annoy Siddle, and a cautious man in a
+temper becomes less cautious. Force him to avow his real thoughts. You
+will learn something, trust me.”
+
+“About what?”
+
+There were no tears in Doris’s eyes. They were wide open in wonderment.
+
+“About his attitude to this tragedy. Do this, and you will be giving
+Mr. Grant the greatest possible help. He needs it. Next Wednesday, at
+the adjourned inquest, he will be put on the rack. Ingerman will fee
+counsel to be vindictive, merciless. Such men are to be hired. Their
+reputation is built up on the slaughter of reputations. I want to
+understand Siddle before Wednesday. By the way, what’s his other name?”
+
+“Theodore.”
+
+“Theodore Siddle. Unusual. Well, your half hour is nearly up. Will you
+do what I ask?”
+
+“I’ll try. May I put one question?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You said you had something altogether different in view before we met.
+What was it?”
+
+“I’ll tell you—let me see—I’ll tell you on Thursday.”
+
+“Why not now?”
+
+“Because it is the hardest thing in the world for a woman to be
+single-minded, in the limited sense of concentration, I mean. Focus
+your wits on Siddle to-day. I don’t suggest any plan. I leave that to
+your own intelligence. Vex him, and let him talk.”
+
+“Vex him!”
+
+“Yes. What man won’t get mad if he notices that his best girl is
+thinking about a rival.”
+
+This time Doris did not blush. She was troubled and serious, very
+serious.
+
+“I’ll do what I can,” she promised. “When shall I see you again?”
+
+“Soon. There’s no hurry. All this is preparatory for Wednesday.”
+
+“Am I to tell my father nothing?”
+
+“Please yourself. Not at present. I recommend you.”
+
+The car had stopped. It sped on when Doris alighted. She would be home
+with her cakes at three o’clock, and Mr. Martin would never have
+noticed her absence.
+
+“A fine bit of work, if I may say so,” exclaimed Fowler appreciatively.
+“But I am jiggered if I can imagine what you’re driving at.”
+
+Winter was cutting the end off a big cigar. He finished the operation
+to his liking before answering earnestly:
+
+“We stand or fall by the result of that girl’s efforts. Furneaux thinks
+so, and I agree with him absolutely. After five days, where are we, Mr.
+Fowler? In the dark, plus a brigand’s hat and hair. But there’s a queer
+belief in some parts of England that a phosphorescent gleam shows at
+night over a deep pool in which a dead body lies. That’s just how I
+feel about Siddle. The man’s an enigma. What sort of place is
+Steynholme for a chemist of his capacities? Dr. Foxton has the highest
+regard for him professionally, and I’m told he doctors people for miles
+around. Yet he lives the life of a recluse. An old woman comes by day
+to prepare his meals, and tidy the house and shop. His sole relaxation
+is an hour of an evening in the village inn, his visits there being
+uninterrupted since the murder. He was there on the night of the
+murder, too. For the rest, he is alone, shut off from the world.
+Without knowing it, he’s going to fall into deep waters to-day, and
+he’ll emit sparks, or I’m a Chinaman.... I’ll leave you here. Good-by!
+See you on Tuesday, after lunch.”
+
+The superintendent drove on alone. He pondered the Steynholme affair in
+all its bearings, but mostly did he weigh up Winter and Furneaux. At
+last, he sighed.
+
+“London ways, and London books, and London detectives!” he muttered.
+“We’re not up to date in Sussex. Now, if I could please myself, I’d be
+hot-foot after Elkin. I see what Winter has in his mind, but surely
+Elkin fills the bill, and Siddle doesn’t.... What was that word—volt
+what!”
+
+Doris was lucky. She met Mr. Siddle as she emerged from the back
+passage to the cake-shop. Resolving instantly that if an unpleasant
+thing had to be done it should at least be done well, she smiled
+brightly.
+
+“See what you have driven me to—breaking the Sabbath,” she cried,
+holding up the bag of cakes.
+
+“Tea and bread-and-butter with you would be a feast for the gods,” said
+Siddle.
+
+“Now you’re adapting Omar Khayyam.”
+
+“Who’s he?”
+
+“A Persian poet of long ago.”
+
+“I never read poetry. But, if your tastes lie that way, I’ll accomplish
+some more adaptation.”
+
+“Oh, no, please. Cakes for you, Mr. Siddle; poets for giddy young
+things like me.”
+
+There was a sting in the words. Doris preened herself on having carried
+out the detective’s instructions to the letter thus far.
+
+Arrived in the house she found her father still in the garden,
+examining some larvae under a microscope. He looked severe rather than
+studious. He might have been an omnipotent being who had detected a
+malefactor in a criminal act. Was Steynholme and its secret felon being
+regarded in that way by the providence which, for some inscrutable
+purpose, permitted, yet would infallibly punish, a dreadful murder? She
+was a girl of devout mind, and the notion was appalling in its direct
+application to current events.
+
+In the meantime the chemist, evidently taking a Sunday afternoon
+constitutional, came on Winter, who was leaning on a wall of the bridge
+and looking down stream—Grant’s house being on the left.
+
+He would have passed, in his wonted unobtrusive way, but the detective
+hailed him with a cheery “Good day, Mr. Siddle. Are you a fisherman?”
+
+“No, Mr. Franklin, I’m not,” he answered.
+
+“Well, now, I’m surprised. You are just the sort of man whom I should
+expect to find attached to a rod and line—even watching a float.”
+
+“I tried once when I was younger, but I could neither impale a worm nor
+extract a hook. My gorge rose against either practice. I am a
+vegetarian, for the same reason. If it were not for this disturbing
+tragedy you would have heard Hobbs, the butcher, rallying me about my
+rabbit-meat, as he calls my food.”
+
+“Well, well!” laughed Winter. “Your ideas and mine clash in some
+respects. I look on a well-grilled steak as a gift from Heaven, and
+after it, or before it—I don’t care which—let me have three hours
+whipping a good trout stream. With the right cast of flies I could show
+a fine bag from this very stretch of water.”
+
+“Why not ask Mr. Grant’s permission? It would be interesting to learn
+whether he will allow others to try their luck.”
+
+Mr. Siddle strolled on. Winter bent over, keen to discern the
+gray-backed fish which must be lurking in those clear depths and
+rippling shallows.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIV.
+On Both Sides of the River
+
+
+The sun, transmuted into Greenwich time, exercised an extraordinary
+influence on the seemingly humdrum life of Steynholme that day. A few
+minutes after three o’clock—just too late to observe either Winter or
+Siddle—P. C.  Robinson strolled forth from his cottage. He glanced up
+the almost deserted high-street, in which every rounded cobble and
+white flagstone radiated heat. A high-class automobile had dashed past
+twice in forty minutes, but the pace was on the borderland of doubt, so
+the guardian of the public weal had contented himself with recording
+its number on the return journey.
+
+But his thoughts were far a-field from joyriders, stray cattle, hawkers
+without licenses, and other similar small fry which come into the
+constabulary net. It would be a feather in his cap if he could only
+strike the trail of the veritable Steynholme murderer. The entrancing
+notion possessed him morning, noon, and night. Mrs. Robinson declared
+that it even dominated his dreams. Robinson was sharp. He knew quite
+well that the brains of the London detectives held some elusive quality
+which he personally lacked. They seemed to peer into the heart of a
+thing so wisely and thoroughly. He did not share Superintendent
+Fowler’s somewhat derogatory estimate of Furneaux, with whom he was
+much better acquainted than was his superior officer, while Chief
+Inspector Winter’s repute stood so high that it might not be
+questioned. Still, to the best of his belief, the case had beaten both
+these doughty representatives of Scotland Yard; there was yet a chance
+for the humble police-constable; so Robinson squared his shoulders,
+seamed his brows, and marched majestically down the Knoleworth road.
+
+He had an eye for _The Hollies_, of course, though neither he nor
+anybody else could discern more than the bare edge of the lawn from
+bridge or road, owing to the dense screen of evergreen trees and shrubs
+planted by the tenant who remodeled the property.
+
+But the spot where the body of Adelaide Melhuish was drawn ashore was
+visible, and the sight of it started a dim thesis in the policeman’s
+mind which took definite shape during less than an hour’s stroll. Thus,
+at four o’clock exactly, he was pulling the bell at _The Hollies_.
+Almost simultaneously, Mr. Siddle knocked modestly on the private door
+of the post office, to reach which one had to pass down a narrow yard.
+
+“Mr. Grant at home?” inquired Robinson, when Minnie appeared.
+
+Yes, the master was on the lawn with Mr. Hart. The policeman found the
+two there, seated in chairs with awnings. They had been discussing, of
+all things in the world, the futurist craze in painting. Hart held by
+it, but Grant carried bigger guns in real knowledge of the artist’s
+limitations as well as his privileges.
+
+Hart was the first to notice the newcomer’s presence, and greeted him
+joyously.
+
+“Come along, Robinson, and manacle this reprobate,” he shouted. “He’s
+nothing but a narrow-minded pre-Rafaelite. A period in prison will dust
+the cobwebs out of his attic.”
+
+“Hello, Robinson!” said, Grant. “Anything stirring?”
+
+“Not much, sir. I just popped in to ask if you remembered exactly how
+the body was roped?”
+
+“Indeed, I do not. Some incidents of that horrible half hour have gone
+into a sad jumble. I recollect you calling attention to the matter, but
+what your point was I really cannot say now. Perhaps it may come back
+if you explain.”
+
+“Well, we don’t seem to be making a great deal of progress, sir, and I
+was wondering whether you two gentlemen might help. I don’t want it
+mentioned. I’m taking a line of me own.”
+
+Grant repressed a smile. He recalled well enough the first “line” the
+policeman took, and the mischief it had caused. Being an even-minded
+person, however, he admitted that his own behavior had not been above
+suspicion on the day the crime was discovered. In allotting blame, as
+between Robinson and himself, the proportion was six of one and half a
+dozen of the other.
+
+“Propound, justiciary,” said Hart. “You’ve started well, anyhow. The
+connection between a line and a rope should be obvious even to a
+judge.... As a pipe-opener, have a drink!”
+
+Robinson had removed his helmet, and was flourishing a red
+handkerchief, not without cause, the day being really very hot.
+
+“Not for a few minutes, thank you, sir,” said the policeman. “May I ask
+Bates for a sack and a cord?”
+
+He went to the kitchen. Hart was “tickled to death,” he vowed.
+
+“We are about to witness the reconstruction of the crime, a procedure
+which the French delight in, and the intellect of France is a hundred
+years ahead of our effete civilization,” he chortled.
+
+Grant was not so pleased. The memory of a distressing vision was
+beginning to blur, and this ponderous policeman must come and revive
+it. Yet, even he grew interested when Robinson illustrated a nebulous
+idea by knotting a clothesline around a sack stuffed with straw, having
+brought Bates to bear him out in the matter of accuracy.
+
+“There you are, gentlemen!” he said, puffing after the slight exertion.
+“That’s the way of it. How does it strike you?”
+
+“It’s what a sailor calls two half hitches,” commented Hart instantly.
+“A very serviceable knot, which will resist to the full strength of the
+rope.”
+
+“We have no sailors in Steynholme, sir,” said the policeman.
+
+“Oh, it’s used regularly by tradesmen,” put in Grant. “A draper, or
+grocer—any man accustomed to tying parcels securely, in fact—will
+fashion that knot nine times out of ten.”
+
+“How about a—a farmer, sir?” That was as near as Robinson dared to go
+to “horse-dealer.”
+
+“I think a farmer would be more likely to adopt a timber hitch, which
+is made in several ways. Here are samples.” And Grant busied himself
+with rope and sack.
+
+Robinson watched closely.
+
+“Yes,” he nodded. “I’ve seen those knots in a farmyard.... Well, it’s
+something—not much—but a trifle better than nothing.... All right,
+Bates. You can take ’em away.”
+
+“Have you shown that knot to Mr. Furneaux?” inquired Grant.
+
+“No, sir. I’ve kept that up me sleeve, as the sayin’ is.”
+
+“But why?”
+
+Robinson shuffled uneasily on his feet.
+
+“These Scotland Yard men will hardly listen to a uniformed constable,
+sir,” he said. “I’ll tell ’em all about it at the inquest on
+Wednesday.”
+
+“In effect, John P. Robinson he sez they didn’t know everythin’ down in
+Judee,” quoted Hart.
+
+“You’ve got my name pat,” grinned the policeman, whose Christian names
+were “John Price.”
+
+“My name is Walter, not Patrick,” retorted Hart. Robinson continued to
+smile, though he failed to grasp the joke until late that evening.
+
+“Did you make up that verse straight off, sir,” he asked.
+
+“No. It’s a borrowed plume, plucked from an American quill pen.”
+
+Hart gave “plume” a French sound, and Robinson was puzzled to know why
+Grant bade his friend stop profaning a peaceful Sunday afternoon.
+
+“You’ll have a glass of beer now?” went on the host.
+
+“I don’t mind if I do, sir, though it’s tea-time, and I make it a rule
+on Sundays to have tea with the missis. A policeman’s hours are broken
+up, and his wife hardly ever knows when to have a meal ready.”
+
+Minnie was summoned. It took her a couple of minutes to draw the beer
+from a cool cellar. So it chanced that when Doris led Mr. Siddle to the
+edge of the cliff about twenty-five minutes past four, the first thing
+they saw was the local police-constable on the lawn of _The Hollies_
+putting down a gill of “best Sussex” at a draught.
+
+“Well!” cried the chemist icily, “I wonder what Superintendent Fowler
+would say to that if he knew it?”
+
+“What is there particularly wrong about Robinson drinking a glass of
+beer?” demanded Doris, more alive to the insinuation in Siddle’s words
+than was quite permissible under the role imposed on her by Winter.
+
+She waved her hand to the party on the lawn. Grant, whose eyes ever
+roved in that direction, had seen her white muslin dress the moment she
+appeared.
+
+“Who the deuce is that with Miss Martin?” he said, returning her
+signal.
+
+“Siddle, the chemist,” announced Robinson, not too well pleased himself
+at being “spotted” so openly. “Well, gentlemen, I’ll be off,” and he
+vanished by the side path through the laurels.
+
+“Siddle!” repeated Grant vexedly. “So it is. And she dislikes the man,
+for some reason.”
+
+“Let’s go and rescue the fair maid,” prompted Hart.
+
+“No, no. If Doris wanted me she would let me know.”
+
+“How? At the top of her voice?”
+
+“You’re far too curious, Wally.”
+
+“Semaphore, of course,” drawled Hart. “When are you going to marry the
+girl, Jack!”
+
+“As soon as this infernal business has blown over.”
+
+“You haven’t asked her, I gather?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Tell me when you do, and I’ll hie me to London town, though in torrid
+June. You’re unbearable in love.”
+
+“The lash of your wit cuts deeply sometimes,” said Grant quietly.
+
+“Dash it all, old chap, I was talking at random. Very well. I’ll do
+penance in sackcloth and ashes by remaining here, and applauding your
+poetic efforts. I’ll even help. I’m a dab at sonnets.”
+
+Meanwhile, Mr. Siddle had regained his poise.
+
+“I meant nothing offensive to the donor of the beer,” he said, tuning
+his voice to an apologetic note. “But I take it Robinson is conducting
+certain inquiries, and I imagine that his superiors demand a degree of
+circumspection in such conditions. That is all.”
+
+“Surely you do not rank with the stupid crowd in its suspicions of Mr.
+Grant?” said the girl.
+
+“I’m pleased to think you refuse to class me with the gossip-mongers of
+Steynholme, Doris,” was the guarded answer.
+
+There had been no reference to the murder during tea, which was served
+as soon as the chemist came in. The visitor had tabled a copy of a
+current medical journal containing an article on the therapeutic
+qualities of honey, so the talk was lifted at once into an atmosphere
+far removed from crime. Doris was grateful for his tact. When her
+father went to the office she brought Mr. Siddle into the garden solely
+in pursuance of her promise to the detective, though convinced that
+there would be no outcome save a few labored compliments to herself.
+And now, by accident, as it were, the death of Adelaide Melhuish thrust
+itself into their conversation. Perhaps it was her fault.
+
+“No,” she said candidly. “No one who has known you for seven years, Mr.
+Siddle, could possibly accuse you of spreading scandal.”
+
+“Seven years! Is it so long since I came to Steynholme? Sometimes, it
+appears an age, but more often I fancy the calendar must be in error.
+Why, it seems only the other day that I saw you in a short frock,
+bowling a hoop.”
+
+“A tom-boy occupation,” laughed Doris. “But dad encouraged that and
+skipping, as the best possible means of exercise.”
+
+“He was right. Look how straight and svelte you are! Few, if any, among
+our community can have watched your progress to womanhood as closely as
+I. You see, living opposite, as I do, I kept track of you more
+intimately than your other neighbors.”
+
+Siddle was trimming his sails cleverly. The concluding sentence robbed
+his earlier comments of their sentimental import.
+
+“If we live long enough we may even see each other in the sere and
+yellow leaf,” said Doris flippantly.
+
+“I would ask no greater happiness,” came the quiet reply, and Doris
+could have bitten her tongue for according him that unguarded opening.
+Suddenly availing herself of the advice which the detective, like
+Hamlet, had given to the players, she gazed musingly at the fair
+panorama of The Hollies and its gardens, with the two young men seated
+on the lawn. By this time Minnie was staging tea, and the picture
+looked idyllic enough. Doris saw, out of the tail of her eye, that her
+companion was watching her furtively, though apparently absorbed in the
+scene. He moistened his thin lips with his tongue.
+
+“As a study in contrasts, that would be hard to beat,” he said, after a
+long pause.
+
+“Contrasts!” she echoed.
+
+“Well, yes. Even an uncontentious man like myself can hardly fail to
+compare Sunday afternoon with Tuesday morning.”
+
+“Why not Monday night?” she flashed.
+
+“Monday night, in part, remains a mystery yet to be unveiled. I blot
+Monday night from my mind. I have no alternative, being on the jury
+which has to arrive at a just verdict. Now, if Fred Elkin were here, he
+would foam at the mouth.”
+
+“Happily, Fred Elkin is _not_ here.”
+
+“Ah, I am glad, glad, to hear you say that. You don’t like him?”
+
+“I detest him.”
+
+“He makes out, to put it mildly, that you are great friends.”
+
+“You will oblige me by contradicting the statement. Or—no. One treats
+that sort of man with contempt.”
+
+“I agree with you most heartily. I’m sorry I ever mentioned him.”
+
+Yet Doris was well aware that the chemist had dragged in Elkin by the
+scruff of the neck, probably for the sake of getting him disposed of
+thoroughly and for all time. Rather on the tiptoe of expectation, she
+awaited the next move. It was slow in coming, so again she looked
+wistfully at the distant tea-drinkers. She found slight difficulty in
+carrying out this portion of the stage directions. Truth to tell, she
+would gleefully have gone and joined them.
+
+Siddle was not altogether at ease. The conversation was too spasmodic
+to suit his purpose. Though slow of speech he was nimble of brain, and,
+knowing Doris so well, he had anticipated a livelier duel of wits. In
+all likelihood, he cursed the tea-party on the lawn. He had not
+foreseen this drawback. But, being a masterful man, he tackled the
+situation boldly.
+
+“I seized the opportunity of a friendly chat with you to-day, Doris,”
+he went on, leaning over the fence to inhale the scent of a briar rose.
+“The story runs through the village that you and your father dined at
+The Hollies on Friday evening. Is that true?”
+
+Now, Doris had it on reliable authority that Siddle himself had been
+the runner who spread that story, and the knowledge steeled her heart
+against him.
+
+“Yes,” she said composedly.
+
+“It was kind and neighborly of you to accept the invitation, but a
+mistake.”
+
+She turned and faced him. His expression was baffling. She thought she
+saw in his sallow, clean-cut features the shadow of a confident smile.
+
+“You mean that this horrid murder should make some difference in the
+friendship between ourselves and Mr. Grant?” she cried.
+
+“Yes. To you, though to no one else would I speak so plainly, I have no
+hesitation in saying that Mr. Grant is far, very far, from being clear
+of responsibility in that matter. Three days from now you will
+understand what I mean. Evidence will be forthcoming which will put him
+in a most unenviable light. I am not alleging, or even hinting, that he
+may be deemed guilty of actual crime. That is for the law to determine.
+But I do tell you emphatically that his present heedless attitude will
+give place to anxiety and dejection. It cannot be otherwise. A somewhat
+sordid history will be revealed, and his pretense that relations
+between him and the dead woman ceased three years ago will vanish into
+thin air. Believe me, Doris, I am actuated by no motive in this matter
+other than a desire to further your welfare. I cannot bear even to
+think of your name being associated, in ever so small degree, with that
+of a man who must be hounded out of his own social circle, if no worse
+fate is in store for him.”
+
+“Good gracious!” cried Doris, genuinely amazed. “How do you come to
+know all this?”
+
+“I listen to the words of those qualified to speak with knowledge and
+authority. I have mixed in varied company this past week, wholly on
+your account. Don’t be led away by the mere formalities of the opening
+day of the inquest. The coroner deliberately shut off all real evidence
+except as to the cause of death. On Wednesday the situation will
+change, and you cannot fail to be shocked by what you hear, because you
+will be there.”
+
+“I am given to understand that, even if I am called, my testimony will
+be of no importance.”
+
+“Such may be the police view. Mr. Ingerman will press for a very
+different estimate.”
+
+“Has he told you that?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“So, although foreman of the jury, you have not declined to hobnob with
+a man who is avowedly Mr. Grant’s enemy?”
+
+“I would hobnob with worse people if, by so doing, I might serve you.”
+
+Grant, “fed up,” as he put it to Hart, with watching the _tête à tête_
+between Doris and the chemist, sprang to his feet and went through a
+pantomime easy enough to follow save for one or two signs. Doris held
+both hands aloft. Well knowing that anything in the nature of a
+pre-arranged code would be gall and wormwood to Siddle, she explained
+laughingly:
+
+“Mr. Grant signals that he and Mr. Hart are going for a walk; he wants
+me to accompany them. But I can’t, unfortunately. I promised dad to
+help with the accounts.”
+
+“If you really mean what you say, my warning would seem to have fallen
+on deaf ears.”
+
+Siddle’s voice was well under control, but his eyes glinted
+dangerously. His state was that of a man torn by passion who
+nevertheless felt that any display of the rage possessing him would be
+fatal to his cause.
+
+But, rather unexpectedly, Doris took fire. Siddle’s innuendoes and
+protestations were sufficiently hard to bear without the added
+knowledge that a ridiculous convention denied her the companionship of
+a man whom she loved, and who, she was beginning to believe, loved her.
+She swept round on Siddle like a wrathful goddess.
+
+“I have borne with you patiently because of the acquaintance of years,
+but I shall be glad if this tittle-tattle of malice and ignorance now
+ceases,” she said proudly. “Mr. Grant is my friend, and my father’s
+friend. In the first horror of the crime which has besmirched our dear
+little village, we both treated Mr. Grant rather badly. We know better
+to-day. Your Ingermans and your Elkins, and the rest of the busybodies
+gathered at the inn, may defame him as they choose, or as they dare. As
+for me, I am his loyal comrade, and shall remain so after next
+Wednesday, or a score of Wednesdays. I am going in now, Mr. Siddle, and
+shall be engaged during the remainder of the evening. Your shop opens
+at six, and I am sure you will find some more profitable means of
+spending the time than in telling me things I would rather not hear.”
+
+Siddle caught her arm.
+
+“Doris,” he said fiercely, “you must not leave me without, at least,
+learning my true motive. I—”
+
+The girl wrested herself free from his grip. She realized what was
+coming, and forestalled it.
+
+“I care nothing for your motive,” she cried. “You forget yourself!
+Please go!”
+
+She literally ran into the house. The chemist, unless he elected to
+behave like a love-sick fool, had no option but to follow, and make his
+way to the street by the side door.
+
+The only other happening of significance that Sunday was an unheralded
+visit by Winter to the policeman’s residence.
+
+He popped in after dusk, opening the door without knocking.
+
+“You in, Robinson?” he inquired.
+
+“Yes, sir. Will you—”
+
+“Shan’t detain you more than a minute. At the inquest you said that you
+personally untied the rope which bound Miss Melhuish’s body. Here are a
+piece of string and a newspaper. Would you mind showing me what sort of
+knot was used?”
+
+Robinson was nearly struck dumb, and his fingers fumbled badly, but he
+managed to exhibit two hitches.
+
+“Ah, thanks,” said Winter, and was off in a jiffy.
+
+From the window of a darkened room Robinson watched the erect, burly
+figure of the detective until it was merged in the mists of night.
+
+“Well, I’m—,” he exclaimed bitterly.
+
+“John, what are you swearing about?” demanded his wife from the
+kitchen.
+
+“Something I heard to-day,” answered her husband. “There was a chap of
+my name, John P. Robinson, an’ he said that down in Judee they didn’t
+know everything. And, by gum, he was right. They knew mighty little
+about London ’tecs, I’m thinking. But, hold on. Surely—”
+
+He bustled into his coat, and hastened to _The Hollies_. No, neither
+Mr. Grant nor Mr. Hart had spoken to a soul about the knot. Nor had
+Bates. Of course, Robinson did not venture to describe Winter. Finally,
+he put the incident aside as a clear case of thought-reading.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XV.
+A Matter of Heredity
+
+
+Shortly before noon on Monday occurred two events destined to assume a
+paramount importance in the affair which was wringing the withers of
+Steynholme. As in the histories of both men and nations, these first
+steps in great developments began quietly enough. For one thing,
+Furneaux returned to the village. For another, the London telegraphist,
+who expected the day to prove practically a blank, was reading a
+newspaper when the telegraph instrument clicked the local call.
+
+Doris was checking and distributing the stock of stamps which had
+arrived that morning; her father was counting mail-bags in a small
+annex to the main room, the Knoleworth office having acquired a habit
+of making up shortages by docking the country branches. No member of
+the public happened to be present. The girl could have heard what the
+Morse code was tapping forth had she chosen, but she had trained
+herself to disregard the telegraph when occupied on other work.
+
+Suddenly, however, the telegraphist’s pencil paused.
+
+“Hello!” he said. “Theodore Siddle! That’s the chemist opposite, isn’t
+it!”
+
+“Yes,” said Doris, suspending her calculations at mention of the name.
+
+“Well, his mother’s dead.”
+
+“Dead?” she echoed vacantly. Somehow, it had never hitherto dawned on
+her that the chemist might possess relatives in some part of the
+country.
+
+“That’s what it says,” went on the other.
+
+_“‘Regret inform you your mother died this morning. Superintendent,
+Horton Asylum.’”_
+
+
+“In an asylum, too,” said the girl, speaking at random.
+
+“Yes. Horton is the place for epileptic lunatics, near Epsom, you
+know.”
+
+“I didn’t know. Does it mean that—that she was an epileptic lunatic?”
+
+“So I should imagine, from the wording. If a nurse, or a matron, they’d
+surely describe her as such.”
+
+“I suppose we ought not to discuss Mr. Siddle’s telegram,” said Doris,
+after a pause.
+
+“Well, no. But where’s the harm? I wouldn’t have yelled out the news if
+we three weren’t alone. Where’s that boy?”
+
+“Gone to his dinner. Father will take it. By the way, say nothing to
+him as to the contents. Would you mind calling him?”
+
+Doris hurried swiftly to the sitting-room, and thence upstairs. The
+telegraphist explained the absence of a messenger, so Mr. Martin
+delivered the telegram in person.
+
+Crossing the street, he detected a dead bee. He picked it up, horrified
+at the thought that the Isle of Wight disease might have reached
+Sussex. So it was an absent-minded postmaster who handed the telegram
+over Siddle’s counter, inquiring laconically:
+
+“Is there any answer?”
+
+Siddle opened the buff envelope, and read. He glanced sharply at
+Martin.
+
+“No,” he said. “What’s wrong with that bee?”
+
+“I don’t know. I have my doubts. When I have a moment to spare I’ll put
+it under the microscope.”
+
+Siddle examined the telegram again. The handwriting was that beloved of
+Civil Service Commissioners. Unquestionably, it was not Doris’s. No
+sooner had his friend gone off, still intent on the dead insect, than
+Siddle followed. He knew that the bee would undergo scientific scrutiny
+at once, so gave Martin just enough time to dive into the sitting-room
+before entering the post office.
+
+“Did you receive this telegram a few minutes ago!” he inquired.
+
+The young man became severely official.
+
+“Which telegram?” he said stiffly.
+
+“This one,” and Siddle gave him the written message.
+
+“Yes,” was the answer.
+
+“Excuse me, but—er—are its contents known to you only?”
+
+“What do you mean, sir? It would cost me my berth if I divulged a word
+of it to anyone.”
+
+“I’m sorry. Pray don’t take offense. I—I’m anxious that my friends, Mr.
+and Miss Martin, should not hear of it. That is what I really have in
+mind.”
+
+The telegraphist cooled down.
+
+“You may be quite sure that neither they nor any other person in
+Steynholme will ever see the duplicate,” he said confidentially. “I
+make up a package containing duplicates each evening, and it is sent to
+headquarters. If it will please you, I’ll lock the copy now in my
+desk.”
+
+“That is exceedingly good of you,” said Siddle gratefully. “You, as a
+Londoner, will understand that such a telegram from—er—Horton is not
+the sort of thing one would like to become known even in the most
+limited circle.”
+
+“You can depend on me, sir.”
+
+Siddle hastened back to his shop. The telegraphist looked after him.
+
+“Queer!” he mused. “Miss Doris guessed him at once. Phi-ew, I must be
+careful! This village contains surprises.”
+
+Doris, watching from an upper room, saw the visitor, and timed him. She
+imagined he had dispatched an answer. Being a woman, she sought
+enlightenment a few minutes later.
+
+“Mr. Siddle came in,” she said tentatively.
+
+“Yes,” said the specialist, smiling. “And I agree with you, Miss
+Martin. We mustn’t talk about telegrams, even among ourselves, unless
+it is necessary departmentally.”
+
+Doris was silenced, but she read the riddle correctly. The chemist was
+particularly anxious that no Steynholme resident should be made aware
+of his mother’s death. She wondered why.
+
+She was enlightened when Furneaux paid a call about tea-time. She took
+him into the garden. The lawn at _The Hollies_ was empty.
+
+“Well, you entertained an acquaintance yesterday?” he began.
+
+“Yes. Am I to tell you what happened?”
+
+“Not a great deal, I imagine,” he said, with a puzzling laugh.
+
+“No, but I annoyed him, as Mr.——”
+
+“No names!” broke in the detective hastily. “Names, especially modern
+ones, destroy romance. Even the Georgian method of using initials, or
+leaving out vowels, lend an air of intrigue to the veriest balderdash.”
+
+“But no one can overhear us,” was the somewhat surprised comment.
+
+“How true!” said Furneaux. “Pardon me, Miss Martin. Tell the story in
+your own way.”
+
+Doris had a good memory. She was invariably letter-perfect in a play
+after a couple of rehearsals, and could prompt others if they faltered.
+The detective listened in silence while she repeated the conversation
+between Siddle and herself. He took no notes. In fact, he hardly ever
+did make any record in a case unless it was essential to prove the
+exact words of a suspected person.
+
+“Good!” he said, when she had finished. “That sounds like the complete
+text.”
+
+“I don’t think I have left out anything of importance—that is, if a
+single word of it _is_ important.”
+
+“Oh, heaps,” he assured her. “It’s even better than I dared hope. Can
+you tell me if Siddle’s mother is dead yet?”
+
+The question found Doris so thoroughly unprepared that she blurted out:
+
+“Have you had a telegram, too, then?”
+
+“No. But Siddle has had one, eh? Don’t be vexed. I’m not tricking you
+into revealing post office secrets. I knew she was dying, and, when I
+saw your father take a message to the chemist’s shop I simply made an
+accurate guess.... Now, I’m going to scare you, purposely and of malice
+aforethought, because I want you to be a good little girl, and obey
+orders. Mrs. Siddle, senior, now happily deceased, was an epileptic
+lunatic of a peculiarly dangerous type. She suffered from what is
+classed by the doctors as _furor epilepticus_, a form of spasmodic
+insanity not inconsistent with a high degree of bodily vigor and long
+periods of apparently complete mental saneness. Now, if I were not
+speaking to one who has shared her father’s studies in bee-life, I
+would not introduce the subject of heredity. But _you_ know, Miss
+Martin, that such racial characteristics are transmitted, or
+transmissible, I should say, by sex opposites. Thus, an epileptic
+mother is more likely to give her taint to a son than to a daughter....
+Yes, I mean all that, and more,” he went on, seeing the look of horror,
+not unmixed with fear, in Doris’s eyes. “There must be no more
+irritating of Siddle, or playing on his feelings—by you, at any rate.
+Treat him gently. If he insists on making love to you, be as firm as
+you like in a non-committal way. I mean, by that, an entire absence on
+your part of any suggestion that you are repulsing him because of a
+real or supposed preference for any other man.”
+
+“Do you want me to believe that he is liable to attack me?” demanded
+the girl, her naturally courageous spirit coming to her aid.
+
+“I do,” said Furneaux, speaking with marked earnestness.
+
+“Yet you ask me to endure his company if he chooses to force himself on
+me?”
+
+“For a few days.”
+
+“But it may be a few years?”
+
+“No. That is not to be thought of. Leave it to me to devise a way.
+Besides, you need not allow him so many opportunities that the strain
+would become unbearable. You are busy, owing to the certain increase of
+work brought about by this murder. Your time will be greatly occupied.
+But, don’t render him morbidly suspicious. For instance, no more
+dinners at _The Hollies_. No more gadding about by night, if you hear
+weird noises on the other side of the river. And you must absolutely
+deny yourself the pleasurable excitement of Mr. Grant’s company.”
+
+“You are carrying a warning to its extreme limit.”
+
+“Exactly.”
+
+“And am I to keep this knowledge to myself?”
+
+“In whom would you confide?”
+
+“My father, of course.”
+
+“I know you better,” and the detective’s voice took on a profoundly
+serious note. “Your father would never admit that what he knows to be
+true of bees is equally true of humanity. You can trust the police to
+keep a pretty sharp eye on Siddle, of course, but the present is a
+strenuous period, both for us and for people with maniacal tendencies,
+so accidents may happen.”
+
+“You have distressed me immeasurably,” said the girl, striving to
+pierce the mask of that inscrutable face.
+
+“I meant to,” answered Furneaux quietly. “No half measures for me. I’ve
+looked up the asylum record of Mrs. Siddle, senior, and it’s not nice
+reading.”
+
+“There was a Mrs. Siddle, junior, then?”
+
+“A Mrs. Theodore Siddle, if one adopts the conventional usage. Yes. She
+died last month.”
+
+“Last month!” gasped Doris, feeling vaguely that she was moving in a
+maze of deceit and subterfuge.
+
+“On May 25th, to be precise. She lived apart from her husband. I have
+reason to believe she feared him.”
+
+“Yet—”
+
+She hesitated, hardly able to put her jumbled thoughts into words.
+
+“Yes. That’s so,” said the detective instantly. “Never mind. It’s a
+fairly decent world, taken _en bloc_. I ought to speak with authority.
+I see enough of the seamy side of it, goodness knows. Now, forewarned
+is forearmed. Don’t be nervous. Don’t take risks. Everything will come
+right in time. Remember, I’m not far away in an emergency. Should I
+chance to be absent if you need advice, send for Mr. Franklin. You can
+easily devise some official excuse, a mislaid letter, or an error in a
+telegram.”
+
+“I think I shall feel confident if both of you are near,” and the ghost
+of a smile lit Doris’s wan features.
+
+“We’re a marvelous combination,” grinned Furneaux, reverting at once to
+his normal impishness. “I am all brain; he is all muscle. Such an
+alliance prevails against the ungodly.”
+
+“Is Mr. Grant in any danger?” inquired Doris suddenly.
+
+“No.”
+
+The two looked into each other’s eyes. Doris was eager to ask a
+question, which Furneaux dared her to put. The detective won. She
+sighed.
+
+“Very well,” she said. “I’m to behave. Am I to regard myself as a decoy
+duck?”
+
+“A duck, anyhow.”
+
+She laughed lightly. Furneaux would vouchsafe no further information,
+it would appear. For a girl of nineteen, Doris was uncommonly gifted
+with clear, analytical reasoning powers.
+
+The detective returned to the Hare and Hounds, and went upstairs. He
+met Peters on the landing.
+
+“The devil!” he cried.
+
+“My _dear_ pal!” retorted the journalist.
+
+“Are you living here?”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Why not, indeed? Where the eagles are there is the carcase.”
+
+“Your misquotation is offensive.”
+
+“It was so intended.”
+
+“Come and have a drink.”
+
+“No.”
+
+“I say ‘yes.’ You’ll thank me on your bended knees afterwards. The
+South American gent is having the time of his life. I’ve just been to
+my room for _Whitaker’s Almanack_, wherewith a certain Don Walter Hart
+purposes flooring him.”
+
+Wally Hart had, indeed, succeeded in running to earth the Argentine
+magnate, and was giving Winter a most uncomfortable quarter of an hour.
+
+“Ha!” shouted Hart, when Furneaux came in with Peters. “Here’s the
+pocket marvel who’ll answer any question straight off. What is the
+staple export of the Argentine!”
+
+“How often have you been there?” demanded the detective dryly.
+
+“Six times.”
+
+“And you’ve lived there?” This to Winter.
+
+“Yes,” glowered the big man, fearing the worst.
+
+“Then the answer is ‘fools,’” cackled Furneaux.
+
+Wally laughed. He had remembered, just in time, that he had no right to
+claim acquaintance with the representative of Scotland Yard, and there
+were some farmers present, each of whom had a “likely animal” to offer
+the buyer of blood stock.
+
+“Gad, I think you’re right,” he said.
+
+“You wanted me to say ‘sheep,’ I suppose?”
+
+“Got it, at once.”
+
+“As though one valuable horse wasn’t worth a thousand sheep.”
+
+“Just what my friend, Don Manoel Alcorta, of Los Andes ranch,
+Catamarca, always held,” put in Winter, drawing the bow at a venture.
+
+Hart cocked an eye at him.
+
+“Sir,” he said, “I would take off my hat, if I wore one in Steynholme,
+to any man who claims the friendship of Don Manoel Alcorta, a sincere
+patriot. I suggest that we crack a bottle to his immortal memory.”
+
+“My doctor forbids me to touch wine,” said Winter mournfully.
+
+“But these bucolic breeders of browns and bays employ wiser medicos,
+I’ll go bail. Landlord, a quart of the best, and six out, as they say
+in London.”
+
+Six glasses were duly filled with champagne. When it was consumed, Hart
+buttonholed Peters.
+
+“A word with you, scribe,” he said. “Good-day, gentlemen. I leave you
+to your nags. Treat Mr. Franklin fairly. The friend of Don Manoel
+Alcorta must be a true man.”
+
+Winter heaved a sigh of relief when the professional revolutionist had
+vanished.
+
+“He’s a funny ’un,” commented one of the farmers.
+
+“A bit touched, I reckon,” said another. “Wot’s ’e doin’ now to the
+other one?”
+
+They looked through the window. The two were standing in the middle of
+the road, and Wally was shaking Peters violently. The argument was not
+so fierce as it appeared to be. Peters had been commanded to bring both
+detectives to dinner that evening; when he demurred, trying to hedge on
+the question of Winter’s identity, Hart grabbed him by the shoulder.
+
+“Do as I tell you,” he hissed. “Of course, I know now that the big
+fellow is the man Grant heard of a week ago. I was an idiot to take him
+seriously about the Argentine. Bring the pair of ’em, I tell you. We’ll
+make a night of it.”
+
+“I’ll try,” said Peters faintly, “but if you stir up that wine so
+vigorously I won’t answer for the consequences.”
+
+Winter, wishing devoutly that would-be sellers of horseflesh were not
+so numerous in the district, noted the names and addresses of the local
+men, and promised to write when he could make an appointment. Then he
+escaped upstairs, whither Furneaux soon followed. Winter had secured an
+extra bedroom, overlooking the river, which Tomlin had converted into a
+sitting-room. Thus, he held a secure observation post both in front and
+rear of the hotel.
+
+“Well, how did she take it?” inquired the Chief Inspector, when he and
+his colleague were safe behind a closed door.
+
+“Sensible girl,” said Furneaux. “By the way, Siddle’s mother is dead.
+Telegram came this morning. Things should happen now.”
+
+“I don’t quite see why.”
+
+“No. You’re still muddled after floundering in the mud of South
+America. What possessed you to let that cheerful idiot, Wally Hart, put
+you in the cart?”
+
+“How could I help it? I was extracting some really helpful facts about
+Siddle and Elkin from Tomlin and the others when a shock-headed
+whirlwind blew in, and nearly embraced me because I claimed
+acquaintance with the El Dorado bar in Buenos Ayres. From that instant
+I was lost. Like St. Augustine on the gridiron, no sooner was I nicely
+toasted on one side than I was turned on to the other. That grinning
+penny-a-liner, Peters, too, helped as assistant torturer. Wait till he
+asks me for a ‘pointer’ in this or any other case. He sold me a pup
+to-day, but I’ll land him with a full-sized mastiff.”
+
+“No, you won’t. He’s done you a lot of good. You were simply reeking
+with conceit when I met you this morning. It was ‘Siddle this’ and
+‘Siddle that’ until you fairly sickened me. One would have thought I
+hadn’t cleared the ground for you, left you with all lines open and
+yourself unknown to the enemy. Sometimes, you make me tired.”
+
+“Sorry, Charles,” said Winter patronizingly. “I had a bit of luck on
+Sunday, I admit. The chance turn taken by the conversation with Doris,
+with the result that I was able to occupy a strategic position on the
+cliff, and hear every word Siddle uttered, was really fortunate. But,
+isn’t that just what men mean when they prate of success? Opportunity
+knocks once at every man’s door, says the old saw. The clever man grabs
+hold instantly. The indolent one, often a mere gabbler, opens his eyes
+and his mouth weeks afterwards, and cries, ‘Dear me! Was that the
+much-looked-for opportunity?’ Of course, Robinson’s by-play with the
+sack and rope was merely thrown in by the prodigal hand of Fate.”
+
+“Stop!” yelped Furneaux. “Another platitude, and I’ll assault you with
+the tongs!”
+
+It was the invariable habit of the Big ’Un and Little ’Un to quarrel
+like cat and dog when the toils were closing in around a suspect. Woe,
+then, to the malefactor! His was a parlous state.
+
+“Let’s cool down, Charles!” said Winter, opening a leather case, and
+selecting, with great care, one out of half a dozen precisely similar
+cigars. “We’re pretty sure of our man, but we haven’t a scrap of
+evidence against him. How, or where, to begin ringing him in I haven’t
+the faintest notion. If only he’d kill Grant we’d get him at once.”
+
+“But he won’t. He trusts to Ingerman playing that part of the game.
+He’s as artful as a pet fox. I bought soap, and a pound of sal
+volatile, but he did up each parcel with sealing-wax.”
+
+“Sal volatile!” smiled Winter. “I, too, went in for soap, but my
+imagination would not soar beyond a packet of cotton-wool. It was the
+lumpiest thing I could think of.”
+
+“And perfectly useless!” sneered Furneaux. “I must say you do fling the
+taxpayers’ money about. Now, _my_ little lot will keep the electric
+bells in my flat in order for two years.”
+
+“You forget that constant association with you demands that I should
+frequently plug my two ears,” retorted Winter.
+
+Furneaux would surely have thrown back the jest had not a knock on the
+door interrupted him.
+
+“Who’s there? I’m busy,” cried Winter.
+
+“Me-ow!” whined Peters’s voice.
+
+“Oh, it’s you, Tom. Come in!”
+
+The journalist crept in on tiptoe.
+
+“Hush! We are not observed,” he said. “Wally Hart threatens to choke me
+if you two don’t dine with him and Grant to-night.”
+
+There was silence for a little while. The detectives looked at each
+other.
+
+“At what time?” said Winter, at last.
+
+Peters was astonished, and showed it.
+
+“Why, I assured him it was absolutely imposs.,” he cried.
+
+“Well, it isn’t. In fact, it suits our plans. I want exercise, and
+shall walk back from Knoleworth. Furneaux will make his own
+arrangements. Tell Grant that I shall drop in without knocking.”
+
+“And tell him I shall arrive by parachute,” added Furneaux.
+
+“In case of accidents, and there is a shoot-up, with myself as the
+unresisting victim, my front name is James,” said Peters.
+
+“The only good point about you,” scoffed Winter.
+
+“You’re strong on names to-day,” tittered the journalist. “Don Manoel
+Alcorta was a superb effort as an authority on gee-gees. Wally tells me
+his donship is the recognized expert south of the line on seismic
+disturbances, and spends his days and nights watching a needle making
+scratches on a sensitive plate.”
+
+“He would be useful here in a day or two,” said Winter.
+
+“Ah, thanks! Is that a tip?”
+
+“Not for publication. What you must say is that this affair looks like
+baffling the shrewdest wits in Scotland Yard.”
+
+“My very phrase—my own ewe lamb. Pardon. I shouldn’t have alluded to
+sheep.”
+
+“The only known representative of the Yard in Steynholme is Furneaux,”
+smiled the Chief Inspector.
+
+Furneaux was drumming on a window-pane with his finger-tips.
+
+“True,” he cackled. “Just to prove it, he now informs you that Siddle,
+finding trade slow, has called on Mr. John Menzies Grant!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVI.
+Furneaux Makes a Successful Bid
+
+
+The lawn front of _The Hollies_ was not visible from the upper story of
+the Hare and Hounds owing to a clump of pines which had found foothold
+on the cliff, but, through the gap formed by the end of the post office
+garden, the entrance to the house from the Knoleworth road was
+discernible.
+
+Furneaux’s dramatic announcement brought the other two to the window.
+By this time Peters, gifted with a nose for news like a well-trained
+setter’s for partridges, had begun to associate the quiet-mannered,
+gentle-spoken chemist with the inner circle of the crime, so waited and
+watched with the detectives for Siddle’s reappearance.
+
+At any rate the visitor must have been admitted, because a long quarter
+of an hour elapsed before he came in sight again. He walked out slowly
+into the roadway, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and
+glanced to right and left. Then, turning abruptly, he stared at the
+dwelling he had just quitted. What this slight but peculiar action
+signified was not hard to guess. Furneaux, indeed, put it into words.
+
+“Having warned Grant off Miss Doris Martin, and been cursed for his
+pains, the foreman of the jury does not trouble to await further
+evidence, but arrives at a true and lawful verdict straight off,”
+announced the little man.
+
+“We ought to hear things to-night,” said Peters.
+
+“We?” inquired Winter.
+
+“Yes. Didn’t I make it clear that I shared in the dinner invitation?”
+
+“No, and I’m—”
+
+“Don’t say it!” pleaded the journalist. “If I fell from grace to-day,
+remember my unswerving loyalty since the hour we met on the platform at
+Knoleworth! Haven’t I kept close as an oyster? And would any
+consideration on earth move me to publish an accurate and entertaining
+account of the roasting of Chief Inspector Winter by Wally Hart? Think
+what I’m sacrificing—a column of the best.”
+
+Winter bent a weighing look on the speaker. There was treason in the
+thought, as King James remarked to the barber who tried to prove his
+loyalty by pointing out how easily he might cut his majesty’s throat
+any morning. But Peters maintained the expression of a sphinx, and the
+big man relaxed.
+
+“The conditions are that not a word about this business appears in
+print, either now or in the future until we have a criminal in the
+dock,” he said.
+
+“Accepted,” said Peters.
+
+Furneaux laughed shrilly, even derisively, but him his colleague
+treated with majestic disdain. Then, the chemist having reentered the
+village, the group broke up, Peters to search his brains for “copy”
+which should be readable yet contain no hint of the new trail, Winter
+to take train to Knoleworth, and Furneaux to tackle Fred Elkin, who, he
+had ascertained earlier, would drive home from a neighboring hamlet
+about five o’clock.
+
+Elkin had returned when the detective reached the house, a somewhat
+pretentious place, half farm, half villa, and altogether horsey. The
+entrance hall bristled with fox masks and brushes. A useful collection
+of burnished bits and snaffles hung on a side wall. A couple of stuffed
+badgers held two wicker stands for sticks and umbrellas, and whips and
+hunting-crops were ranged on hooks beneath a 12-bore and a rook rifle.
+
+A pert maid-servant took Furneaux’s card, blanched when she read it,
+and forgot to close the door of the dining-room. Hence, the detective
+heard Elkin’s gruff comments:
+
+“What? _That_ chap? Wants to see me? Not more than I want to see him.
+Show him in.”
+
+Furneaux, looking very meek and mild, entered an apartment of the
+carpet-bag upholstery period. A set of six exceedingly good and rare
+sporting prints caught his eye.
+
+“Good day,” he said, finding Elkin drinking tea, and eating a boiled
+egg. “You’re feeling better, I’m glad to see.”
+
+Now, no matter how ungracious a man may be, a courteous solicitude as
+to his health demands a certain note of civility in return.
+
+“Yes,” he said. “Sit down. Will you join me?”
+
+“I’ll have a cup of tea, with pleasure,” said Furneaux.
+
+“Right-o! Just touch that bell, will you?”
+
+The other obeyed, and took a closer look at one of the prints. Yes, the
+date was right, 1841, and the stippling admirable.
+
+“Nice lot of pictures, those,” he said cheerfully, when the frightened
+maid, much to her relief, had been told to bring another cup and a
+fresh supply of toast.
+
+“Are they?” Elkin had taken them and some kitchen furniture for a bad
+debt.
+
+“Yes. Will you sell them?”
+
+“Well, I haven’t thought about it. What’ll you give?”
+
+Furneaux hesitated.
+
+“I can’t resist anything in the art line that takes my fancy,” he said,
+after a pause of indecision. “What do you say to ten bob each?”
+
+Elkin valued the lot at that figure, but Furneaux was a fool, and
+should be treated as such.
+
+“Oh, come now!” he cried roguishly. “They’re worth more than that.”
+
+Furneaux reflected again.
+
+“Three pounds is a good deal for six prints,” he murmured, “but, to get
+it off my mind, I’ll spring to guineas.”
+
+“Make it three-ten and they’re yours.”
+
+“Three guineas is my absolute limit,” said Furneaux.
+
+“Done!” cried Elkin. The original debt was under two pounds, so he had
+cleared more than fifty per cent. on the transaction, and was plus a
+number of chairs and a table.
+
+Furneaux counted out the money, wrote a receipt on a leaf torn from his
+pocket-book, and stamped it.
+
+“Sign that,” he said, “pocket the cash, send the set to the Hare and
+Hounds for me in a dog-cart now, and the deal is through.”
+
+Leaving the table, he went and lifted down each picture carefully.
+Somewhat wonderingly, Elkin rang the bell once more, gave the necessary
+instructions, and the room was cleared of its art. He was quite sure
+now that Furneaux was, as he put it, “dotty.” The latter, however, sat
+and enjoyed his tea as though well pleased with his bargain.
+
+“And how are things going in the murder at _The Hollies_?” inquired the
+horse-dealer, by way of a polite leading up to the visitor’s
+unexplained business.
+
+“Fairly well,” said the detective. “My chief difficulty was to convince
+certain important people that you didn’t kill Miss Melhuish. Once I—”
+
+“Me!” roared Elkin, his pale blue eyes assuming a fiery tint. “_Me!_”
+
+“Once I established that fact,” went on the other severely, “a real
+stumbling-block was removed. You see, Elkin, you have behaved
+throughout like a perfect fool, and thus lent a sort of credibility to
+an otherwise absurd notion. Your furious hatred of Mr. Grant, for
+instance, born of an equally fatuous—or, shall I say? fat-headed—belief
+that Miss Martin would marry you for the mere asking, led you into deep
+waters. It was a mistake, too, when you lied to P. C.  Robinson as to
+the time you came home on that Monday night. You told him you walked
+straight here from the Hare and Hounds at ten o’clock. You know you
+didn’t—that it was nearer half past eleven when you reached this house.
+Consider what that discrepancy alone might have meant if Scotland Yard
+failed to take your measure correctly. Then add the fact that the
+murderer wore the hat, wig, and whiskers in which you made a guy of
+yourself while filling the rôle of Svengali last winter. Now, I ask
+you, Elkin, where would you have stood with the average British jury
+when the prosecution established those three things: Motive, your
+jealousy of Grant; time, your unaccounted-for disappearance during the
+hour when the crime was committed; and disguise, a clumsy suggestion of
+Owd Ben’s ghost? Really, I have known men brought to the scaffold on
+circumstantial evidence little stronger than that. Instead of glaring
+at me like a cornered rat you ought to drop on your knees and thank
+providence, as manifested through the intelligence of the ‘Yard,’ that
+you are not now in a cell at Knoleworth, ruminating on your own
+stupidity, and in no small jeopardy of your life.”
+
+Many emotions chased each other across Fred Elkin’s somewhat mean and
+cruel face while Furneaux rated him in this extraordinary manner.
+Surprise, wrath, even fear, had their phases. But, dominating all other
+sensations, was an overpowering indignation at the implied hopelessness
+of his pursuit of Doris Martin.
+
+He literally howled an oath at his torturer. Furneaux was shocked.
+
+“No, no,” he protested in a horrified tone. “Don’t swear at your best
+friend.”
+
+“Friend! By—, I’ll make you pay for what you’ve said. There’s a law to
+stop that sort of thing.”
+
+“But the law requires witnesses. A slander isn’t a slander unless it’s
+uttered to your detriment before a third party. How different would be
+Mr. Grant’s action against you! Your well-wishers simply couldn’t
+muzzle you. Whether before your pot-house cronies or mere strangers,
+you charged him openly with being a murderer. I’m sorry for you, Elkin,
+if ever you come before a judge. He’ll rattle more than my three
+guineas out of you. Even now, you don’t grasp the extent of your folly.
+Instead of telling me how you spent that hour and a half on the night
+of the crime you have the incredible audacity to threaten me, _me_, the
+man who has saved you from jail. One more word, you miserable swab, and
+I’ll let Robinson arrest you. You’ll be set free, of course, when I
+stage the actual villain, but a few remands of a week each in custody
+will thin your hot blood. You were with Peggy Smith after leaving the
+Hare and Hounds, making a fool of an honest girl who thinks you mean to
+wed her. Yet you blather about being ‘practically engaged’ to Doris
+Martin, a girl who wouldn’t let you tie her shoe-lace. You’re an
+impudent pup, Fred, and you know it. But you stock decent tea, so I’ll
+take another cup. If you’re wise, you’ll take a second one yourself.
+It’s better for you than whiskey.”
+
+Elkin, despite all his faults, was endowed with the shrewdness
+inseparable from his business, because no man devoid of brains ever yet
+throve as a horse-dealer. He smothered his rage, thinking he might
+learn more from this strange-mannered detective by seeming
+complaisance.
+
+“You’re a bit rough on a fellow,” he growled sulkily, pouring out the
+tea.
+
+“For your good, my boy, solely for your good. Now, own up about Peggy.”
+
+“Yes. That’s right. She’d prove an alibi, so your tom-fool case breaks
+down when the flag falls.”
+
+“Does it? A girl may say anything to save her supposed lover. How will
+the twelve good men and true view Doris Martin’s evidence on Wednesday?
+What did _you_ mean, for instance, by your question to the coroner at
+the first hearing?”
+
+“I thought Grant was guilty, and I think so still,” came the savage
+retort.
+
+“A nice juryman you are, I must say! May I trouble you to pass the
+sugar?”
+
+“Look here! What are you gettin’ at? Damme if I can see through your
+game. What is it?”
+
+“I didn’t want to worry poor Peggy. And her father might set about you
+if he knew the facts, so I’m probably saving you a hiding as well as a
+period in jail. The only reliable witness we had as to events in
+Tomlin’s place was a commercial traveler, and he is positive that the
+house closed at ten o’clock. However, that’s all right. How do you
+account for the marvelous improvement in your health? Dr. Foxton cannot
+understand your illness. He says you are wiry, and have a strong
+constitution.”
+
+“Dr. Foxton jolly near knocked me up,” said Elkin. “I took his medicine
+till I was sick as a cat.”
+
+“But you took spirits, too.”
+
+“That’s nothing fresh. Anyhow, I’ve dropped both, and am picking up
+every hour.”
+
+“Since when?”
+
+“Since yesterday morning, if you want to know.”
+
+“I do. I’m most interested. Dr. Foxton doesn’t compound his own
+prescriptions, does he?”
+
+“No. I get ’em made up at Siddle’s.”
+
+“Ah. These country chemists often keep drugs in stock till they
+deteriorate, or even set up chemical changes. Have you the bottles?”
+
+“Yes. But what the—”
+
+“Anything left in them?”
+
+“The last two are half full. Still—”
+
+“What a cross-grained chap you are? I buy your pictures, drink your
+tea, rescue you from a positively dangerous position, warn you against
+carrying any farther a most serious libel, yet you won’t let me help
+you in a matter affecting your health!”
+
+“Help me? How?”
+
+“Even you, I suppose, realize that Scotland Yard employs skilled
+analysts. Give me your bottles, in strict confidence, of course, and
+I’ll tell you what they really contain. Then you can compare the
+analyses with the doctor’s prescriptions. The knowledge should be
+useful, to say the least. Siddle’s reputation needn’t suffer, but,
+unless I am greatly mistaken, you will have the whip hand of him in
+future.”
+
+The prospect was alluring. Elkin would enjoy showing up the chemist,
+who had treated him rather as a precocious infant of late.
+
+“By jing!” he cried, “I’m on that. Bet you a quid—But, no. You’d hardly
+lay against your own opinion. Just wait a tick. I’ll bring ’em.”
+
+Furneaux stared fixedly at the table while his host was absent. His
+conscience was not pricking him with regard to an unmerited slur on the
+country chemists of Great Britain. All is fair in love and the
+detection of crime, and he simply had to get hold of those bottles by
+some daring yet plausible ruse.
+
+“Now—I wonder!” he muttered, as Elkin’s step sounded on the stairs.
+
+“There you are!” grinned the horse-dealer. “Take a dose of the last
+one. It’ll stir your liver to some tune.”
+
+Furneaux drew the corks out of both bottles, and sniffed the contents.
+Then he tasted, with much tongue-smacking.
+
+“Um!” he said. “Stale laudanum, for a start. I expected as much. Bought
+by the gallon and sold by the drop. Is that the dogcart with my
+pictures?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Hail your man. He can give me a lift.”
+
+“But there’s lots of things I want to ask you—”
+
+“Probably. I’m here to put questions, not to give information. I’ve
+gone a long way beyond the official tether already. If you’ve a grain
+of sense, and I think you’re not altogether lacking in that respect,
+you’ll keep a close tongue, and act on the tips thrown out. You’ll find
+pearls of price among the rubbish-heap of my remarks generally.
+Good-by. See you on Wednesday.”
+
+And Furneaux climbed into the cart, holding the pictures so that they
+would not rattle, and perhaps loosen the old gilded frames.
+
+“Drive me to the chemist’s” he said to the groom; within five minutes,
+he was explaining his purchase to Siddle, and requesting, as a favor,
+that the latter should wrap the set of prints in brown paper, making
+two parcels, and tying each securely, so that they might be dispatched
+by train.
+
+Siddle examined one, the first of the series, which depicted the
+Aylesbury Steeplechase.
+
+“Rather good,” he said. “Where did you pick them up?”
+
+“At Elkin’s.”
+
+“Indeed. What an unexpected place!”
+
+“That’s the only way a poor man can get hold of a decent thing
+nowadays. The dealers grab everything, and sell them as collections.”
+
+“Art is not in my line, though anyone can see that these are
+excellent.”
+
+“Yes. But you’re looking at ‘The Start.’ Have a peep at this one, ‘The
+Finish.’ The artist _would_ have his joke. You see that the dark horse
+wins.”
+
+“How did you persuade Elkin to part with them?”
+
+“By paying him a tempting price, of course. I’m a weak-minded ass in
+such matters.”
+
+The chemist busied himself to oblige the detective, wrapping and tying
+the packages neatly. Furneaux insisted on paying sixpence for the
+paper, string, and labor. There was quite a friendly argument, but he
+carried his point.
+
+The dog-cart then brought him to the station, where he tipped and
+dismissed the man; a little later, he caught a London-bound train.
+
+At half past seven precisely, Winter turned in through the
+Knoleworth-side gate of _The Hollies_ (there were two, the approach to
+the house being semi-circular) and pushed the door open, as it was
+standing ajar.
+
+Grant was waiting in the hall, and greeted him pleasantly.
+
+“Here’s a telegram which is meant for you, I fancy,” he said.
+
+Winter read:
+
+
+_“Sorry to spoil your party. Compelled to travel to London. Returning
+early to-morrow. F.”_
+
+
+“That’s pretty Fanny’s way,” smiled the Chief Inspector. “But there’s
+something in the wind, or he would never have hurried off in this
+fashion. He tells me that the only pleasant evening he spent in
+Steynholme was under your roof, Mr. Grant.”
+
+“Come along in, Don Jaime!” drawled Hart’s voice from the “den,” which
+had been cleared of its litter, the lawn being deemed somewhat
+unsuitable for the purposes of a drawing-room on that occasion. It was
+overlooked from too many quarters.
+
+“Ah, we meet now under less uneven conditions, Mr. Hart,” said Winter.
+“Do you know that Enrico Suarez is in London?”
+
+Hart, startled for once in his life, gazed at the detective fixedly.
+
+“Since when?” he cried.
+
+“He crossed from Lisbon last week.”
+
+Hart took a revolver from his hip pocket, and opened it, apparently
+making sure that it was properly loaded.
+
+“What’s the law in England?” he inquired. “Can I shoot first, or must I
+wait till the other fellow has had a pop?”
+
+Winter laughed.
+
+“It’s all right,” he said. “Suarez is in Holloway, awaiting
+extradition. But I owed you one for the rise you took out of me
+to-day.”
+
+A bell sounded, and Peters came in. He glanced around.
+
+“Where’s Furneaux?” he demanded.
+
+“Gone to London. Why this keen interest?” said Winter.
+
+“There’s something up. Elkin dropped in at the Hare and Hounds. He was
+simply bursting with curiosity, and had to talk to somebody. So he
+chose me.”
+
+“He would,” was the dry comment.
+
+“Fact, ’pon me honor. I didn’t lead him on an inch. It seems that
+Furneaux bought some prints which caught his eye in Elkin’s house, and
+Tomlin says that that hexplains hit.”
+
+“Explains what?”
+
+“Furneaux’s visit to Siddle, and certain bulky parcels brought in and
+brought out again.”
+
+“Queer little duck, Furneaux,” said Hart. “Now that my mind is at ease
+about the immediate future of the biggest rascal in Venezuela I can
+take an active part in Steynholme affairs once more. When it’s all
+through I’ll make a novel of it, dashed if I don’t, with the
+postmaster’s daughter in the three-color process as a frontispiece.”
+
+“But who will be the villain?” said Peters.
+
+Hart waved the negro-head pipe at the other three.
+
+“Draw lots. I am indifferent,” he said.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVII.
+An Official Housebreaker
+
+
+No word bearing on the main topic in these men’s minds was said during
+dinner. Grant was attentive to his guests, but markedly silent, almost
+distrait. Two such talkers as Hart and Peters, however, covered any
+gaps in this respect. Cigars and pipes were in evidence, and, horrible
+though it may sound in the ears of a _gourmet_, the port was
+circulating, when Winter turned and gazed at the small window.
+
+“Is that where the ghost appears!” he inquired.
+
+“Yes,” said Grant. “You know the whole story, of course?”
+
+“Furneaux misses nothing, I assure you.”
+
+“He missed a daylight apparition this afternoon, at any rate. I have no
+secrets from my friends, so I may as well tell you—”
+
+“That Siddle called, and implored you to consider Doris Martin’s future
+by avoiding her at present,” put in the Chief Inspector.
+
+Such shocks were losing some of their effect, on the principle that a
+man hears the burst of the thousandth high-explosive shell with a good
+deal less trepidation than attended the efforts of the first dozen.
+Still, Grant gazed at the speaker in profound astonishment.
+
+“You Scotland Yard men seem to know everything,” he said.
+
+“A mere pretense. Try him on sheep-raising in the Argentine, Jack,”
+murmured Hart.
+
+“Wally, this business is developing a very serious side,” protested
+Grant. Hart stretched a long arm for the port decanter.
+
+“Come, friend!” he addressed it gravely. “Let us commune! You and I
+together shall mingle joyous memories of
+
+
+_“A draught of the Warm South,
+The true, the blushful Hippocrene.”_
+
+
+“We read Siddle’s visit aright, it would appear,” said Winter quietly.
+
+“Yes. That was his mission, put in a nutshell.”
+
+“And what did you say?”
+
+“I told him that, after Wednesday, I would ask Doris Martin to marry
+me, which is the best answer I can give him and all the world.”
+
+“Why ‘after Wednesday’?”
+
+“Because I shall know then the full extent of the annoyance which
+Ingerman can inflict.”
+
+“Did you give Siddle that reason?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Winter frowned.
+
+“You literary gentlemen are all alike,” he said vexedly. “You become
+such adepts in analyzing human duplicity in your books that you never
+dream of trying to be wise as a serpent in your own affairs. The author
+who will split legal hairs by way of brightening his work will sign a
+contract with a publisher that draws tears from his lawyer when a
+dispute arises. Why be so candid with a rank outsider, like Siddle?”
+
+“I distrust the man. Doris distrusts him, too.”
+
+“So you take him into your confidence.”
+
+“No. I merely give him chapter and verse to prove that his interference
+is useless.”
+
+“Have you engaged a lawyer for Wednesday?”
+
+“No. Why should I? My hands are clean.”
+
+“But your clothes may suffer if enough mud is slung at you. Wire to
+this man in the morning, and mention my name—Winter, of course, not
+Franklin.”
+
+“Codlin’s your friend, not Short,” said Hart. “Sorry. It’s a time-worn
+jape, but it fitted in admirably.”
+
+The detective scribbled a name and address on a card.
+
+“I don’t think you need worry about Ingerman,” he went on, “though it’s
+well to be prepared. A smart solicitor can stop irrelevant statements,
+especially if ready for them. But there must be no more of this
+heart-opening to all and sundry, Mr. Grant. Siddle is your rival. He,
+too, wants to marry Miss Martin, and regards you now as the only
+stumbling-block.”
+
+“Siddle! That stick!” gasped Grant.
+
+“Ridiculous, indeed monstrous,” agreed Winter, rather heatedly, “but
+nevertheless a candidate for the lady’s hand.”
+
+Then he laughed. Peters’s keen eyes were watching him, and Wally Hart
+was giving more heed to the conversation than was revealed by a fixed
+stare at the negro’s head in meerschaum.
+
+“You’ve bothered me,” he went on. “I thought you had more sense. Don’t
+you understand that all these bits of gossip reach Ingerman through the
+filter of the snug at the Hare and Hounds?”
+
+“The man’s visit was unexpected, and his mission even more so. I just
+blurted out the facts.”
+
+“Well, you’ve rendered the services of a solicitor absolutely
+indispensable now.”
+
+Grant, by no means so clear-headed these days as was his wont, followed
+the scent of Winter’s red herring like the youngest hound in a pack;
+but Wally Hart and Peters, lookers-on in this chase, harked back to the
+right line.
+
+“May I—” they both broke in simultaneously.
+
+“Place to the fourth estate,” bowed Hart solemnly.
+
+“Thanks,” said the journalist. “May I put a question, Winter?”
+
+“A score, if you like.”
+
+“Totting up the average of the murder cases in which Furneaux and you
+have been engaged, in how many days do you count on spotting your man?”
+
+“Sometimes we never get him.”
+
+“Oh, come a bit closer than that.”
+
+“Generally, given a clear run, with an established motive, we know who
+he is within eight days.”
+
+“Wednesday, in effect?”
+
+“Can’t say, this time?”
+
+“Suppose, as a hypothesis, you are convinced of a man’s guilt, but can
+obtain little or no evidence?”
+
+“He goes through life a free and independent citizen of this or any
+other country. Arrests on suspicion are not my long suit.”
+
+“How does one get evidence?” purred Hart. “It isn’t scattered broadcast
+by a clever criminal. And you fellows seem to object to my method,
+which has been the only effectual one so far in this affair.”
+
+“If you had shot that specter the other night there would have been the
+deuce to pay.”
+
+“But you would now be sure of the murderer?”
+
+“Why do you assume that?”
+
+“Like Eugene Aram, he can’t keep away from the scene of his crime.”
+
+Winter felt he was skating on thin ice, so hastened to escape.
+
+“Detective work is nearly all guessing,” he said sententiously, “yet
+one must beware of what I may term obvious guessing. If cause and
+effect were so closely allied in certain classes of crime my department
+would cease to exist, and the protection of life and property might be
+left safely to the ordinary police. By the way, P. C. Robinson has been
+rather inactive during two whole days. That makes me suspicious. What’s
+he up to? Can you throw a light on him, Peters?”
+
+The journalist knew that he was being told peremptorily to cease
+prying. He kicked Hart under the table.
+
+“Hi!” yelled Wally. “What’s the matter? Strike your matches on your own
+shin, not mine.”
+
+“Peters is announcing that the discussion is now closed,” said Winter
+firmly.
+
+“Very well. He needn’t emphasize the warning by a hob-nailed boot. When
+my injured feelings have recovered I’ll discourse to you of strange
+folk and stranger doings on the banks of the Rio de la Plata, and your
+stock as an Argentine plutocrat will rise one hundred per cent, next
+time you’re badgered by a man who knows the country.”
+
+“Meanwhile, Robinson is hot-foot on the Elkin trail,” laughed Peters.
+“His face was a study to-day when the groom supplied details of the
+picture-buying.”
+
+“Furneaux wanted that transaction to be widely known,” said Winter. “He
+gave every publicity to it.”
+
+“Did he secure a bargain, I wonder?” said Grant.
+
+“Oh, I expect so. He doesn’t waste his hard-earned money, even for
+official purposes.”
+
+But Winter was well aware of, and kept to himself one phase of the art
+deal, at any rate. Furneaux had persuaded Siddle to fasten two bulky
+packages with string!
+
+He was shaving next morning when his colleague entered, spruce as ever
+in attire, but looking rather weary. The little man flung himself at
+full length on Winter’s bed.
+
+“Been up all night,” he explained. “Chemical analysis is fascinating
+but slow work—like watching a moth evolve from a grub. Had a fearful
+job, too, to get an analyst to chuck a theater and attend to business.
+The blighter talked of office hours. _Cré nom_! Ten till four, and an
+hour and a half for lunch! Why can’t we run _our_ show on those lines,
+James!”
+
+Winter finished carefully the left side of his broad expanse of face.
+
+“You came down by the mail, I suppose?” he said casually.
+
+“What a genius you are!” sighed Furneaux. “If _I_ were trembling with
+expectation I could no more put a banal question like that than swallow
+the razor after I was done with it. You might at least have the common
+decency to thank me for leaving you to gorge on rare meats and vintage
+wines while I dallied with the deadly railway sandwich.”
+
+Winter scraped the other cheek, his chin, and upper lip.
+
+“Shall I go to the bathroom first, or listen?” he inquired.
+
+“Ah, well, I’m tired, and hiking these frail bones to bed till twelve,
+so I’ll give you a condensed version,” snapped Furneaux. “Elkin’s
+illness, begun by whiskey and over-excitement, developed into steady
+poisoning by Siddle. The chemist used a rare agent, too—pure
+nicotine—easy, in a sense, to detect, but capable of a dozen reasonable
+explanations when revealed by the post-mortem. But Elkin wasn’t to be
+killed outright, I gather. The idea was to upset stomach and brain till
+he was half crazy. As you can read print when it’s before your eyes, I
+needn’t go into the matter of motive; Elkin’s behavior supplies all
+details.”
+
+“How about the knots? Hurry! I hate the feeling of soap drying on my
+skin.”
+
+“One running noose and twice two half hitches on each package.”
+
+“Good! Charles, we’re going to pull off a real twister.”
+
+“_We!_ Well, that tikes it, as the girl said when her hat blew off with
+the fluffy transformation pinned to it.”
+
+Winter rushed to the bathroom, and Furneaux crept languidly to bed.
+
+Before going to Knoleworth, Mr. Franklin consulted with Tomlin as to a
+suitable dinner, to which the other guests staying in the inn, namely,
+Mr. Peters and the Scotland Yard gentleman—the little man with the
+French name—might be invited. This important point settled, Mr.
+Franklin caught an early train, and was absent all day, being, in fact,
+closeted with Superintendent Fowler and a Treasury solicitor.
+
+Furneaux was sound asleep long after twelve o’clock, and swore at
+Tomlin in French when the landlord ventured to arouse him. Tomlin went
+downstairs scratching his head.
+
+“Least said soonest mended,” he communed, “but we may all be murdered
+in our beds if them’s the sort of ’tecs we ’ave to look arter us.”
+
+However, he cheered up towards night. Ingerman, a lawyer, and some
+pressmen, arriving for the inquest, filled every available room, and
+the kitchen was redolent of good fare. All parties gathered in the
+dining-room, of course, and Ingerman had an eye for Mr. Franklin’s
+party. The scraps of talk he overheard were nothing more exciting than
+the prospects of a certain horse for the Stewards’ Cup. Peters had the
+tip straight from the stables. A racing certainty, with a stone in
+hand.
+
+After dinner the financier was surprised when Furneaux approached, and
+tapped him professionally on the shoulder.
+
+“A word with you outside,” he said.
+
+Ingerman was irritated—perhaps slightly alarmed.
+
+“Can’t we talk here?” he said, in that singularly melodious voice of
+his.
+
+“Better not, but I shan’t detain you more than five minutes.”
+
+“Anything my legal adviser might wish to hear?”
+
+“Not from me. Tell him yourself afterwards, if you like.”
+
+In the quiet street the detective suddenly linked arms with his
+companion. Probably he smiled sardonically when he felt a telltale
+quiver run through Ingerman’s lanky frame.
+
+“You’ve brought down Norris, I see?” he began.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Meaning to make things hot for Grant tomorrow?”
+
+“Meaning to give justice the materials—”
+
+“Cut the cackle, Isidor. I know you, and it’s high time you knew me.
+Grant has retained Belcher. Ah! that gets you, does it? You haven’t
+forgotten Belcher. Now, be reasonable! Or, rather, don’t run your head
+into a noose. Grant had no more to do with the murder of your wife than
+you had. Call off Norris, and Grant withdraws Belcher. Twig? It’s dead
+easy, because the Treasury solicitor will simply ask for another week’s
+adjournment, as the police are not ready to go on. In the meantime, you
+pay off Norris, and save your face. Is it a deal?”
+
+“Am I to understand—”
+
+“Don’t wriggle! The key of the situation is held by Belcher. Name of a
+pipe! What prompting does Belcher need from me or anybody else after
+the Bokfontein Lands case?”
+
+“But—”
+
+“Isidor, this is the last word. I was at the funeral on Saturday, and
+met your wife’s mother and sister. They do love you, don’t they?”
+
+Ingerman died game.
+
+“If I have your assurance that Mr. Grant is really innocent of
+Adelaide’s death, that is sufficient,” he said slowly.
+
+“Well, if it pleases you to put it that way, I’m agreeable. Which is
+your road? Back to the hotel? I’m for a short stroll. Mind you, no
+wobbling! Go straight, and I’ll attend to Belcher. But, good Lord! How
+his eyes will sparkle when they light on you to-morrow!”
+
+Neither the redoubtable Belcher, nor the Bokfontein Lands, nor poor
+Adelaide Melhuish’s mother and sister may figure further in this
+chronicle. The inquest opened at the appointed hour next day, and was
+closed down again for a week with a celerity that was most
+disappointing both to the jury and the general public. Of three legal
+luminaries present only one, the Treasury man, uttered a few bald
+words. Belcher and Norris did not even announce the names of their
+clients. Norris noticed that Belcher surveyed Ingerman with a grim
+smile, but thought nothing of it until he received a check later in the
+week. Then he made some inquiries, and smiled himself.
+
+The foreman of the jury looked a trifle pinched, though his cheeks bore
+two spots of hectic color. Mr. Franklin, drawn to the court by
+curiosity, happened to glance at him once, and found him gazing at
+Furneaux in a peculiarly thoughtful manner.
+
+Elkin, thriving on a diet of tea and eggs, was also interested in the
+representative of Scotland Yard. He seemed to ignore Grant entirely.
+Doris Martin was not in court. Superintendent Fowler had called about
+half past nine to tell her she would not be asked to attend that day.
+
+Near Mr. Franklin sat a few village notabilities, who, since they had
+not the remotest connection with anyone concerned in the tragedy, have
+been left hitherto in their Olympian solitude. He listened to their
+comments.
+
+“As usual, the police are utterly at sea,” said one.
+
+“Yes, ‘following up important clews,’ the newspapers say,” scoffed
+another.
+
+“It’s a disgraceful thing if a crime like this goes undetected and
+unpunished.”
+
+“Which is the Scotland Yard man!”
+
+“The small chap, in the blue suit.”
+
+“What? _That_ little rat!”
+
+“Oh, he’s sharp. I met a man in the train and he told me—”
+
+Mr. Franklin grinned amiably; Hobbs, the butcher, intercepting his eye,
+grinned back. It is not difficult to imagine what portion of the
+foregoing small talk reached Furneaux subsequently.
+
+Oddly enough, both detectives had missed a brief but illuminating
+incident which took place in the Hare and Hounds the previous night,
+while Winter was finishing a cigar with Peters, and Furneaux was
+bludgeoning Ingerman into compliance with his wishes.
+
+Elkin’s remarkable improvement in health was commented on by Hobbs, and
+Siddle took the credit.
+
+“That last mixture has proved beneficial, then?” he said, eying the
+horse-dealer closely.
+
+“Top-hole,” smirked Elkin. “But it’s only fair to say that I’ve chucked
+whiskey, too.”
+
+“Did you finish the bottle?”
+
+“Which bottle?”
+
+“Mine, of course.”
+
+“Nearly.”
+
+“Don’t take any more. It was decidedly strong. I’ll send a boy early
+to-morrow morning with a first-rate tonic, and you might give him any
+old medicine bottles you possess. I’m running short.”
+
+Elkin hesitated a second or two.
+
+“I’ll tell my housekeeper to look ’em up,” he said. After the inquest
+he communicated this episode to Furneaux as a great joke.
+
+“Queer, isn’t it?” he guffawed. “A couple of dozen bottles went back,
+as I’m always getting stuff for the gees, but those two weren’t among
+’em. You took care of that, eh? When will you have the analysis?”
+
+“It’ll be fully a week yet,” said the detective. “Government offices
+are not run like express trains, and this is a free job, you know. But,
+be advised by me. Stick to plain food, and throw physic to the dogs.”
+
+Another singular fact, unobserved by the public at large, was that a
+policeman, either Robinson or a stranger, patrolled the high-street all
+day and all night, while no one outside official circles was aware that
+other members of the force watched _The Hollies_, or were secreted
+among the trees on the cliffside, from dusk to dawn.
+
+Next morning, however, there was real cause for talk. Siddle’s shop was
+closed. Over the letter-box, neatly printed, was gummed a notice:
+
+
+_“Called away on business. Will open for one hour after arrival of 7 p.
+m. train. T. S.”_
+
+
+Everyone who passed stopped to read. Even Mr. Franklin joined Furneaux
+and Peters in a stroll across the road to have a look.
+
+“I want you a minute,” said the big man suddenly to Furneaux. There was
+that in his tone which forbade questioning, so Peters sheered off, well
+content with the share permitted him in the inquiry thus far.
+
+“That fellow, Hart, is no fool,” went on Winter rapidly. “He said last
+night ‘How does one get evidence?’ It was not easy to answer. Siddle
+has gone to his mother’s funeral. What do you think!”
+
+“You’d turn me into a housebreaker, would you?” whined Furneaux
+bitterly. “I must do the job, of course, just because I’m a little one.
+Well, well! After a long and honorable career I have to become a sneak
+thief. It may cost me my pension.”
+
+“There’s no real difficulty. An orchard—”
+
+“Bet you a new hat I went over the ground before you did.”
+
+“Get over it quickly now, and get something out of it, and I’ll _give_
+you a new hat. Got any tools?”
+
+“I fetched ’em from town Tuesday morning,” chortled Furneaux. “So now
+who’s the brainy one?”
+
+He skipped into the hotel, while Winter went to the station to make
+sure of Siddle’s departure and destination. Yes, the chemist had taken
+a return ticket to Epsom, where a strip of dank meadow-land on the road
+to Esher marks the last resting-place of many of London’s epileptics.
+On returning to the high-street, Winter lighted a cigar, a somewhat
+common occurrence in his everyday life, where-upon Furneaux walked
+swiftly up the hill. A farmer, living near the center of the village,
+owned a rather showy cob. Winter found the man, and persuaded him to
+trot the animal to and fro in front of the hotel. There was a good deal
+of noise and hoof-clattering, and people came to their doors to see
+what was going on. Obviously, if they were watching the antics of a
+skittish two-year-old in the high-street, their eyes were blind to
+proceedings in the back premises. Even the postmaster and his daughter
+were interested onlookers, and a policeman, who might have put a
+summary end to the display, vanished as though by magic.
+
+Luckily, Winter was a good judge of a horse. When the cob was stabled,
+and the farmer came to the inn to have a drink, he was forced to admit
+a tendency to cow hocks, which, it would seem, is held a fatal blemish
+in the Argentine.
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had dodged into a lane and thence to a bridle-path
+which emerged near Bob Smith’s forge. When he had traversed, roughly
+speaking, one-half of a rectangle in which the Hare and Hounds occupied
+the center of one of the longer sides, he climbed a gate and followed a
+hedge. Though not losing a second, he took every precaution to remain
+unseen, and, to the best of his belief, gained an inclosed yard at the
+back of Siddle’s premises without having attracted attention. He
+slipped the catch of a kitchen window only to discover that the sash
+was fastened by screws also. The lock of the kitchen door yielded to
+persuasion, but there were bolts above and below. A wire screen in a
+larder window was impregnable. Short of cutting out a pane of glass, he
+could not effect an entry on the ground floor.
+
+Nimble as a squirrel, and risking everything, he climbed to the roof of
+an outhouse, and tried a bedroom window. Here he succeeded. When the
+catch was forced, there were no further obstacles. In he went, pausing
+only to look around and see if any curious or alarmed eye was watching
+him. He wondered why every back yard on that side of the high-street
+was empty, not even a maid-servant or woman washing clothes being in
+sight, but understood and grinned when the commotion Winter was
+creating came in view from a front room.
+
+Then he undertook a methodical search, working with a rapid yet
+painstaking thoroughness which missed nothing. From a wardrobe he
+selected an overcoat and pair of trousers which reeked with turpentine.
+They were old and soiled garments, very different from the well-cut
+black coat and waistcoat, with striped cloth trousers, worn daily by
+the chemist. He drew a blank in the remainder of the upstairs rooms,
+which included a sitting-room, though he devoted fully quarter of an
+hour to reading the titles of Siddle’s books.
+
+A safe in the little dispensing closet at the back of the shop promised
+sheer defiance until Furneaux saw a bunch of keys resting beside a
+methylated spirit lamp.
+
+“’Twas ever thus!” he cackled, lighting the lamp. “Heaven help us poor
+detectives if it wasn’t!”
+
+In a word, since murder will out, Siddle had forgotten his keys!
+Probably, he had gone to the safe for money, and, while writing the
+notice as to his absence, had laid down the keys and omitted to pick
+them up again.
+
+Furneaux disregarded ledgers and account books. He examined a bank
+pass-book and a check-book. In a drawer which contained these and a
+quantity of gold he found a small, leather-bound book with a lock,
+which no key on the bunch was tiny enough to fit. A bit of twisted wire
+soon overcame this difficulty, and Furneaux began to read.
+
+There were quaint diagrams, and surveyor’s sketches, both in plan and
+section, with curious notes, and occasional records of what appeared to
+be passages from letters or conversations. The detective read, and
+read, referring back and forth, absorbed in his task, no doubt, but
+evidently puzzled.
+
+At last, he stuffed the book into a pocket, completed his scrutiny of
+the safe, examined the bottles on the shelf labeled “poisons,” and took
+a sample of the colorless contents of one bottle marked “C10H14N2.”
+
+Then he went to the kitchen, replaced all catches and the lock of the
+door, and let himself out by the way he had come.
+
+Winter saw him from afar, and hastened upstairs to the private
+sitting-room. Furneaux appeared there soon.
+
+“Well?” said the Chief Inspector eagerly.
+
+“Got him, I think,” said Furneaux.
+
+Not much might be gathered from that monosyllabic question and its
+answer, but its significance in Siddle’s ears, could he have heard,
+would have been that of the passing bell tolling for the dead.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVIII.
+The Truth at Last
+
+
+Not often did Furneaux qualify an opinion by that dubious phrase, “I
+think,” which, in its colloquial sense, implies that the thought
+contains a reservation as to possible error.
+
+Winter looked anxious. Both he and his colleague knew well when to drop
+the good-natured banter they delighted in. They were face to face now
+with issues of life and death, dark and sinister conditions which had
+already destroyed one life, threatened another, and might envisage
+further horrors. Small wonder, then, if the Chief Inspector’s usually
+cheerful face was clouded, or that his hopes should be somewhat dashed
+when Furneaux seemed to lack the abounding confidence which was his
+most marked characteristic.
+
+“You’ve got something, I see,” he said, trying to speak encouragingly,
+and glancing at the bundle of clothing which Furneaux had wrapped in a
+newspaper before dropping from the bedroom window of Siddle’s house.
+
+“Yes, a lot. What to make of it is the puzzle. We either go ahead on
+the flimsiest of evidence or I carry out another housebreaking job this
+afternoon and restore things in status quo. First, the bundle—an old
+covert-coating overcoat and a pair of frayed trousers which probably
+draped Owd Ben’s ghost. They’ve been soaked in turpentine, which,
+chemist or no chemist, is still the best agent for removing stains.
+We’ll put ’em under the glass after we’ve examined the book. Siddle
+keeps a sort of diary, a series of jumbled memoranda. If we can extract
+nutriment out of that we may have something tangible to go upon. Let’s
+begin at the end.”
+
+Opening the leather-bound note-book, Furneaux stood with his back to
+the window. Winter, owing to his superior height, could look over the
+lesser man’s shoulder. Many an occult document affecting the famous
+crimes and social or dynastic intrigues of the previous decade had
+these two examined in that way, the main advantage of scrutiny in
+common being that they could compare readings or suggested readings
+without loss of time, and with the original manuscript before both
+pairs of eyes.
+
+In the first instance, there were no dates—only scraps of sentences, or
+comments. The concluding entry in the book was:
+
+_“A tactical error? Perhaps. Immovable.”_
+
+
+Then, taking the order backward:
+
+_“Scout the very notion of such an infamy. You and every scandal-monger
+in S. may do your worst.”
+“Free to confess that events have opened my eyes to the truth, so, not
+for the first time, out of evil comes good.”
+“A prig.”
+“Visit for such a purpose a piece of unheard-of impudence.”_
+
+
+These were all on one page.
+
+“Quite clearly a _précis_ of Grant’s remarks when Siddle called on
+Monday,” said Winter.
+
+At any other time, Furneaux would have waxed sarcastic. Now he merely
+nodded.
+
+“Stops in a queer way,” he muttered. “Not a word about the inquest or
+the missing bottles.”
+
+The preceding page held even more disjointed entries, which,
+nevertheless, provided a fair synopsis of Doris’s spirited words on the
+Sunday afternoon.
+
+
+_“Malice and ignorance.”
+
+“Patient because of years.”
+
+“Loyal comrade. Shall remain.”
+
+“Code.”
+
+“No difference in friendship.”
+
+“E. hopeless. Contempt.”
+
+“Skipping—good.”
+
+On the next page:
+
+“Isidor G. Ingerman. Useful. Inquire.”
+
+“E.’s boasts? Nonsensical, surely!”
+
+“Why has D. gone?”_
+
+
+Both men paused at that line.
+
+“Detective?” suggested Winter.
+
+“That’s how I take it,” agreed Furneaux.
+
+Then came a sign: “+10%.”
+
+“Elkin’s mixture was not ‘as before.’ It was fortified,” grinned
+Furneaux. “That’s the exact increase of nicotine. By the way, I have a
+sample. We can take care of him on that charge, without a shadow of
+doubt.”
+
+Winter blew softly on the back of his friend’s head.
+
+“You’re thorough, Charles, thorough!” he murmured. “It’s a treat to
+work with you when you get really busy.”
+
+Furneaux ran his thumb across the end of several leaves.
+
+“I can tell you now,” he said, “that there’s nothing of real value in
+the earlier notes. So far as I can judge, they refer either to a sort
+of settlement with his wife or chance phrases used by Doris Martin
+which might imply that she was heart whole and fancy free. There’s not
+a bally word dealing with the murder, or that can be twisted into the
+vaguest allusion to it. But here’s a plan and section which have a sort
+of significance. I’ve seen the place, so recognized it, or thought I
+did. We must check it, of course. Here you are! You know the footbridge
+across the river from Bush Walk?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“The eastern end is supported on a hollow pier of masonry, in which one
+might tog up unseen. These drawings would be useful as an _Aide
+Memoire_ on a dark night. A false step, with the river in flood, might
+be awkward.”
+
+“What’s that on the opposite page?”
+
+“I give it up—at present.”
+
+This somewhat rare display of modesty on Furneaux’s part was readily
+understandable. A series of straight lines and angles conveyed very
+little hint of their purport; but Winter smiled behind his friend’s
+back.
+
+“I’ve been prowling about this wretched inn longer than you,” he said.
+“Look outside, to the left.”
+
+“Don’t need to, now,” cackled Furneaux. “It’s the profile of a wall,
+gate, and outhouse along which one could reach the window of the
+club-room. Would you mind stopping grinning like a Cheshire cat?”
+
+“Anything else?”
+
+“Yes. This one:
+
+‘_S. M.? 1820_.’
+
+
+That beats you, eh?”
+
+“Dished completely.”
+
+“Doris Martin, as usual, supplies the answer. An old volume of the
+_Sussex Miscellany_, probably that for 1820, contains the full story of
+Owd Ben. I might have mentioned it to you, but focussed on current
+events. Siddle has it among his books, which, by the way, are made up
+largely of scientific and popular criminal records.”
+
+“Is that the lot?”
+
+“I’m afraid so. Have a look.”
+
+“Just a minute. I want to think.”
+
+Winter turned and gazed through the open window. Seldom had a more
+gracious June decked England with garlands. The hour was then high
+noon, and a pastoral landscape was drowned in sunshine. The Chief
+Inspector cut the end off a cigar dreamily but with care.
+
+“Broadmoor—perhaps,” he muttered. “But we can’t hang him yet, Charles.
+A couple of knots and a theory won’t do for the Assizes. We haven’t a
+solitary witness. Hardly a night but he goes home at 9.30. If only he
+had killed Grant! But—Adelaide Melhuish!”
+
+In sheer despair he struck a match.
+
+“Well, let’s overhaul these duds,” said Furneaux savagely. “I’ll chance
+the dinner hour for the return visit. Steynholme folk eat at half past
+twelve to the tick, and you can hardly get up another horse show.”
+
+There was a knock at the door.
+
+“Let me in, quick!” came Peters’s voice, and the handle was tried
+forcibly.
+
+“Go away! I’m busy!” cried Winter.
+
+“This is urgent, devilish urgent,” said Peters.
+
+Furneaux snatched up the note-book, and Winter tore off his coat,
+throwing it over the package which reposed in an armchair. Then the
+Chief Inspector unlocked the door, blocking the way aggressively.
+
+“Now, I must say—” he began.
+
+But Peters clutched his shoulder with a nervous hand.
+
+“Siddle has just hurried up the street and entered his shop,” he
+hissed.
+
+The journalist had not only kept his eyes open, but excelled in the art
+of putting two and two together, an arithmetical calculation which, as
+applied to the affairs of life, is not so readily arrived at as many
+people imagine.
+
+“Buncoed! He’s missed his keys!” shrilled Furneaux.
+
+“Confound the man! He might at least have attended his mother’s
+funeral!” stormed Winter, retrieving his coat.
+
+Thus it happened that Furneaux was the first down the stairs, though
+the three emerged from the door of the inn on each other’s heels. A
+stout man, in all likelihood a farmer with horses for sale, was
+mounting the two steps which led to the entrance. His head was down,
+and his weight forward, so he successfully resisted Furneaux’s impact,
+but Peters and Winter were irresistible, and he tumbled over with a
+muffled yell.
+
+At that instant Siddle quitted his shop, and headed straight for the
+post office. In his right hand he carried an automatic pistol. The
+street was wide. Furneaux, absolutely fearless in the performance of
+his duty, ran in a curve so as to bar the chemist’s path, and it was
+then that Siddle saw him. The man’s face was terrible to behold. His
+eyes were rolling, his teeth gnashing; he had bitten his tongue and
+cheeks, and his stertorous breathing ejected from his mouth foam tinged
+with blood.
+
+“Ha!” he screamed in a falsetto of fury, “not yet, little man, not
+yet!”
+
+With that he raised the pistol, and fired point-blank at the detective.
+Furneaux ducked, and seized a small stone, being otherwise quite
+unarmed. He threw it with unerring aim, and, as was determined
+subsequently, struck the hand holding the weapon. Possibly, almost by a
+miracle, the blow caused a faulty pressure, because the action jammed,
+though the pistol itself was most accurate and deadly in its
+properties.
+
+By this time Winter, sweeping Peters aside, was within ten feet of the
+maniac, who turned and ran into the shop. The door, a solid one, fitted
+with a spring lock, slammed in the Chief Inspector’s face, and resisted
+a mighty effort to burst it open. A few yards away stood an empty,
+two-wheeled cart, uptilted, and Winter demanded the help of a few men
+who had gathered on seeing or hearing the hubbub.
+
+“I call on you in the King’s name!” he shouted. “We must force that
+door! Then stand clear, all of you!”
+
+He raced to the cart, and, when his object was perceived, willing hands
+assisted in converting the heavy vehicle into a battering-ram. The
+gradient of the hill favored the attack, which was made at an acute
+angle, and the first assault smashed the lock. There were a couple of
+seconds’ delay while the cart was backed out, and the detectives rushed
+in, Furneaux leading, because Winter gave his great physical strength
+to the shafts. But the Chief Inspector grabbed his tiny friend by the
+collar as the latter darted around the counter and into the dispensary
+in the rear.
+
+“Two of us can’t go abreast, and you’ll only get hurt,” he said,
+speaking with a calmness that was majestic in the circumstances.
+
+“The nicotine is gone!” yelped Furneaux; both saw that the safe stood
+open.
+
+Behind the dispensary was a small passage, whence the stairs mounted,
+and a door led to the kitchen. That door was closed now, though it was
+open when Furneaux ransacked the house. Therefore, they made that way
+at once. No ordinary lock could resist Winter’s shoulder, and he soon
+mastered this barrier. But the kitchen was empty—the outer door locked
+but unbolted. Since it is practically impossible for the strongest man
+to pull a door open, the two made for the window, and tore at screws
+and catch with eager fingers. Furneaux, light and nimble-footed,
+scrambled through first, so it was he who found Siddle lying in the
+orchard beyond the wall of the yard. The unhappy wretch had swallowed
+nearly the whole remaining contents of the bottle of nicotine, or
+enough to poison a score of robust men. He presented a lamentable and
+distressing spectacle. Some of the more venturesome passers-by, who had
+crowded after the detectives and Peters, could not bear to look on, and
+slunk away in horror.
+
+Furneaux soon brought an emetic, which failed to act. Siddle breathed
+his last while the glass was at his lips.
+
+In that moment of crisis only three men did not lose their heads.
+Winter cleared away the gapers, while Furneaux remained with the body.
+P. C. Robinson came up the hill at a run, and was sent for a stretcher,
+bringing from Hobbs’s shop the very one on which the ill-fated Adelaide
+Melhuish was carried from the river bank.
+
+But where was Peters? In the post office, writing the first of a series
+of thrilling dispatches to a London evening newspaper. What journalist
+ever had a more sensational murder-case to supply “copy”? And when was
+“special correspondent” ever better primed for the task? He wrote on,
+and on, till the telegraphist cried halt. Then he hied him to London by
+train, and began the more ambitious “story” for next morning. What he
+did not know he guessed correctly. A fagged but triumphant man was
+Jimmie Peters when he “blew in” to the Savage Club at 1 A.M. to seek
+sustenance and a whiskey and soda before going home.
+
+Furneaux was white and shaken when Winter escorted the
+stretcher-bearers to the orchard.
+
+“Poor devil!” he said, as the men lifted the body. “Foredoomed from
+birth! We can eradicate these diseases from cattle. Why not from men!”
+
+The villagers could not understand him. Already, in some mysterious
+way, the word had gone around that Siddle had murdered the actress, and
+taken his own life to avoid arrest, after shooting at the detective who
+was hot on his trail.
+
+Not until Peters’s articles came back to Steynholme did the public at
+large realize that the chemist undoubtedly meant to kill Doris Martin.
+He was going straight to the post office when the way was barred by
+Furneaux. The bullet which missed the latter actually pierced the zinc
+plate of the letter-box, and scored a furrow, inches long, in an oak
+counter which it struck laterally.
+
+The village did not recover its poise for hours. Grant and Hart, to
+whom Bates brought the news about one o’clock, rose from an untasted
+luncheon and hurried to the high-street. Knots of people stared at
+Grant, some sheepishly, others with frank relief, because all who knew
+him liked him. One man, a retired ironmonger and an impulsive fellow,
+came forward and wrung his hand heartily. A few prominent residents
+followed suit. Grant was greatly embarrassed, but managed to endure
+these awkward if well-meant congratulations. There could be no
+mistaking their intent. He had been tried for murder at the bar of
+public opinion, and was now formally acquitted.
+
+Even Fred Elkin, ignorant as yet of his own peril, yielded to the
+influences of the moment and bustled through the crowd.
+
+“Mr. Grant,” he cried outspokenly, “I ask your pardon. I seem to have
+made a d—d fool of myself!”
+
+“Easier done than said,” chimed in Hart. “But, among all this
+bell-ringing, can anyone tell what has actually happened? Where’s
+Peters?”
+
+“In the post office.”
+
+The two went in, and found the journalist scribbling against time. Hart
+coolly grabbed a few slips of manuscript, and commenced reading. Grant
+looked about for Doris. She was not visible, but Mr. Martin, pallid and
+nervous, nodded toward the sitting-room. The younger man, taking the
+gesture as a tacit invitation, entered the room.
+
+Doris was sitting there, crying bitterly. Poor girl! She had seen that
+portion of the drama which was enacted in the street, and the shock of
+it was still poignant. She looked up and met her lover’s eyes. Neither
+uttered a word, but Grant did a very wise thing. He caught her by the
+shoulders, raised her to her feet, and, after kissing her squarely on
+the lips, gave her a comforting hug.
+
+“It will be all right now, Doris,” he whispered tenderly. “Such
+thunderstorms clear the air.”
+
+An eminent novelist might have found many more ornate ways of avowing
+his sentiments, but never a more satisfactory one. At any rate, it
+served, so what more need be said?
+
+Certain rills of evidence accumulated into a fair-sized stream before
+night fell. P. C.  Robinson, for instance, scored a point by
+ascertaining that Peggy Smith had seen Furneaux dropping from the
+bedroom window of the chemist’s shop. She was some hundreds of yards
+away, and could not be positive that some man, perhaps a glazier, had
+not been there legitimately effecting repairs. Still, when she met
+Siddle hurrying from the station, she told him of the incident.
+
+“He never even thanked me,” she said, “but broke into a run. The look
+in his eyes was awful.”
+
+The girl had, in fact, confirmed his worst fears, and her neighborly
+solicitude had merely hastened the end.
+
+Again, the railway officials showed that Siddle had returned from
+Victoria instead of taking train to the asylum. Furneaux had guessed
+aright. The discovery that his keys had been left behind drove the man
+into a panic of fright.
+
+It took nearly three weeks before the unhappy business was finally
+disposed of. A Treasury solicitor was given the chance of his career by
+the medico-legal disquisition which cleared up an extraordinary record.
+The annals of the disease which predisposed Theodore Siddle to crime
+went back many years. He was a fairly wealthy man by inheritance, and
+adopted the profession of chemistry as a hobby. One fact stood out
+boldly. He was aware of his hereditary taint, and had settled down in
+Steynholme believing that a quiet life, free from care or the
+distractions of a town, would enable him to overcome it. Probably, the
+lawyer held, the man owned two distinct individualities, and the baser
+instincts gradually overpowered the humane ones.
+
+Of course, the whole history of those trying days had to come out in
+open court, and the postmaster’s daughter was given a descriptive and
+pictorial boom which many an actress envied. Peters was restored to
+grace when he showed plainly that his articles had kept the fickle
+barometer of public opinion at “set fair,” in so far as Grant and Doris
+were concerned.
+
+“But,” as Hart drawled during a dinner of reconciliation, “you needn’t
+have been so infernally personal about my hat.”
+
+Grant and Doris were married before the year was out. Mr. Martin
+retired on a pension, and the young couple decided that they could
+never dissociate _The Hollies_ from the tragic memories bound up with
+its ghost-window and lawn. So the place was sold, and Steynholme knows
+“the postmaster’s daughter” no more. Winter and Furneaux week-ended
+with them recently at a pretty little nook in Dorset. Hart, just home
+from the Balkans, traveled from town with the detectives, and Doris, a
+radiant young matron, was as flippant as the best of them.
+
+One evening, when the men were sitting late in the smoking-room, the
+talk turned on the now half-forgotten drama in which the hapless
+Adelaide Melhuish played her last rôle.
+
+“I met Peters in the Savage Club the other night,” said Hart, filling
+the negro-head pipe with care while he talked, “and he was chortling
+about his ‘psychological study,’ as he called it, of that unfortunate
+chemist. He still clings to the theory that your wife was the intended
+victim, Grant. Do you agree with him?”
+
+“Rubbish!” cried Furneaux, before his host could answer. “At best,
+Peters is only a clever ass. Siddle never had the remotest notion of
+killing Miss Doris Martin, as Mrs. Grant was then. We shall never know
+for certain just what happened, but there are elements in the affair
+which give ground for reasonable guesswork. The first thing that
+impressed Winter and me—at least, I suppose I really evolved the idea,
+though my bulky friend elaborated it” (whereat Winter smiled
+forgivingly, and beheaded a fresh Havana) “was the complete
+noiselessness of the crime. Here we had Mr. Grant startled by the face
+at the window, and actually searching outside the house for the ghostly
+visitant, while Miss Doris was gazing at _The Hollies_ from the other
+side of the river, and not a sound was heard, though it was a summer’s
+night, without a breath of wind, and at an hour when the splash of a
+fish leaping in the stream would have created a commotion. Now, Miss
+Melhuish was an active and well-built young woman, an actress, too, and
+therefore likely to meet an emergency without instant collapse. Yet she
+allows herself to be struck dead or insensible without cry or struggle!
+How do you account for it?”
+
+“Go on, Charles; don’t be theatrical,” jeered Winter. “You’ve got the
+story pat. Even that simile of the jumping fish is mine.”
+
+“True,” agreed Furneaux. “I only brought it in as a sop. But, to
+continue, as the tub-thumper says. Isn’t it permissible to assume that
+Siddle accompanied the lady, either by prior arrangement or by
+contriving a meeting which looked like mere chance? We know that she
+went to his shop. We know, too, that he was clever and unscrupulous,
+and any allusion to Grant would stir his wits to the uttermost. He
+would see instantly how interested Miss Melhuish was in the owner of
+_The Hollies_, while she, a smart Londoner, would recognize in Siddle
+an informant worth all the rest of the babblers in Steynholme. At any
+rate, no matter how the thing was brought about, it is self-evident
+that Siddle brought his intended victim into the grounds, and told her
+of the small uncovered window through which she could peer at Grant
+after Miss Doris had gone. He showed her which path to use, and
+undoubtedly waited for her, and stayed her flight when Grant rose from
+his chair. She was close to him, and wholly unafraid, finding in him an
+ally. They were purposely hidden, in the gloom of dense foliage, and
+remained there until Grant had closed the window again. Then, and not
+till then, did the murderer strike, probably stifling her with his free
+hand. He had the implement in his pocket. The rope was secreted among
+the bushes. He could carry through the whole wretched crime in little
+more than a minute. And his psychology went far deeper than Peters gave
+him credit for. He had weighed up the situation to a nicety. No matter
+who found the body, Mr. Grant was saddled with a responsibility which
+might well prove disastrous, and was almost sure to affect his
+relations with the Martin household. For instance, nothing short of a
+miracle could have stopped Robinson from arresting him on a charge of
+murder.”
+
+“You, then, are a miracle?” put in Hart, pointing the pipe at the
+little man.
+
+“To the person of ordinary intelligence—yes.”
+
+“After that,” said Winter, “there is nothing more to be said. Let’s see
+who secures the pocket marvel as a partner at auction.”
+
+
+As a fitting end to the strange story of wayward love and maniacal
+frenzy which found an unusual habitat in a secluded hamlet like
+Steynholme, a small vignette of its normal life may be etched in. The
+trope is germane to the scene.
+
+On a wet afternoon in October Hobbs and Elkin had adjourned to the Hare
+and Hounds. Tomlin was reading a newspaper spread on the bar counter.
+He was alone. The day was Friday, and the last “commercial” of the week
+had departed by the mid-day train.
+
+“Wot’s yer tonic?” demanded the butcher.
+
+“A glass of beer,” threw Elkin over his shoulder. He had walked to the
+window, and was gazing moodily at the sign of the “plumber and
+decorator” who had taken Siddle’s shop. The village could not really
+support an out-and-out chemist, so a local grocer had elected to stock
+patent medicines as a side line.
+
+Tomlin made play with a beer-pump.
+
+“Where’s yer own?” inquired Hobbs hospitably.
+
+Elkin came and drank. After an interlude, Tomlin ran a finger down a
+column of the newspaper.
+
+“By the way, Fred, didn’t you tell me about that funny little chap,
+Furno, the ’tec, buyin’ some pictures of yours?” he said.
+
+“I did. Had him there, anyhow,” chuckled Elkin.
+
+“How much did you stick ’im for?”
+
+“Three guineas.”
+
+“They can’t ha’ bin this lot, then, though I’ve a notion it wur the
+same name, ‘Aylesbury Steeplechase.’”
+
+“What are you talking about?”
+
+“This.”
+
+Tomlin turned the paper, and Elkin read:
+
+At their monthly art sale on Wednesday Messrs. Brown, Jenkins and Brown
+disposed of an almost unique set of colored prints, by F. Smyth, dated
+1841. The series of six represented various phases of the long defunct
+Aylesbury Steeplechase, “The Start,” “The Brook,” “The In-and-Out,” and
+so on to “The Finish.” It is understood that this notable series,
+produced during the best period of the art, and at the very zenith of
+Smyth’s fame, were acquired recently by a Sussex amateur at a low
+price. Bidding began at fifty guineas, and rose quickly to one hundred
+and twenty, at which figure Messrs. Carnioli and Bruschi became the
+owners.
+
+Elkin read the paragraph twice, until the words burnt into his brain.
+
+“No,” he said thickly. “They’re not mine. No such luck!”
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Postmaster's Daughter, by Louis Tracy
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+<pre>
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Postmaster's Daughter, by Louis Tracy
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+Title: The Postmaster's Daughter
+
+Author: Louis Tracy
+
+Release Date: November 17, 2003 [eBook #10110]
+[Most recently updated: October 7, 2020]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version
+produced by Clytie Siddall
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" />
+</div>
+
+<h1>The Postmaster&rsquo;s Daughter</h1>
+
+<h2>by Louis Tracy</h2>
+
+<p class="center">
+<b>1916</b>
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+Also by this author: <i> Number Seventeen, The Wheel of Fortune, The Terms of
+Surrender, The Wings of the Morning, &amp;c.</i>
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+
+<table summary="" style="">
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap01">I. The Face at the Window</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap02">II. P. C. Robinson &ldquo;Takes a Line&rdquo;</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap03">III. The Gathering Clouds</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap04">IV. A Cabal</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap05">V. The Seeds of Mischief</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap06">VI. Scotland Yard Takes a Hand</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap07">VII. &ldquo;Alarums and Excursions&rdquo;</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap08">VIII. An Interrupted Symposium</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap09">IX. He Whom the Cap Fits&mdash;</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap10">X. The Case Against Grant</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap11">XI. P. C. Robinson Takes Another Line</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap12">XII. Wherein Winter Gets To Work</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap13">XIII. Concerning Theodore Siddle</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap14">XIV. On Both Sides of the River</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap15">XV. A Matter of Heredity</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap16">XVI. Furneaux Makes a Successful Bid</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap17">XVII. An Official Housebreaker</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap18">XVIII. The Truth at Last</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap01"></a>Chapter I.<br />
+The Face at the Window</h2>
+
+<p>
+John Menzies Grant, having breakfasted, filled his pipe, lit it, and strolled
+out bare-headed into the garden. The month was June, that glorious rose-month
+which gladdened England before war-clouds darkened the summer sky. As the hour
+was nine o&rsquo;clock, it is highly probable that many thousands of men were
+then strolling out into many thousands of gardens in precisely similar
+conditions; but, given youth, good health, leisure, and a fair amount of money,
+it is even more probable that few among the smaller number thus roundly favored
+by fortune looked so perplexed as Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Moreover, his actions were eloquent as words. A spacious French window had been
+cut bodily out of the wall of an old-fashioned room, and was now thrown wide to
+admit the flower-scented breeze. Between this window and the right-hand angle
+of the room was a smaller window, square-paned, high above the ground level,
+and deeply recessed&mdash;in fact just the sort of window which one might
+expect to find in a farm-house built two centuries ago, when light and air were
+rigorously excluded from interiors. The two windows told the history of <i>The
+Hollies</i> at a glance. The little one had served the needs of a
+&ldquo;best&rdquo; room for several generations of Sussex yeomen. Then had come
+some iconoclast who hewed a big rectangle through the solid stone-work,
+converted the oak-panelled apartment into a most comfortable dining-room, built
+a new wing with a gable, changed a farm-yard into a flower-bordered lawn, and
+generally played havoc with Georgian utility while carrying out a determined
+scheme of landscape gardening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Happily, the wrecker was content to let well enough alone after enlarging the
+house, laying turf, and planting shrubs and flowers. He found <i>The
+Hollies</i> a ramshackle place, and left it even more so, but with a new note
+of artistry and several unexpectedly charming vistas. Thus, the big double
+window opened straight into an irregular garden which merged insensibly into a
+sloping lawn bounded by a river-pool. The bank on the other side of the stream
+rose sharply and was well wooded. Above the crest showed the thatched roofs or
+red tiles of Steynholme, which was a village in the time of William the
+Conqueror, and has remained a village ever since. Frame this picture in
+flowering shrubs, evergreens, a few choice firs, a copper beech, and some
+sturdy oaks shadowing the lawn, and the prospect on a June morning might well
+have led out into the open any young man with a pipe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But John Menzies Grant seemed to have no eye for a scene that would have
+delighted a painter. He turned to the light, scrutinized so closely a strip of
+turf which ran close to the wall that he might have been searching for a lost
+diamond, and then peered through the lowermost left-hand pane of the small
+window into the room he had just quitted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The result of this peeping was remarkable in more ways than one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A stout, elderly, red-faced woman, who had entered the room soon after she
+heard Grant&rsquo;s chair being moved, caught sight of the intent face. She
+screamed loudly, and dropped a cup and saucer with a clatter on to a Japanese
+tray.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant hurried back to the French window. In his haste he did not notice a long
+shoot of a Dorothy Perkins rose which trailed across his path, and it struck
+him smartly on the cheek.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid I startled you, Mrs. Bates,&rdquo; he said, smiling so
+pleasantly that no woman or child could fail to put trust in him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You did that, sir,&rdquo; agreed Mrs. Bates, collapsing into the chair
+Grant had just vacated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Like most red-faced people, Mrs. Bates turned a bluish purple when alarmed, and
+her aspect was so distressing now that Grant&rsquo;s smile was banished by a
+look of real concern.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m very sorry,&rdquo; he said contritely. &ldquo;I had no notion
+you were in the room. Shall I call Minnie?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Minnie, it may be explained, was Mrs. Bates&rsquo;s daughter and assistant, the
+two, plus a whiskered Bates, gardener and groom, forming the domestic
+establishment presided over by Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nun-no, sir,&rdquo; stuttered the housekeeper. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s stupid
+of me. But I&rsquo;m not so young as I was, an&rsquo; me heart jumps at little
+things.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant saw that she was recovering, though slowly. He thought it best not to
+make too much of the incident; but asked solicitously if he might give her some
+brandy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Bates remarked that she was &ldquo;not so bad as that,&rdquo; rose
+valiantly, and went on with her work. Her employer, who had gone into the
+garden again, saw out of the tail of his eye that she vanished with a
+half-laden tray. In a couple of minutes the daughter appeared, and finished the
+slight task of clearing the table; meanwhile, Grant kept away from the small
+window. Being a young man who cultivated the habit of observation, he noticed
+that Minnie, too, cast scared glances at the window. When the girl had finally
+quitted the room, he laughed in a puzzled way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I dreaming, or are there visions about?&rdquo; he murmured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Urged, seemingly, by a sort of curiosity, he surveyed the room a second time
+through the same pane of glass. Being tall, he had to stoop slightly. Within,
+on the opposite side of the ledge, he saw the tiny brass candlestick with its
+inch of candle which he had used over-night while searching for a volume of
+Scott in the book-case lining the neighboring wall. Somehow, this simplest of
+domestic objects brought a thrill of recollection.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, dash it all!&rdquo; he growled good-humoredly, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+getting nervy. I must chuck this bad habit of working late, and use the blessed
+hours of daylight.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet, as he sauntered down the lawn toward the stream, he knew well that he
+would do nothing of the sort. He loved that time of peace between ten at night
+and one in the morning. His thoughts ran vagrom then. Fantasies took shape
+under his pen which, in the cold light of morning, looked unreal and nebulous,
+though he had the good sense to restrain criticism within strict limits, and
+corrected style rather than matter. He was a writer, an essayist with no slight
+leaven of the poet, and had learnt early that the everyday world held naught in
+common with the brooding of the soul.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he was no long-haired dreamer of impossible things. Erect and
+square-shouldered, he had passed through Sandhurst into the army, a profession
+abandoned because of its humdrum nature, when an unexpectedly &ldquo;fat&rdquo;
+legacy rendered him independent. He looked exactly what he was, a healthy,
+clean-minded young Englishman, with a physique that led to occasional bouts of
+fox-hunting and Alpine climbing, and a taste in literature that brought about
+the consumption of midnight oil. This latter is not a mere trope. Steynholme is
+far removed from such modern &ldquo;conveniences&rdquo; as gas and electricity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At present he had no more definite object in life than to watch the trout
+rising in the pool. He held the fishing rights over half a mile of a noted
+river, but, by force of the law of hospitality, as it were, the stretch of
+water bordering the lawn was a finny sanctuary. Once, he halted, and looked
+fixedly at a dormer window in a cottage just visible above the trees on the
+opposite slope. Such a highly presentable young man might well expect to find a
+dainty feminine form appearing just in that place, and eke return the greeting
+of a waved hand. But the window remained blank&mdash;windows refused to yield
+any information that morning&mdash;and he passed on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lawn dipped gently to the water&rsquo;s edge, until the close-clipped turf
+gave way to pebbles and sand. In that spot the river widened and deepened until
+its current was hardly perceptible in fine weather. When the sun was in the
+west the trees and roofs of Steynholme were so clearly reflected in the mirror
+of the pool that a photograph of the scene needed close scrutiny ere one could
+determine whether or not it was being held upside down. But the sun shone
+directly on the water now, so the shelving bottom was visible, and
+Grant&rsquo;s quick eye was drawn to a rope trailing into the depths, and
+fastened to an iron staple driven firmly into the shingle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was so surprised that he spoke aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What in the world is that?&rdquo; he almost gasped; a premonition of
+evil was so strong in him that he actually gazed in stupefaction at a blob of
+water and a quick-spreading ring where a fat trout rose lazily in midstream.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Somehow, too, he resisted the first impulse of the active side of his
+temperament, and did not instantly tug at the rope.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instead, he shouted:&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hi, Bates!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An answering hail came from behind a screen of laurels on the right of the
+house. There lay the stables, and Bates would surely be grooming the cob which
+supplied a connecting link between <i>The Hollies</i> and the railway for the
+neighboring market-town.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates came, a sturdy block of a man who might have been hewn out of a Sussex
+oak. His face, hands, and arms were the color of oak, and he moved with a
+stiffness that suggested wooden joints.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Evidently, he expected an order for the dogcart, and stood stock still when he
+reached the lawn. But Grant, who had gathered his wits, summoned him with
+crooked forefinger, and Bates jerked slowly on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What hev&rsquo; ye done to yer face, sir?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was surprised. He expected no such question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So far as I know, I&rsquo;ve not been making any great alteration in
+it,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it&rsquo;s all covered wi&rsquo; blood,&rdquo; came the disturbing
+statement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A handkerchief soon gave evidence that Bates was not exaggerating.
+Miss&mdash;or is it Madam?&mdash;Dorothy Perkins can scratch as well as look
+sweet, and a thorn had opened a small vein in Grant&rsquo;s cheek which bled to
+a surprising extent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it is nothing,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I remember now&mdash;a rose
+shoot caught me as I went back into the dining-room a moment ago. I shouted for
+you to come and see <i>this.</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon the two were examining the rope and the staple.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now who put <i>that</i> there?&rdquo; said Bates, not asking a question
+but rather stating a thesis.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was not here yesterday,&rdquo; commented his master, accepting all
+that Bates&rsquo;s words implied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir, that it wasn&rsquo;t. I was a-cuttin&rsquo; the lawn till nigh
+bed-time, an&rsquo; it wasn&rsquo;t there then.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was himself again. He stooped and grabbed the rope.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Suppose we solve the mystery,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No need to dirty your hands, sir,&rdquo; put in Bates. &ldquo;Let I haul
+&rsquo;un in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a few seconds the oaken tint in his face grew many shades lighter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good Gawd!&rdquo; he wheezed. At the end of the rope was the body of a
+woman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There are few more distressing objects than a drowned corpse. On that bright
+June morning a dreadful apparition lost little of its grim repulsiveness
+because the body was that of a young and good-looking woman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If one searched England it would be difficult to find two men of differing
+temperaments less likely to yield to the stress of even the most trying
+circumstance than Grant and Bates, yet, during some agonized moments the one,
+of tried courage and fine mettle, was equally horrified and shaken as the
+other, a gnarled and hard-grained rustic. It was he from whom speech might
+least be expected who first found his tongue. Bates, who had stooped,
+straightened himself slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By gum!&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;this be a bad business, Mr. Grant. Who is
+she? She&rsquo;s none of our Steynholme lasses.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still Grant uttered no word. He just looked in horror at the poor husk of a
+woman who in life had undoubtedly been beautiful. She was well but quietly
+dressed, and her clothing showed no signs of violence. The all-night soaking in
+the river revealed some pitiful little feminine secrets, such as a touch of
+make-up on lips and cheeks, and the dark roots of abundant hair which had been
+treated chemically to lighten its color. The eyes were closed, and for that
+Grant was conscious of a deep thankfulness. Had those sightless eyes stared at
+him he felt he would have cried aloud in terror. The firm, well-molded lips
+were open, as though uttering a last protest against an untimely fate. Of
+course, both men were convinced that murder had been done. Not only were arms
+and body bound in a manner that was impossible of accomplishment by the dead
+woman herself, but an ugly wound on the smooth forehead seemed to indicate that
+she had been stunned or killed outright before being flung into the river.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, the rope and the staple suggested an outlandish, maniacal disposal of
+the victim. Here was no effort at concealment, but rather a making sure, in
+most brutal and callous fashion, that early discovery must be unavoidable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The bucolic mind works in well-scored grooves. Receiving no assistance from his
+master, Bates pulled the body a little farther up on the strip of gravel so
+that it lay clear of the water.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I mum fetch t&rsquo; polis,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The phrase, with its vivid significance, seemed to galvanize Grant into a
+species of comprehension.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he agreed, speaking slowly, as though striving to measure
+the effect of each word. &ldquo;Yes, go for the police, Bates. This foul crime
+must be inquired into, no matter who suffers. Go now. But first bring a rug
+from the stable. You understand? Your wife, or Minnie, must not be told till
+later. They must not see. Mrs. Bates is not so well to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not so well! Her ate a rare good breakfast for a sick &rsquo;un!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates was recovering from the shock, and prepared once more to take an interest
+in the minor features of existence. Among these he counted ability to eat as a
+sure sign of continued well-being in man or beast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, too, was slowly regaining poise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hardly know what I am saying,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;At any rate,
+bring a rug. I&rsquo;ll mount guard till you return with the policeman. There
+can be no doubt, I suppose, that this poor creature is dead.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dead as a stone,&rdquo; said Bates with conviction. &ldquo;Why,
+her&rsquo;s bin in there hours,&rdquo; and he nodded toward the water.
+&ldquo;Besides, if I knows anythink of a crack on t&rsquo;head, her wur outed
+before she went into t&rsquo;river.... But who i&rsquo; t&rsquo;world can she
+be?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t fetch that rug I&rsquo;ll go for it myself,&rdquo;
+said Grant, whereupon Bates made off.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was soon back again with a carriage rug, which Grant helped him to spread
+over the dripping body. Then he hastened to the village, taking a path that
+avoided the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lawn and river bank of <i>The Hollies</i> could only be overlooked from the
+steep wooded cliff opposite, and none but an adventurous boy would ever think
+of climbing down that almost impassable rampart of rock, brushwood, and
+tree-roots. At any rate, when left alone with the ghastly evidence of a
+tragedy, Grant troubled only to satisfy himself that no one was watching from
+the house. Assured on that point, he lifted a corner of the rug, and,
+apparently, forced himself to scrutinize the dead woman&rsquo;s face. He seemed
+to search therein for some reassuring token, but found none, because he shook
+his head, dropped the rug, and walked a few paces dejectedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, hardly knowing what he was about, he relighted his pipe, but had hardly
+put it in his mouth before he knocked out the tobacco.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Clearly, he was thinking hard, mapping out some line of conduct, and the
+outlook must have been dark indeed, judging by his somber and undecided aspect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+More than once he looked up at the attic window of the cottage which had drawn
+his eyes before tragedy had come so swiftly to his very feet. But, if he hoped
+to see anyone, he was disappointed, though, in the event, it proved that his
+real fear was lest the person he half expected to see should look out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was not disturbed in that way, however. Fish rose in the river; birds sang
+in the trees; a water-wagtail skipped nimbly from rock to rock in the shallows;
+honey-laden bees hummed past to the many hives in the postmaster&rsquo;s
+garden. These were the normal sights and sounds of a June morning&mdash;that
+which was abnormal and almost grotesque in its horror lay hidden beneath the
+carriage rug.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To and fro he walked in that trying vigil, carrying the empty pipe in one hand
+while, with the other, he dabbed the handkerchief at the cut on his face. He
+was aware of some singular change in the quality of the sunlight pouring down
+on lawn and river and trees. Five minutes earlier it had spread over the
+landscape a golden bloom of the tint of champagne; now it was sharp and cold, a
+clear, penetrating radiance in which colors were vivid and shadows black. He
+was in no mood to analyze emotions, or he might have understood that the fierce
+throbbing of his heart had literally thinned the blood in his veins and thus
+affected even his sight. He only knew that in this crystal atmosphere the major
+issues of life presented themselves with a new and crude force. At any rate, he
+made up his mind that the course suggested by truth and honor was the only one
+to follow, and that, in itself, was something gained.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By the time Bates returned, accompanied by the village policeman, and two other
+men carrying a stretcher, Grant was calmer, more self-contained, than he had
+been since that hapless body was dragged from the depths. He was not
+irresponsive, therefore, to the aura of official importance which enveloped the
+policeman; he sensed a certain uneasiness in Bates; he even noted that the
+stretcher was part of the stock in trade of Hobbs, the local butcher, and
+ordinarily bore the carcase of a well-fed pig.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+These details were helpful. Naturally, Bates had explained his errand, and the
+law, in the person of the policeman, was prepared for all eventualities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is a bad business, Mr. Grant,&rdquo; began the policeman, producing
+a note-book, and moistening the tip of a lead pencil with his tongue. Being a
+Sussex man, he used the same phrase as Bates. In fact, Grant was greeted by it
+a score of times that day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; agreed Grant. &ldquo;I had better tell you that I have
+recognized the poor lady. Her name is Adelaide Melhuish. Her residence is in
+the Regent&rsquo;s Park district of London.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson, the policeman, permitted himself to look surprised. He was, in fact,
+rather annoyed. Bates&rsquo;s story had prepared him for a first-rate detective
+mystery. It was irritating to have one of its leading features cleared up so
+promptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; he said, drawing a line under the last entry in the
+note-book, and writing the date and hour in heavy characters beneath.
+&ldquo;Married or single?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Married, but separated from her husband when last I had news of
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And when was that, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nearly three years ago.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you have not seen her since?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t see her last night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant positively started, but he looked at the policeman squarely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is strange you should ask me that,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Last night,
+while searching for a book, I saw a face at the window. It was that
+window,&rdquo; and four pairs of eyes followed his pointing finger. &ldquo;The
+face, I now believe, was that of the dead woman. At the moment, as it vanished
+instantly, I persuaded myself that I was the victim of some trick of the
+imagination. Still, I opened the other window, looked out and listened, but
+heard or saw nothing or no one. As I say, I fancied I had imagined that which
+was not. Now I know I was wrong.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About what o&rsquo;clock would this be, Mr. Grant?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shortly before eleven. I came in at a quarter past ten, and began to
+work. After writing steadily for a little more than half an hour, I wanted to
+consult a book, and lighted a candle which I keep for that purpose. I found the
+book, and was about to blow out the candle when I saw the face.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson wrote in his note-book:&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Called to <i>The Hollies</i> to investigate case of supposed murder.
+Body of woman found in river. Mr. Grant, occupying <i>The Hollies</i>, says
+that woman&rsquo;s name is Adelaide Melhuish&rdquo;&mdash;at this point he
+paused to ascertain the spelling&mdash;&ldquo;and he saw her face at a window
+of the house at 10.45 P.M., last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sir, and what next?&rdquo; he went on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It seems to me that the next thing is to have the unfortunate lady
+removed to some more suitable place than the river bank,&rdquo; said Grant,
+rather impatiently. &ldquo;My story can wait, and so can Bates&rsquo;s. He
+knows all that I know, and has probably told you already how we came to
+discover the body. You can see for yourself that she must have been murdered.
+It is an extraordinary, I may even say a phenomenal crime, which certainly
+cannot be investigated here and now. I advise you to have the body taken to the
+village mortuary, or such other place as serves local needs in that respect,
+and summon a doctor. Then, if you and an inspector will call here, I&rsquo;ll
+give you all the information I possess, which is very little, I may add.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson began solemnly to jot down a summary of Grant&rsquo;s words, and
+thereby stirred the owner of <i>The Hollies</i> to a fury which was repressed
+with difficulty. Realizing, however, the absolute folly of expressing any
+resentment, Grant turned, and, without meaning it, looked again in the
+direction of the cottage on the crest of the opposite bank. This time a girl
+was leaning out of the dormer window. She had shaded her eyes with a hand,
+because the sun was streaming into her face, but when she saw that Grant was
+looking her way she waved a handkerchief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He fluttered his own blood-stained handkerchief in brief acknowledgment, and
+wheeled about, only to find P. C. Robinson watching him furtively, having
+suspended his note-taking for the purpose.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap02"></a>Chapter II.<br />
+P. C. Robinson &ldquo;Takes a Line&rdquo;</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It will help me a lot, sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if you tell me now
+what you know about this matter. If, as seems more than likely, murder has been
+done, I don&rsquo;t want to lose a minute in starting my inquiries. In a case
+of this sort I find it best to take a line, and stick to it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His tone was respectful but firm. Evidently, P. C.  Robinson was not one to be
+trifled with. Moreover, for a sleuth whose maximum achievement hitherto had
+been the successful prosecution of a poultry thief, it was significant that the
+unconscious irony of &ldquo;a case of this sort&rdquo; should have been lost on
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you really insist on conducting your investigation while the body is
+lying here?&rdquo; demanded Grant, deliberately turning his back on the girl in
+the distant cottage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not that, sir&mdash;not altogether&mdash;but I must really ask you to
+clear up one or two points now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For goodness&rsquo; sake, what are they?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sir, in the first place, how did you come to find the body?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I walked out into the garden after finishing breakfast a few minutes
+ago, and noticed the rope attached to the staple, just as you see it
+now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you walk straight here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. Not exactly. I was&mdash;er&mdash;curious about the face I saw, or
+thought I saw, last night, and looked into the room through the same window. By
+doing so I scared Mrs. Bates, who was clearing the table, and she
+screamed&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Her would, too,&rdquo; put in Bates. &ldquo;Her&rsquo;d take &rsquo;ee
+for Owd Ben&rsquo;s ghost.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You shut up, Bates,&rdquo; said the policeman. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
+interrupt Mr. Grant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was conscious of an undercurrent of suspicion in the constable&rsquo;s
+manner. He was wroth with the man, but recognized that he had to deal with
+narrow-minded self-importance, so contrived again to curb his temper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not acquainted with old Ben or his ghost,&rdquo; he said quietly.
+&ldquo;I can only tell you that I went inside to reassure Mrs. Bates, and then
+strolled slowly to this very spot. Naturally, I could not miss the rope and the
+staple. To my mind, it was not intended that I or anyone else should miss them.
+I regarded them as so peculiar that I shouted for Bates. He came at once, and
+drew the body out of the water.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you recognized the dead woman as the one you saw last night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At about ten minutes to eleven?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it likely, sir, that any other person saw her in these grounds a bit
+earlier?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sir, I can&rsquo;t put it much plainer. Could anybody else have
+seen her here, say about 10.15?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant met the policeman&rsquo;s inquiring glance squarely before he answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is possible, of course,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but most
+unlikely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Were you alone here at that hour?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again Grant sought and held that inquisitive gaze, held it until Robinson
+affected to consult his notes. There was a moment of tense silence. Then the
+reply came with an icy stubbornness that was not to be denied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I decline absolutely to be cross-examined about my movements. If you are
+unable or unwilling to order the removal of the body, I&rsquo;ll telegraph to
+the chief of police at Knolesworth, and ask him to act. Further, I shall
+request Dr. Foxton to examine the poor lady&rsquo;s injuries. It strikes me as
+a monstrous proceeding that you should attempt to record my evidence at this
+moment, and I refuse to become a party to it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, then, Robinson, stop yer Sherlock Holmes work, an&rsquo; help me to
+lift this poor woman on to the stretcher,&rdquo; said Bates gruffly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The policeman&rsquo;s red face grew a shade deeper with annoyance, but he had
+the sense to avoid a scene. He was not popular in the village, and was well
+aware that the two rustics pressed into service as stretcher-bearers would
+joyfully retail the fact that he had been &ldquo;set down a peg or two by Mr.
+Grant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do all that&rsquo;s necessary in that way, sir,&rdquo; he
+said stiffly. &ldquo;I suppose you have no objection to my askin&rsquo; if you
+noticed any strange footprints on the ground hereabouts?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That was the first thing I looked for, both here and outside the
+window&mdash;the latter, of course, for another reason. I found none. These
+stones would show no signs. The ground is so dry that even the five men now
+present leave no traces, but I remember seeing in the bed of the stream certain
+marks which, unfortunately, were obliterated when Bates hauled the body ashore.
+They were valueless, however&mdash;shapeless indentations in the mud and
+sand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Were they wide apart or close together, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite irregular. No one could judge by the length of the stride whether
+they were made by the feet of a man or a woman, if that is what you have in
+mind ... but, really&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant&rsquo;s impatient motion was not to be misunderstood. Robinson stooped,
+removed the rug, and unfastened the rope, after noting carefully how it was
+tied, a point which he called on the others to observe as well. Then he and the
+villagers went away with their sad burden, the rug being requisitioned once
+more to hide that wan face from the vivid sunshine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates had a trick of grasping a handful of his short whiskers when puzzled; he
+did so now; it seemed to be an unconscious effort to pull his jaws apart in
+order to emit speech.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve a sort of idee, sir,&rdquo; he said slowly, &ldquo;that
+Robinson saw Doris Martin on the lawn with &rsquo;ee last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant turned on his henchman in a sudden heat of anger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Martin&rsquo;s name must be kept out of this matter,&rdquo; he
+growled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Sussex is not easily browbeaten when it thinks itself in the right.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All very well a-sayin&rsquo; that, sir, but a-doin&rsquo; of it is a
+bird of another color,&rdquo; argued Bates firmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How did you know that Miss Martin was here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bless your heart, sir, how comes it that us Steynholme folk know
+everythink about other folk&rsquo;s business? Sometimes we know more&rsquo;n
+they knows themselves. You&rsquo;ve not walked a yard wi&rsquo; Doris that the
+women&rsquo;s tittle-tattle hasn&rsquo;t made it into a mile.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No man, even the wisest, likes to be told an unpalatable truth. For a few
+seconds, Grant was seriously annoyed with this village Solon, and nearly
+blurted out an angry command that he should hold his tongue. Luckily, since
+Bates was only trying to be helpful, he was content to say sarcastically:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course, if you are so well posted in my movements last night, you can
+assure the coroner and the Police that I did not strangle some strange woman,
+tie a rope around her, and throw her in the river.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Me an&rsquo; my missis couldn&rsquo;t help seein&rsquo; you an&rsquo;
+Doris a-lookin&rsquo; at the stars through a spyglass when us were goin&rsquo;
+to bed,&rdquo; persisted Bates. &ldquo;We heerd your voices quite plain. Once
+&rsquo;ee fixed the glass low down, an&rsquo; said, &lsquo;That&rsquo;s
+serious. It&rsquo;s late to-night.&rsquo; An&rsquo; I tell &rsquo;ee straight,
+sir, I said to the missis:&mdash;&lsquo;It will be serious, an&rsquo; all, if
+Doris&rsquo;s father catches her gallivantin&rsquo; in our garden wi&rsquo; Mr.
+Grant nigh on ten o&rsquo;clock.&rsquo; Soon after that &rsquo;ee took Doris as
+far as the bridge. The window was open, an&rsquo; I heerd your footsteps on the
+road. You kem&rsquo; in, closed the window, an&rsquo; drew a chair up to the
+table. After that, I fell asleep.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perturbed and anxious though he was, Grant could hardly fail to see that Bates
+meant well by him. The mental effort needed for such a long speech said as
+much. The allusion to Sirius, amusing at any other time, was now most valuable,
+because an astronomical almanac would give the hour at which that brilliant
+star became visible. Other considerations yielded at once, however, to the fear
+lest Robinson and his note-book were already busy at the post office. Without
+another word, he hurried away by the side-path through the evergreens, leaving
+Bates staring after him, and, with more whisker-pulling, examining the rope and
+staple, which, by the policeman&rsquo;s order, were not to be disturbed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant reached the highroad just as Robinson and the men with the stretcher were
+crossing a stone bridge spanning the river about a hundred yards below <i>The
+Hollies</i>. A slight, youthful, and eminently attractive female figure,
+walking swiftly in the opposite direction, came in sight at the same time, and
+Grant almost groaned aloud when the newcomer stood stock still and looked at
+the mournful procession. He, be it remembered, was somewhat of an idealist and
+a poet; it grieved his spirit that those two women, the quick and the dead,
+should meet on the bridge. He took it as a portent, almost a menace, he knew
+not of what. He might have foreseen that unhappy eventuality, and prevented it,
+but his brain refused to work clearly that morning. A terrible and bizarre
+crime had bemused his faculties. He seemed to be in a state of waking
+nightmare.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was stung into impetuous action by seeing the policeman halt and exchange
+some words with the girl. He began to run, with the quite definite if equally
+mad intent of punching Robinson into reasonable behavior. He was saved from an
+act of unmitigated folly by the girl herself. She caught sight of him,
+apparently broke off her talk with the policeman abruptly, and, in her turn,
+took to her heels.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus, on that strip of sun-baked road, with its easy gradient to the crown of
+the bridge, there was the curious spectacle offered by two men jogging along
+with a corpse on a stretcher, a young man and a young woman running towards
+each other, and a discomfited representative of the law, looking now one way
+and now the other, and evidently undecided whether to go on or return.
+Ultimately, it would seem, Robinson went with the stretcher-bearers, because
+Grant and the girl saw no more of him for the time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant had received several shocks since rising from the breakfast-table, but it
+was left for Doris Martin, the postmaster&rsquo;s daughter, to administer not
+the least surprising one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Though almost breathless, and wide-eyed with horror, her opening words were
+very much to the point.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How awful!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Why should any-one in Steynholme
+want to kill a great actress like Adelaide Melhuish?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, the name of the dead woman was literally the last thing Grant expected to
+hear from this girl&rsquo;s lips, and the astounding fact momentarily banished
+all other worries.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You knew her?&rdquo; he gasped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, not exactly. But I couldn&rsquo;t avoid recognizing her when she
+asked for her letters, and sent a telegram.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Robinson told me she was dead. I see now what is puzzling
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is not quite that. I mean, why didn&rsquo;t you tell me she was in
+Steynholme? Has she been staying here any length of time?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl&rsquo;s pretty face crimsoned, and then grew pale.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&mdash;had no idea&mdash;she was&mdash;a friend of yours, Mr.
+Grant,&rdquo; she stammered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She used to be a friend, but I have not set eyes on her during the past
+three years&mdash;until last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Last night!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;After you had gone home. I was doing some work, and, having occasion to
+consult a book, lighted a candle, and put it in the small window near the
+bookcase. Then I fancied I saw a woman&rsquo;s face, <i>her</i> face, peering
+in, and was so obsessed by the notion that I went outside, but everything was
+so still that I persuaded myself I was mistaken.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, is that what it was?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant threw out his hands in a gesture that was eloquent of some feeling
+distinctly akin to despair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t usually speak in enigmas, Doris,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;What in the world do you mean by saying:&mdash;&lsquo;Oh, is that what
+it was?&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl&mdash;she was only nineteen, and never before had aught of tragic
+mystery entered her sheltered life&mdash;seemed to recover her self-possession
+with a quickness and decision that were admirable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no enigma,&rdquo; she said calmly. &ldquo;My room overlooks
+your lawn. Before retiring for the night I went to the window, just to have
+another peep at Sirius and its changing lights, so I could not help seeing you
+fling open the French windows, stand a little while on the step, and go in
+again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, you saw that? Then I have one witness who will help to dispel that
+stupid policeman&rsquo;s notion that I killed Miss Melhuish, and hid her body
+in the river at the foot of the lawn, hid it with such care that the first
+passerby must find it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Every human being has three distinct personalities. Firstly, there is the man
+or woman as he or she really is; secondly, there is the much superior
+individual as assessed personally; thirdly, and perhaps the most important in
+the general scheme of things, there is the same individuality as viewed by
+others. For an instant, the somewhat idealized figure which John Menzies Grant
+offered to a pretty and intelligent but inexperienced girl was in danger of
+losing its impressiveness. But, since Grant was not only a good fellow but a
+gentleman, his next thought restored him to the pedestal from which, all
+unknowing, he had nearly been dethroned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is a nice thing to say,&rdquo; he cried, with a short laugh of
+sheer vexation. &ldquo;Here am I regarding you as a first-rate witness in my
+behalf, whereas my chief worry is to keep you out of this ugly business
+altogether. Forgive me, Doris! Never before have I been so bothered. Honestly,
+I imagined I hadn&rsquo;t an enemy in the world, yet someone has tried
+deliberately to saddle me with suspicion in this affair. Not that I would give
+real heed to that consideration if it were not for the unhappy probability
+that, strive as I may, your name will crop up in connection with it. What sort
+of fellow is this police constable? Do you think he would keep his mouth shut
+if I paid him well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was certainly far from being in his normal state of mind, or he would
+have caught the tender gleam which lighted the girl&rsquo;s eyes when she
+understood that his concern was for her, not for himself. As it was, several
+things had escaped him during that brief talk on the sunlit road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On her part, Doris Martin was now in full control of her emotions, and she
+undoubtedly took a saner view of a difficult situation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Robinson is a vain man,&rdquo; she said thoughtfully. &ldquo;He will not
+let go the chance of notoriety given him by the murder of a well-known actress.
+Was she really murdered? Robinson said so when I met him on the bridge.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid he is justified in that belief, at any rate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Mr. Grant, what have we to conceal? I was in your garden at a
+rather late hour, I admit, but one cannot watch the stars by day, and a big
+telescope with its tripod is not easily carried about. Of course, father will
+be vexed, because, as it happens, I did not tell him I was coming out. But that
+cannot be helped. As it happens, I can fix the time you opened your window
+almost to a minute, because the church clock had chimed the quarter just before
+you appeared.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, however, was not to be soothed by this matter-of-fact reasoning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am vexed at the mere notion of your name, and possibly your portrait,
+appearing in the newspapers,&rdquo; he protested. &ldquo;Miss Melhuish was a
+celebrated actress. The press will make a rare commotion about her death. Look
+at the obvious questions that will be raised. What was she doing here? Why was
+she found in the river bordering the grounds of my house? Don&rsquo;t you see?
+I had to decide pretty quickly whether or not I would admit any previous
+knowledge of her. I suppose I acted rightly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why hide anything, Mr. Grant? Surely it is always best to tell the
+truth!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He looked into those candid blue eyes, and drew from their limpid depths an
+element of strength and fortitude.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By Jove, Doris, small wonder if a jaded man of the world, such as I was
+when I came to Steynholme, found new faith and inspiration in friendship with
+you,&rdquo; he said gratefully. &ldquo;But I am wool-gathering all the time
+this morning, it would seem. Won&rsquo;t you come into the house? If we have to
+discuss a tragedy we may as well sit down to it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said, with the promptitude of one who had anticipated the
+invitation. &ldquo;I must hurry home. There are accounts to be made up. And
+Robinson and others will be telegraphing to Knoleworth and London. I must
+attend to all that, because dad gets flustered if several messages are handed
+in at the same time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come and have tea, then, about four o&rsquo;clock. The ravens will have
+fled by then.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The ravens?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The police, you dear child, and the reporters, and the
+photographers&mdash;the flock of weird fowl which gathers from all points of
+the compass when the press gets hold of what is called &lsquo;a first-rate
+story,&rsquo; By midday I shall be in the thick of it. But, thank goodness,
+they will know nothing to draw them your way until the inquest takes place, and
+not even then if <i>I</i> can manage it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t mind me, Mr. Grant. You must not keep anything back on my
+account. I&rsquo;ll try and come at four. But I may be very busy in the office.
+By the way, you ought to know. Miss Melhuish came here on Sunday evening. She
+arrived by the train from London. I&mdash;happened to notice her as she passed
+in the Hare and Hounds&rsquo; bus. She took a room there, at the inn, I mean,
+and came to the post office twice yesterday. When I heard her name I recognized
+her at once from her photographs. And&mdash;one more thing&mdash;I guessed
+there was something wrong when I saw you, and Robinson, and Bates, and the
+other men standing near a body lying close to the river. That is why I came
+out. Now I really must go. Good-by!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She hastened away. Grant stood in the road and looked after her. Apparently she
+was conscious that he had not stirred, because, when she reached the bridge,
+she turned and waved a hand to him. She was exceedingly graceful in all her
+movements. She wore a simple white linen blouse and short white skirt that
+morning, with brown shoes and stockings which harmonized with the deeper tints
+of her Titian red hair. As she paused on the bridge for a second or two,
+silhouetted against the sky, she suggested to Grant&rsquo;s troubled mind the
+Spirit of Summer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Returning to the house by way of the main gate, which gave on to the highway,
+he bethought him of Mrs. Bates and Minnie. They must be enlightened, and warned
+as to the certain influx of visitors. He resolved now to tackle a displeasing
+task boldly. Realizing that the worst possible policy lay in denying himself to
+the representatives of the press, who would simply ascertain the facts from
+other sources, and unconsciously adopt a critical vein with regard to himself,
+he determined to go to the other extreme, and receive all comers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of course, there would be reservations in his story. That is what every man
+decides who faces a legal inquiry as a novice. It is a decision too often
+regretted in the light of after events.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, P. C. Robinson was hard at work. In his own phrase, he &ldquo;took a
+line,&rdquo; and the trend of his thoughts was clearly demonstrated when a
+superintendent motored over from Knoleworth in response to a telegram. He told
+how the body had been found, and then went into details gathered in the
+interim.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Melhuish hadn&rsquo;t been in the village five minutes,&rdquo; he
+said, &ldquo;before she asked Mr. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds,
+where <i>The Hollies</i> was, and how long Mr. Grant had lived in the village.
+She went for a walk in the direction of his house almost at once. Tomlin
+watched her until she crossed the bridge. That was on Sunday evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Superintendent Fowler allowed his placid features to show a flicker of
+surprise. In that rural district an actual, downright murder was almost
+unknown. Even a case of manslaughter, arising out of a drunken quarrel between
+laborers at fair-time, did not occur once in five years.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, she came here on Sunday, did she?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir. Yesterday, too, she spoke of Mr. Grant to Hobbs, the butcher,
+and Siddle, the chemist.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two were closeted in the sitting-room of Robinson&rsquo;s cottage, which
+was situated on the main road near the bridge. It faced the short, steep hill
+overhanging the river. A triangular strip of turf formed the village green, and
+the houses of Steynholme clustered around this and a side road climbing the
+hill. From door and windows nearly every shop and residence in the village
+proper could be seen. In front of the Hare and Hounds had gathered a group of
+men, and it was easy to guess the topic they were discussing. The
+superintendent, who did not know any of them, had no difficulty in identifying
+Hobbs, who looked a butcher and was dressed like one, or Tomlin, who was either
+born an innkeeper or had been coached in the part by a stage expert. A thin,
+sharp-looking person, pallid and black-haired, wearing a morning coat and
+striped trousers, must surely be Siddle, while a fourth, the youngest there,
+and of rather sporting guise, was apparently a farmer of a horse-breeding turn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is that fellow in the leggings?&rdquo; inquired the superintendent
+irrelevantly. He was looking through the window, and Robinson considered that
+the question showed a lack of interest in his statement, though he dared not
+hint at such a thing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a Mr. Elkin, sir,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;As I was
+saying&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How does Mr. Elkin make a living?&rdquo; broke in the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He breeds hacks and polo ponies,&rdquo; said Robinson, rather shortly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, I thought so. Well, go on with your story.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson was irritated, and justly so. His superior had put him off his
+&ldquo;line.&rdquo; He took it up again sharply, leaving out of court for the
+moment the various rills of evidence which, in his opinion, united into a
+swift-moving stream.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The fact is, sir,&rdquo; he blurted out, &ldquo;there is an uncommonly
+strong case against Mr. John Menzies Grant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Phew!&rdquo; whistled the superintendent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think you&rsquo;ll agree with me, sir, when you hear what I&rsquo;ve
+gathered about him one way and another.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson was sure of his audience now. Quite unconsciously, he had applied the
+chief canon of realism in art. He had conveyed his effect by one striking note.
+The rest of the picture was quite subsidiary to the bold splurge of color
+evoked by actually naming the man he suspected of murdering Adelaide Melhuish.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap03"></a>Chapter III.<br />
+The Gathering Clouds</h2>
+
+<p>
+Thus, it befell that Grant was not worried by officialdom until long after his
+housekeeper and her daughter had recovered from the shock of learning that they
+were, in a sense, connected at first hand with a ghastly and sensational crime.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Like Bates and their employer, neither Mrs. Bates nor Minnie had heard or seen
+anything overnight which suggested that a woman was being foully done to death
+in the grounds attached to the house. As it happened, Minnie&rsquo;s bedroom,
+as well as that occupied by her parents, overlooked the lawn and river.
+Grant&rsquo;s room lay in a gable which commanded the entrance. He had chosen
+it purposely because it faced the rising sun. The other members of the
+household, therefore, though in bed, had quite as good an opportunity as he,
+working in the dining-room beneath, of having their attention drawn to sounds
+disturbing the peace of the night in a quiet and secluded spot. Moreover, none
+of them was asleep. Minnie Bates, in particular, said that the
+&ldquo;grandfather&rsquo;s clock&rdquo; in the hall struck twelve before she
+&ldquo;could close an eye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last, just as Grant was rising from an almost untasted luncheon, Mrs. Bates,
+with a voice of scare, announced &ldquo;the polis,&rdquo; and P. C.  Robinson
+introduced Superintendent Fowler. This time Grant did not resent questions. He
+expected them, and had made up his mind to give full and detailed answers. Of
+course, the finding of the body was again described minutely. The
+superintendent, a man of experience, one whose manner was not fox-like and
+irritating like his subordinate&rsquo;s, paid close attention to the face at
+the window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There seems to be little room for doubt that Miss Melhuish did enter
+your grounds about a quarter to eleven last night,&rdquo; he said thoughtfully.
+&ldquo;You recognized her at once, you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I imagined so. Until this horrible thing became known I had persuaded
+myself that the vision was a piece of sheer hallucination.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let us assume that the lady actually came here, and looked in.
+Evidently, her face was sufficiently familiar that you should know instantly
+who this unusual visitor was. I understand, though, that you had not the least
+notion she was staying in Steynholme?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not the least.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How long ago is it since you last saw her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nearly three years.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You were very well acquainted with her, then, or you could not have
+glanced up from your table, seen someone staring at you through a window, and
+said to yourself, as one may express it:&mdash;&lsquo;That is Adelaide
+Melhuish&rsquo;.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We were so well acquainted that I asked the lady to be my wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said the superintendent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His placid, unemotional features, however, gave no clew to his opinions. Not so
+P. C. Robinson, who tried to look like a judge, whereas he really resembled a
+bull-terrier who has literally, not figuratively, smelt a rat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Despite his earlier good resolutions, Grant was horribly impatient of this
+inquisition. He admitted that the superintendent was carrying through an
+unpleasant duty as inoffensively as possible, but the attitude of the village
+policeman was irritating in the extreme. Nothing would have tended so
+effectively to relieve his surcharged feelings as to supply P. C. Robinson then
+and there with ample material for establishing a charge of assault and battery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is not a remarkable fact, if regarded apart from to-day&rsquo;s
+tragedy,&rdquo; he said, and there was more than a hint of soul-weariness in
+his voice. &ldquo;Miss Melhuish was a very talented and attractive woman. I
+first met her as the outcome of a suggestion that one of my books should be
+dramatized, a character in the novel being deemed eminently suitable for her
+special r&ocirc;le on the stage. The idea came to nothing. She was appearing in
+a successful play at the time, and was rehearsing its successor. Meanwhile,
+I&mdash;fell in love with her, I suppose, and she certainly encouraged me in
+the belief that she might accept me. I did eventually propose marriage. Then
+she told me she was married already. It was a painful disillusionment&mdash;at
+the time. I only saw her, to speak to, once again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did she reveal her husband&rsquo;s name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes&mdash;a Mr. Ingerman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent looked grave. That was a professional trick of his. He had
+never before in his life heard of Mr. Ingerman, but encouraged the notion that
+this gentleman was thoroughly, and not quite favorably, known to him. Sometimes
+it happened that a witness, interpreting this sapient look by the light of his
+or her personal and intimate knowledge, would blurt out certain facts, good or
+bad as the case might be, concerning the person under discussion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Grant remained obstinately silent as to the qualities of this doubtful
+Ingerman, so Mr. Fowler scribbled the name in a note-book, and was particular
+as to whether it ended in one &ldquo;n&rdquo; or two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still, he carried other shots in his locker. In fact, Mr. Fowler, had he taken
+in youth to nicer legal subtleties than handcuffs and summonses, would have
+become a shrewd lawyer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll leave Mr. Ingerman for the moment,&rdquo; he said, implying,
+of course, that on returning to him there might be revelations. &ldquo;I gather
+that you and Miss Melhuish did not agree, shall I put it? as to the precise
+bearing of the marriage tie on your love affair?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid I don&rsquo;t quite follow your meaning,&rdquo; and
+Grant&rsquo;s tone stiffened ominously, but his questioner was by no means
+abashed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have no great acquaintance with the stage or its ways, but I have
+always understood that divorce proceedings among theatrical folk were, shall we
+say? more popular than, in the ordinary walks of life,&rdquo; said Mr. Fowler.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant&rsquo;s resentment vanished. The superintendent&rsquo;s calm method, his
+interpolated apologies, as it were, for applying the probe, were beginning to
+interest him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your second effort is more successful, superintendent,&rdquo; he said
+dryly. &ldquo;Miss Melhuish did urge me to obtain her freedom. It was, she
+thought, only a matter of money with Mr. Ingerman, and she would be given
+material for a divorce.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; murmured Fowler again, as though the discreditable
+implication fitted in exactly with the life history of a noted scoundrel in a
+written <i>dossier</i> then lying in his office. &ldquo;You objected, may I
+suggest, to that somewhat doubtful means of settling a difficulty?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Something of the kind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Assuredly, Grant did not feel disposed to lay bare his secret feelings before
+this persuasive superintendent and an absurdly conceited village constable.
+Love, to him, was an ideal, a blend of mortal passion and immortal fire. But
+the flame kindled on that secret altar had scorched and seared his soul in a
+wholly unforeseen way. The discovery that Adelaide Melhuish was another
+man&rsquo;s wife had stunned him. It was not until the fire of sacrifice had
+died into parched ashes that its earlier banality became clear. He realized
+then that he had given his love to a phantom. By one of nature&rsquo;s miracles
+a vain and selfish creature was gifted in the artistic portrayal of the finer
+emotions. He had worshiped the actress, the mimic, not the woman herself. At
+any rate, that was how he read the repellent notion that he should bargain with
+any man for the sale of a wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You might be a trifle more explicit, Mr. Grant,&rdquo; said the
+superintendent, almost reproachfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In what direction? Surely a three-years-old love affair can have little
+practical bearing on Miss Melhuish&rsquo;s death?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What, then, may I ask, could bear on it more forcibly? The lady
+admittedly visits you, late at night, and is found dead in a river bordering
+the grounds of your house next morning, all the conditions pointing directly to
+murder. Moreover&mdash;it is no secret, as the truth must come out at the
+inquest&mdash;she had passed a good deal of her time while in Steynholme,
+unknown to you, in making inquiries concerning you, your habits, your
+surroundings, your friends. Surely, Mr. Grant, you must see that the history of
+your relations with this lady, though, if I may use the phrase, perfectly
+innocent, may possibly supply that which is at present lacking&mdash;a clew,
+shall I term it, to the motive which inspired the man, or woman, who killed
+her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+P. C.  Robinson was all an eye and an ear for this verbal fencing-match. It was
+not that he admired his superior&rsquo;s skill, because such finesse was wholly
+beyond him, but his suspicious brain was storing up Grant&rsquo;s admissions
+&ldquo;to be used in evidence&rdquo; against him subsequently. His own brief
+record of the conversation would have been:&mdash;&ldquo;The prisoner, after
+being duly cautioned, said he kept company with the deceased about three years
+ago, but quarreled with her on hearing that she was a married woman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent seldom indulged in so long a speech, but he was determined
+to force his adversary&rsquo;s guard, and sought to win his confidence by
+describing the probable course to be pursued by the coroner&rsquo;s inquest.
+But Grant, like the dead actress, had two sides to his nature. He was both an
+idealist and a stubborn fighter, and ideality had been shattered for many a day
+by that grewsome object hauled in that morning from the depths of the river.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am willing to help in any shape or form, but can only repeat that Miss
+Melhuish and I parted as described. I should add that I have never, to my
+knowledge, met her husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He may be dead.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Possibly. You may know more about him than I.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Even then, we have not traveled far as yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fowler was puzzled, and did not hesitate to show it. He believed, not without
+reasonable cause, that this young man was concealing some element in the
+situation which might prove helpful in the quest for the murderer. He resolved
+to strike off along a new track.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am informed,&rdquo; he went on, speaking with a deliberateness meant
+to be impressive, &ldquo;that you did entertain another lady as a visitor last
+night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant allowed his glance to dwell on Robinson for an instant. Hitherto he had
+ignored the man. Now he surveyed him as if he were a viper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It will be a peculiarly offensive thing if the personality of a helpless
+and unoffending girl is brought into this inquiry,&rdquo; he cried.
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Brought in&rsquo; is too mild&mdash;I ought to say &lsquo;dragged
+in.&rsquo; As it happens, astronomy is one of my hobbies. Last evening, as the
+outcome of a chat on the subject, Doris Martin, daughter of the local
+postmaster, came here to view Sirius through an astronomical telescope. There
+is the instrument,&rdquo; and he pointed through P. C.  Robinson to a telescope
+on a tripod in a corner of the room. The gesture was eloquent. The burly
+policeman might have been a sheet of glass. &ldquo;As you see, it is a solid
+article, not easily lifted about. It weighs nearly a hundred-weight.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why is it so heavy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent had a knack of putting seemingly irrelevant questions.
+Robinson had been disconcerted by it earlier in the day, but Grant seemed to
+treat the interruption as a sensible one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For observation purposes an astronomical telescope is not of much use
+unless the movement of the earth is counteracted,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Usually, the dome of an observatory swings on a specially contrived
+axis, but that is a very expensive structure, so my telescope is governed by a
+clockwork attachment and moves on its own axis.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Fowler nodded. He was really a very well informed man for a country
+police-officer; he understood clearly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Martin came here about a quarter to ten,&rdquo; continued Grant,
+&ldquo;and left within three-quarters of an hour. She did not enter the house.
+She was watching Sirius while I explained the methods whereby the distance of
+any star from the earth is computed and its chemical analysis
+determined&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Most instructive, I&rsquo;m sure,&rdquo; put in the superintendent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled genially, so genially that Grant dismissed the notion that the other
+might, in vulgar parlance, be pulling his leg.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, that is the be-all and end-all of Miss Martin&rsquo;s presence. It
+would be cruel, and unfair, if a girl of her age were forced into a distasteful
+prominence in connection with a crime with which she is no more related than
+with Sirius itself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The older man shook his head in regretful dissent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is just where you and I differ,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That very
+point leads us back to your past friendship with the dead woman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely you see, Mr. Grant, that Miss Melhuish might be, probably was,
+watching your star-gazing, especially as your pupil chanced to be, shall I say,
+a remarkably attractive young lady ... No, no,&rdquo; for Grant&rsquo;s anger
+was unmistakable&mdash;&ldquo;It does no good to blaze out in protest. An
+unhappy combination of circumstances must be faced candidly. Here are you and a
+pretty girl together in a garden at a rather late hour, and a woman whom you
+once wanted to marry spying on you, in all likelihood. I&rsquo;ve met a few
+coroner&rsquo;s juries in my time, and not one of them but would deem the
+coincidence strange, to put it mildly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What in Heaven&rsquo;s name are you driving at?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must not impute motives, sir. I am seeking them, not supplying
+them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But what am I to say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you will now tell me just how Miss Melhuish and you
+parted.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The fencers were coming to close quarters. Even P. C. Robinson had to admit
+that his &ldquo;boss&rdquo; had cornered the suspect rather cleverly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant realized that there was no room for squeamishness in this affair. If he
+did not speak out now, his motives might be woefully misunderstood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We parted in wrath and tears,&rdquo; he said sadly. &ldquo;Miss Melhuish
+could not, or did not, appreciate my scruples. She professed to be in love with
+me. She even went so far as to threaten suicide. I&mdash;hardly believed in her
+sincerity, but thought it advisable to temporize, and asked for a few
+days&rsquo; delay before we came to a final decision. We met again, as I have
+said, and discussed matters in calmer mood. Ultimately, she professed agreement
+with my point of view, and we parted, ostensibly to remain good friends, but
+really to separate for ever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you. That&rsquo;s better. What <i>was</i> your point of view, Mr.
+Grant?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely I have made it clear. I could not regard my wife as purchasable.
+The proposed compact was, I believe, illegal. But that consideration did not
+sway me. I had been dreaming, and thought I was roaming in an enchanted garden.
+I awoke, and found myself in a morass.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent nodded again. Singularly enough, Grant&rsquo;s somewhat
+high-flown simile appeared to satisfy his craving for light.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mind telling me&mdash;is there another woman?&rdquo; he demanded,
+with one of those rapid transitions of topic in which he excelled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You see what I am aiming at. Let us suppose that Miss Melhuish never, in
+her own mind, abandoned the hope that some day the tangle would straighten
+itself. Women are constituted that way. If her husband is now dead, and she
+became free, she might wish to renew the old ties, but, being proud, would want
+to ascertain first whether or not any other woman had come into your
+life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I follow perfectly,&rdquo; said Grant, with some bitterness. &ldquo;She
+would be consumed with jealousy because my companion in the garden last night
+happened to be a charming girl of nineteen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is possible.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So she went off and got someone to kill her, and tie her body with a
+rope, and arrange a dramatic setting whereby it would be patent to the meanest
+intelligence that I was the criminal?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Fowler smiled, and looked fixedly at P. C.  Robinson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; he said, quite good-humoredly. &ldquo;That would be
+carrying realism to extremes. Still, I am convinced, Mr. Grant, that this
+mystery is bound up in some way with your romance of three years ago. At
+present, I admit, I am working in the dark.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He rose. Apparently, the interview was at an end. But, while pocketing his
+note-book, he said suddenly:&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The inquest will open at three o&rsquo;clock tomorrow. You will be
+present, of course, Mr. Grant?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose it is necessary.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes. You found the body, you know. Besides, you may be the only
+person who can give evidence of identity. In fact, you and the doctor will be
+the only witnesses called.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dr. Foxton?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has he made a post-mortem?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is doing so now. You see, there is clear indication that this
+unfortunate lady was struck a heavy blow, perhaps killed, before she was put in
+the river.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good Heavens! Somehow, I was so stunned that I never thought of looking
+for signs of any injury of that sort.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant&rsquo;s horror-stricken air was so spontaneous that it probably justified
+the severe test of that unexpected disclosure. He was so unnerved by it that
+the two policemen had gone before he could frame another question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Once they were in the open road, and well away from <i>The Hollies</i>,
+Robinson ventured to open his mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a clever one is Mr. Grant,&rdquo; he said meaningly.
+&ldquo;You handled him a bit of all right, sir, but he didn&rsquo;t tell you
+everything he knew, not by long chalks.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent walked a few yards in silence. Even when he spoke, his gaze
+was introspective, and seemed to ignore his companion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m inclined to agree with you, Robinson,&rdquo; he said, speaking
+very slowly. &ldquo;We have a big case in our hands, a very big case. We must
+tread warily. You, in particular, mixing with the village folk, should listen
+to all but say nothing. Don&rsquo;t depend on your memory. Write down what you
+hear and see. People&rsquo;s actual words, and the exact time of an occurrence,
+often have an extraordinarily illuminating effect when weighed subsequently.
+But don&rsquo;t let Mr. Grant think you suspect him. There is no occasion for
+that&mdash;yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Fowler could be either blunt or cryptic in speech at will. In one mood he
+was the straightforward, outspoken official; in another the potential lawyer.
+P. C.  Robinson, though unable to describe his chief&rsquo;s erratic qualities,
+was unpleasantly aware of them. He was not quite sure, for instance, whether
+the superintendent was encouraging or warning him, but, being a dogged person,
+resolved to &ldquo;take his own line,&rdquo; and stick to it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant passed a distressful day. Work was not to be thought of, and reading was
+frankly impossible. His mind dwelt constantly on the tragedy which had come so
+swiftly and completely into his ordered life. He could not wholly discard the
+nebulous theory suggested by Superintendent Fowler, but the more he surveyed it
+the less reasonable it seemed. The one outstanding fact in a chaos of doubt was
+that someone had deliberately done Adelaide Melhuish to death. The murderer had
+been actuated by a motive. What was that motive? Surely, in a place like
+Steynholme no man could come and go without being seen, and the murderer must
+be a stranger to the district, because it was ridiculous to imagine that he was
+one of the residents.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet that was exactly what a dunderheaded policeman believed. P. C. Robinson had
+revealed himself by many a covert glance and prick-eared movement. Grant
+squirmed uneasily at the crass conceit, as there was no denying that
+circumstances tended towards a certain doubt, if no more, in regard to his own
+association with the crime.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The admission called for a fierce struggle with his pride, but he forced
+himself to think the problem out in all its bearings, and the folly of adopting
+the legendary policy of the chased ostrich became manifest. What, then, should
+he do? He thought, at first, of invoking the aid of a barrister friend, who
+could watch the inquest in his behalf.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nevertheless, he shrank from that step, which, to his super-sensitive nature,
+implied the need of legal protection, and he fiercely resented the mere notion
+of such a thing. But something must be done. Once the murderer was laid by the
+heels his own troubles would vanish, and the storm raised by the unhappy fate
+of Adelaide Melhuish would subside into a sad memory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was wrestling with indecision when a newspaper reporter called. Grant
+received the journalist promptly, and told him all the salient facts,
+suppressing only the one-time prospect of a marriage between himself and the
+famous actress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The reporter went with him to the river, and scrutinized the marks, now rapidly
+becoming obliterated, of the body having been drawn ashore.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The rope and iron staple, I understand, were taken from the premises of
+a man who lets boats for hire on the dam quarter of a mile away,&rdquo; he said
+casually.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was astounded at his own failure to make any inquiry whatsoever
+concerning this vital matter. He laughed grimly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can imagine the state of my mind,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;when I
+assure you that, until this moment, it never occurred to me even to ask where
+these articles came from or what had become of them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can sympathize with you,&rdquo; said the journalist. &ldquo;A brutal
+murder seems horribly out of place in this environment. It is a mysterious
+business altogether. I wonder if Scotland Yard will take it up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant surprised him by clapping him on the back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By Jove, my friend, the very thing! Of course, such an investigation
+requires bigger brains than our local police are endowed with. Scotland Yard
+<i>must</i> take it up. I&rsquo;ll wire there at once. If necessary, I&rsquo;ll
+pay all expenses.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The newspaper man had his doubts. The &ldquo;Yard,&rdquo; he said, acted in the
+provinces only if appealed to by the authorities directly concerned. But Grant
+was not to be stayed by a trifle like that. He hurried to the post office,
+hoping that Doris Martin might walk back with him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl and her father were busy behind the counter when he entered. He
+noticed that Doris was rather pale. She was about to attend to him, but Mr.
+Martin intervened. It struck Grant that the postmaster was purposely preventing
+his daughter from speaking to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For some inexplicable reason, he felt miserably tongue-tied, and was content to
+write a message to the Chief Commissioner of Police, London, asking that a
+skilled detective should be sent forthwith to Steynholme.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Martin read it gravely, stated the cost, and procured the requisite stamps.
+In the event, Grant quitted the place without exchanging a word with Doris,
+while her father, usually a chatty man, said not a syllable beyond what was
+barely needed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he passed down the hill and by the side of the Green he was aware of being
+covertly watched by many eyes. He saw P. C.  Robinson peering from behind a
+curtained window. Siddle, the chemist, came to the shop door, and looked after
+him. Hobbs, the butcher, ceased sharpening a knife and gazed out. Tomlin,
+landlord of the Hare and Hounds Inn, surveyed him from the &ldquo;snug.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+These things were not gracious. Indeed, they were positively maddening. He went
+home, gave an emphatic order that no one, except Miss Martin, if she called,
+was to be admitted and savagely buried himself in a treatise on earth-tides.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But that day of events had not finished for him yet. He had, perforce, eaten a
+good meal, and was thinking of going to the post office in order to clear up an
+undoubted misapprehension in Mr. Martin&rsquo;s mind, when Minnie Bates came
+with a card.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please, sir,&rdquo; said the girl, &ldquo;this gentleman is very
+pressing. He says he&rsquo;s sure you&rsquo;ll give him an interview when you
+see his name.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Grant looked, and read:&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<b>Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman</b>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Prince&rsquo;s Chambers, London, W.</i>
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap04"></a>Chapter IV.<br />
+A Cabal</h2>
+
+<p>
+Grant stared again at the card. A tiny silver bell seemed to tinkle a sort of
+warning in a recess of his brain. The name was not engraved in copper-plate,
+but printed in heavy type. Somehow, it looked ominous. His first impression was
+to bid Minnie send the man away. He distrusted any first impression. It was the
+excuse of mediocrity, a sign of weakness. Moreover, why shouldn&rsquo;t he meet
+Isidor G. Ingerman?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Show him in,&rdquo; he said, almost gruffly, thus silencing shy
+intuition, as it were. He threw the card on the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Ingerman entered. He did not offer any conventional greeting, but nodded,
+or bowed. Grant could not be sure which form of salutation was intended,
+because the visitor promptly sat down, uninvited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Minnie hesitated at the door. Her master&rsquo;s callers were usually cheerful
+Bohemians, who chatted at sight. Then she caught Grant&rsquo;s eye, and went
+out, banging the door in sheer nervousness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Still Mr. Ingerman did not speak. If this was a pose on his part, he erred.
+Grant had passed through a trying day, but he owned the muscles and nerves of
+an Alpine climber, and had often stared calmly down a wall of rock and ice
+which he had just conquered, when the least slip would have meant being dashed
+to pieces two thousand feet below.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was some advantage, too, in this species of stage wait. It enabled him to
+take the measure of Adelaide Melhuish&rsquo;s husband, if, indeed, the visitor
+was really the man he professed to be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At first sight, Isidor G. Ingerman was not a prepossessing person. Indeed, it
+would be safe to assume that if, by some trick of fortune, he and not Grant
+were the tenant of <i>The Hollies</i>, P. C.  Robinson would have haled him to
+the village lock-up that very morning. It was not that he was
+villainous-looking, but rather that he looked capable of villainy. He was a
+tall, slender, rather stooping man, with a decidedly well-molded, if hawk-like,
+face. His aspect might be described as saturnine. Possibly, when he smiled,
+this morose expression would vanish, and then he might even win a favorable
+opinion. He had brilliant black eyes, close set, and an abundant crop of black
+hair, turning gray, which, in itself, lent an air of distinction. His lips were
+thin, his chin slightly prominent. He was well dressed, and managed a hat,
+stick, and gloves with ease. Altogether, he reminded Grant of a certain notable
+actor who is invariably cast for the r&ocirc;le of a gentlemanly scoundrel, but
+who, in private life, is a most excellent fellow and good citizen. Oddly
+enough, Grant recognized in him, too, the type of man who would certainly have
+appealed to Adelaide Melhuish in her earlier and impressionable years.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, the visitor, finding that the clear-eyed young man seated in an easy
+chair (from which he had not risen) could seemingly regard him with blank
+indifference during the next hour, thought fit to say something.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is my name familiar to you, Mr. Grant?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The voice was astonishingly soft and pleasant, and the accent agreeably
+refined. Evidently, there were surprising points about Mr. Ingerman. Long
+afterwards, Grant learned, by chance, that the man had been an actor before
+branching off into that mysterious cosmopolitan profession known as &ldquo;a
+financier.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Grant. &ldquo;I have heard it very few times. Once,
+about three years ago, and today, when I mentioned it to the police.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other man&rsquo;s sallow cheeks grew a shade more sallow. Grant supposed
+that this slight change of color indicated annoyance. Of course, the
+association of ideas in that curt answer was intolerably rude. But Grant had
+been tried beyond endurance that day. He was in a mood to be brusque with an
+archbishop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We can disregard your confidences, or explanations, to the
+police,&rdquo; said Ingerman smoothly. &ldquo;Three years ago, I suppose, my
+wife spoke of me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you mean Miss Adelaide Melhuish&mdash;yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do mean her. To be exact, I mean the lady who was murdered outside
+this house last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant realized instantly that Isidor G. Ingerman was a foeman worthy of even a
+novelist&rsquo;s skill in repartee. Thus far, he, Grant, had been merely
+uncivil, using a bludgeon for wit, whereas the visitor was making play with a
+finely-tempered rapier.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now that you have established your identity, Mr. Ingerman, perhaps you
+will tell me why you are here,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have come to Steynholme to inquire into my wife&rsquo;s death.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A most laudable purpose. I was given to understand, however, that at one
+time you took little interest in her living. I have not seen Mrs. Ingerman for
+three years&mdash;until last night, that is&mdash;so there is a chance, of
+course, that husband and wife may have adjusted their differences. Is that
+so?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Until last night!&rdquo; repeated Ingerman, almost in a startled tone.
+&ldquo;You admit that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant turned and pointed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I saw, or fancied I saw, her face at that window,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;She looked in on me about ten minutes to eleven. I was hard at work, but
+the vision, as it seemed then, was so weird and unexpected, that I went
+straight out and searched for her. Perhaps &lsquo;searched&rsquo; is not quite
+the right word. To be exact, I opened the French window, stood there, and
+listened. Then I persuaded myself that I was imagining a vain thing, and came
+in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What was she doing here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She arrived in Steynholme on Sunday evening, I am told.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I heard that, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You imply that you did not meet her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No need to imply anything, Mr. Ingerman. I did not meet her. Beyond the
+fanciful notion that I had seen her ghost last night, the first I knew of her
+presence in the village was when I recognized her dead body this
+morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Strange as it may sound, I am inclined to believe you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant said nothing. He wanted to get up and pitch Ingerman into the road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But who else will take that charitable view?&rdquo; purred the other, in
+that suave voice which so ill accorded with his thin lips and slightly hooked
+nose.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I really don&rsquo;t care,&rdquo; was the weary answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at the moment, perhaps. You have had a trying day, no doubt. My
+visit at its close cannot be helpful. But&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am feeling rather tired mentally,&rdquo; interrupted Grant, &ldquo;so
+you will oblige me by not raising too many points at once. Why should you
+imagine that conversation with you in particular should add to my supposed
+distress?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, then, may I ask, do you so obviously resent my questions? Who has
+so much right to put them as I?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant found that he must bestir himself. Thus far, the honors lay with this
+rather sinister-looking yet quiet-mannered visitor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sorry if anything I have said lends color to that belief,&rdquo; he
+answered. &ldquo;Candidly, I began by assuming that you forfeited any legal
+right years ago to interfere in behalf of Miss Melhuish, living or dead. Let
+us, at least, be candid with each other. Miss Melhuish herself told me that you
+and she had separated by mutual consent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Allow me to emulate your candor. The actual fact is that you weaned my
+wife&rsquo;s affections from me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is a downright lie,&rdquo; said Grant coolly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman&rsquo;s peculiar temperament permitted him to treat this grave insult
+far more lightly than Grant&rsquo;s harmless, if irritating, reference to the
+police.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let us see just what &lsquo;a lie&rsquo; signifies,&rdquo; he said,
+almost judicially. &ldquo;If a lady deserts her husband, and there is good
+reason to suspect that she is, in popular phrase, &lsquo;carrying on&rsquo;
+with another man, how can the husband be lying if he charges that man with
+being the cause of the domestic upheaval?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In this instance a hypothetical case is not called for. Three years ago,
+Mr. Ingerman, you had parted from your wife. Your name was never mentioned.
+Apparently, none in my circle had even heard of you. Miss Melhuish had won
+repute as a celebrated actress. I met her, in a sense, professionally. We
+became friends. I fancied I was in love with her. I proposed marriage. Then,
+and not until then, did the ghost of Mr.&rdquo;&mdash;Grant bent forward, and
+consulted the card&mdash;&ldquo;Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman intrude.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So marriage was out of the question?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you expect an answer&mdash;yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman rested the handle of his stick against his lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That isn&rsquo;t how the situation was represented to me at the
+time,&rdquo; he said thoughtfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was still sore with the recollection of the way in which the
+superintendent of police had forced him to confess the pitiful scheme whereby a
+woman in love had sought to gain her ends. He refused to sully her memory a
+second time that day, even to gain the upper hand in this troublesome
+controversy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I neither know nor care what representations may have been made to
+you,&rdquo; he retorted. &ldquo;I merely tell you the literal truth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Possibly. Possibly. It was not I who used the word &lsquo;lie,&rsquo;
+remember. But if you are ungracious enough to refuse to withdraw the offensive
+phrase, let it pass. We are not in France. This deadly business will be fought
+out in the law courts. I am here to-night of my own initiative. I thought it
+only fair and reasonable that you and I should meet before we are brought face
+to face at a coroner&rsquo;s inquest, and, it may be, in an Assize Court....
+No, no, Mr. Grant. Pray do not put the worst construction on my words.
+<i>Someone</i> murdered my wife. If the police show intelligence and reasonable
+skill, <i>someone</i> will be tried for the crime. You and I will certainly be
+witnesses. That is what I meant to convey. The doubt in my mind was
+this&mdash;whether to be actively hostile or passively friendly to the man who,
+next to me, was interested in the poor woman now lying dead in a wretched
+stable of this village.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The almost diabolical cleverness of this long speech, delivered without heat
+and with singularly adroit stress on various passages, was revealed by its
+effect on Grant. He was at once infuriated and puzzled. Ingerman was playing
+him as a fisherman humors a well-hooked salmon. The simile actually occurred to
+him, and he resolved to precipitate matters by coming straightway to the
+landing-net.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is your friendship purchasable?&rdquo; he inquired, making the rush
+without further preamble.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My wife was, I was led to believe,&rdquo; came the calm retort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant threw scruples to the wind now. Adelaide Mulhuish was being defamed, not
+by him, but by her husband.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We are at cross purposes,&rdquo; he said, weighing each word.
+&ldquo;Your wife, who knew your character fairly well, I am convinced, thought
+that you were open to receive a cash consideration for your connivance in a
+divorce.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She had told me plainly that she would never live with me again. I was
+too fair-minded a man to place obstacles in the way when she wished to regain
+her freedom.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So it was true, then. What was the price? One thousand&mdash;two? I am
+not a millionaire.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nor am I. As a mere matter of pounds, shillings, and pence, it was a
+serious matter for me when my wife&rsquo;s earnings ceased to come into the
+common stock.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My first, if rather vague, estimate of you was the correct one. You are
+a good bit of a scoundrel, and, if I guess rightly, a would-be
+blackmailer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are talking at random, Mr. Grant. The levying of blackmail connotes
+that the person bled desires that some discreditable, or dangerous, fact should
+be concealed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Such is not my position.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&mdash;I wonder.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can relieve you of any oppressive doubt. I informed the police some
+few hours ago that you have appeared already in a similar role.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, you did, did you?&rdquo; snarled Ingerman, suddenly abandoning his
+pose, and gazing at Grant with a curiously snakelike glint in his black eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. It interested them, I fancied.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was sure of his man now, and rather relieved that the battle of wits was
+turning in his favor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So you have begun already to scheme your defense?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hadn&rsquo;t you better go?&rdquo; was the contemptuous retort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You refuse to answer any further questions?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I refuse to buy your proffered friendship&mdash;whatever that may
+mean.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have I offered to sell it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I gathered as much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman rose. He was still master of himself, though his lanky body was taut
+with rage. He spoke calmly and with remarkable restraint.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go through what I have said, and discover, if you can, the slightest
+hint of any suggested condonation of your offenses, whether avowed or merely
+suspected. I shall prove beyond dispute that you came between me and my wife.
+Don&rsquo;t hug the delusion that your three years&rsquo; limit will save you.
+It will not. I wish you well of your attempt to prove that I was a consenting
+party to divorce proceedings. I came here to look you over. I have done so, and
+have arrived at a very definite opinion. I, also, have been interviewed by the
+police, and any unfavorable views they may have formed concerning me as the
+outcome of your<i> ex parte</i> statements are more than counteracted by the
+ugly facts of a ghastly murder. You were here shortly before eleven
+o&rsquo;clock last night. My wife was here, too, and alive. This morning she
+was found dead, by you. At eleven o&rsquo;clock last night I was playing bridge
+with three city men in my flat. When the news of the murder reached me to-day
+my first thought, after the shock of it had passed, was:&mdash;&lsquo;That
+fellow, Grant, may be innocently involved in a terrible crime, and I may figure
+as the chief witness against him.&rsquo; I am not speaking idly, as you will
+learn to your cost. Yet, when I come on an errand of mercy, you have the
+impudence to charge me with blackmail. You are in for a great awakening. Be
+sure of that!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Isidor G. Ingerman walked out, leaving Grant uncomfortably aware that he
+had not seen the last of an implacable and bitter enemy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was something new and very disturbing for a writer to find himself in the
+predicament of a man with an absolutely clear conscience yet perilously near
+the meshes of the criminal law. He had often analyzed such a situation in his
+books, but fiction diverged so radically from hard fact that the sensation was
+profoundly disconcerting, to say the least.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He did not go to the post office. He was not equal to any more verbal
+fire-works that evening. So he lit a pipe, and reviewed Ingerman&rsquo;s
+well-rounded periods very carefully, even taking the precaution to jot down
+exact phrases. He analyzed them, and saw that they were capable of two
+readings. Of course, it could not be otherwise. The plausible rascal must have
+conned them over until this essential was secured. Grant even went so far as to
+give them a grudging professional tribute. They held a canker of doubt, too,
+which it was difficult to dissect. Their veiled threats were perplexing. While
+their effect, as apart from literal significance, was fresh in his mind, he
+made a few notes of different interpretations.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went to bed rather early, but could not sleep until the small hours.
+Probably his rest, such as it was, would have been even more disturbed had he
+been able to accompany Ingerman to the Hare and Hounds Inn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A small but select company had gathered in the bar parlor. The two hours
+between eight and ten were the most important of the day to the landlord, Mr.
+Tomlin. It was then that he imparted and received the tit-bits of local gossip
+garnered earlier, the process involving a good deal of play with shining
+beer-handles and attractively labeled bottles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But this was a special occasion. Never before had there been a Steynholme
+murder before the symposium. Hitherto, such a grewsome topic was supplied, for
+the most part, by faraway London. To-night the eeriness and dramatic intensity
+of a notable crime lay at the very doors of the village.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Tomlin was more portentous than usual; Hobbs, the butcher, more assertive,
+Elkin, the &ldquo;sporty&rdquo; breeder of polo ponies, more inclined to
+&ldquo;lay odds&rdquo; on any conceivable subject, and Siddle, the chemist, a
+reserved man at the best, even less disposed to voice a definite opinion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin was about twenty-five years of age, Siddle looked younger than his
+probable thirty-five years, while the others were on the stout and prosperous
+line of fifty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were discussing the murder, of course, when Ingerman entered, and ordered
+a whiskey and soda. Instantly there was dead silence. Looks and furtive winks
+were exchanged. There had been talk of a detective being employed. Perhaps this
+was he. Mr. Tomlin knew the stranger&rsquo;s name, as he had taken a room, but
+that was the extent of the available information.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A fine evenin&rsquo;, sir,&rdquo; said Tomlin, drawing a cork noisily.
+&ldquo;Looks as though we were in for a spell o&rsquo; settled weather.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; agreed Ingerman, summing up the conclave at a glance.
+&ldquo;Somehow, such a lovely night ill accords with the cause of my visit to
+Steynholme.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In-deed, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you and these other gentlemen may judge for yourselves. It will be
+no secret tomorrow. I am the husband of the lady who was found in the river
+outside Mr. Grant&rsquo;s residence this morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Sensation, as the descriptive reporters put it. Mr. Tomlin was dumbly but
+unanimously elected chairman of the meeting, and was vaguely aware of his
+responsibilities. He drew himself a fresh glass of bitter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t tell me, sir!&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;Well, the idee!
+The pore lady&rsquo;s letters were addressed to Miss Adelaide Melhuish. Perhaps
+you don&rsquo;t know, sir, that she stayed here!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes. I was told that by the local police-constable. Have I, by any
+chance, been given her room?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir. Not likely. It&rsquo;s locked, and the police have the key till
+the inquest is done with.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As for the name,&rdquo; explained Ingerman, in his suave voice,
+&ldquo;that was a mere stage pseudonym, an adopted name. My wife was a famous
+actress, and there is a sort of tacit agreement that a lady in the theatrical
+profession shall be known to the public as &lsquo;Miss&rsquo; rather than
+&lsquo;Mrs.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, there!&rdquo; wheezed Tomlin. &ldquo;Who&rsquo;d ever ha&rsquo;
+thought it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The landlord was not quite rising to the occasion. He was, in fact, stunned by
+these repeated shocks. So Hobbs took charge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a sad errand you&rsquo;re on, sir,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Death comes to all of us, man an&rsquo; beast alike, but it&rsquo;s a
+terrible thing when a lady like Miss&mdash; Mrs. &mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ingerman is my name, but my wife will certainly be alluded to by the
+press as Miss Melhuish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When a lady like Miss Melhuish is knocked on the &rsquo;ead like
+a&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Hobbs hesitated again. He also felt that the situation was rather beyond
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But my wife was flung into the river and drowned,&rdquo; said Ingerman
+sadly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir. She was killed fust. It was a brutal business, so I&rsquo;m
+told.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mean that she was struck, her skull battered?&rdquo; came the
+demand, in an awed and soul-thrilling whisper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir. An&rsquo; the wust thing is, none of us can guess who could
+ha&rsquo; done it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lay yer five quid to one, Hobbs, that the police cop the scoundrel afore
+this day fortnight,&rdquo; cried Elkin noisily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then Mr. Siddle put in a mild word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;let me remind you that we four will
+probably be jurors at the inquest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That was a sobering thought. Elkin subsided, and Hobbs looked critically at the
+remains of a gill of beer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman took stock of the chemist. He might easily induce the others to
+believe that Grant was the real criminal, but the quiet man in the black
+morning-coat and striped cloth trousers was of finer metal. He knew instantly
+that if he could persuade this one &ldquo;probable juror&rdquo; of
+Grant&rsquo;s guilt, the remainder would follow his lead like a flock of sheep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there was no need to hurry. Next day&rsquo;s inquest would be a mere
+formality. The real struggle would begin a week or a fortnight later.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have said a very wise thing, sir,&rdquo; he murmured appreciatively.
+&ldquo;Even my feelings must be kept under better control. But this is no
+ordinary murder. Before it is cleared up there will be astounding revelations.
+Mark the word&mdash;astounding.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hobbs, whose heavy cheeks were of a brick-red tint, almost startled the
+conclave by a sudden outburst which gave him an apoplectic appearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re too kind&rsquo;earted, Siddle,&rdquo; he cried.
+&ldquo;Wot&rsquo;s the use of talkin&rsquo; rubbish. We all know where the body
+was found. We all know that Doris Martin an&rsquo; Mr. Grant were
+a&rsquo;sweet-&rsquo;eartin&rsquo; in the garden&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here, Hobbs, just keep Doris Martin&rsquo;s name out of it!&rdquo;
+shouted Elkin, smiting the table with his fist till the glasses danced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gentlemen!&rdquo; protested Siddle gently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all dashed fine, but I&rsquo;m not&mdash;&rdquo; blustered
+Elkin. He yielded to Ingerman&rsquo;s outstretched hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I seem to have brought discord into a friendly gathering,&rdquo; came
+the mournful comment. &ldquo;Such was far from being my intent. Landlord, the
+round is on me, with cigars. Now, let us talk of anything but this horror. If I
+forget myself again, pull me up short, and fine me another round.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle half rose, but thought better of it. Evidently, he meant to use his
+influence to stop foolish chatter.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap05"></a>Chapter V.<br />
+The Seeds of Mischief</h2>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman was a shrewder judge of human nature than the village chemist. As well
+try to stem the flowing tide as stop tongues from wagging when such a theme
+offered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tomlin created a momentary diversion by clattering in the bar. After this
+professional interlude, Ingerman ignored his own compact.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure you local residents will be interested, at least, in
+hearing something of my wife&rsquo;s career,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;There never
+was a more lovable and gracious woman, and no couple could be more united than
+she and I till some three years ago. Then came a break. She was independent of
+me, of course. She was a celebrity, I a mere nobody, best known, if at all, as
+&lsquo;Miss Melhuish&rsquo;s husband.&rsquo; Nevertheless, we were devoted to
+each other until, to her and my lasting misfortune, a certain author wrote a
+book which, when dramatized, contained a part for which my wife&rsquo;s stage
+presence and talents seemed to be peculiarly suited.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle stirred uneasily, but the others were still as partridges in stubble.
+Ingerman did not intend to alarm the shy bird of the covey, however.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I name no names,&rdquo; he said solemnly. &ldquo;Nor am I telling you
+anything that will not be thoroughly exposed before the coroner and elsewhere.
+From that unhappy period dated our estrangement. My wife fell under a fatal
+influence which lasted, practically unchecked, until the day, if not the very
+hour, of her death. Do I blame her? No&mdash;a thousand times no! You see me, a
+plain man, considerably her senior. <i>I</i> had not the gift of writing
+impassioned love passages in which she could display her artistic genius. When
+I came home from the City, tired after the day&rsquo;s work, <i>she</i> was
+just beginning hers. You know what London fashionable life is&mdash;the
+theater, a supper, a dance, some great lady&rsquo;s &lsquo;reception,&rsquo;
+and the rest of it. Ah, me! The stage, and literature, and the arts generally
+are not for poor fellows moiling in a City office. You gentlemen, I take it,
+are all happily married&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not,&rdquo; said Elkin, &ldquo;but I&rsquo;ll lay you long
+odds I will be soon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For some reason, this remark produced a certain uneasiness among his friends.
+Tomlin stared at the ash of one of the cigars &ldquo;stood&rdquo; by this
+talkative Londoner; Hobbs, whose glass had reached a low level again, examined
+the dregs almost fiercely; and Siddle seemed to be about to say something, but,
+with his usual restraint, kept silent. Then Ingerman made a very shrewd guess,
+and wondered who Doris Martin was, and what Hobbs&rsquo;s cryptic allusion had
+meant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good luck to you, sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but&mdash;take no
+offense&mdash;don&rsquo;t marry an actress. There&rsquo;s an old adage,
+&lsquo;Birds of a feather flock together.&rsquo; I would go farther, and
+interpolate the word &lsquo;should.&rsquo; If Adelaide Melhuish had never met
+me, but had married the man who could write her plays, this tragedy in real
+life would never have been.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;D&mdash;n him,&rdquo; muttered Elkin fiercely. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s done
+for now, anyhow. He&rsquo;ll turn no more girls&rsquo; heads for a bit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;An&rsquo; five minutes since you yapped at me like a vicious fox-terrier
+for &rsquo;intin&rsquo; much the same thing,&rdquo; chortled Hobbs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle stood up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You ain&rsquo;t goin&rsquo;, Mr. Siddle?&rdquo; went on the butcher.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s &rsquo;ardly &rsquo;arf past nine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have some accounts to get out. It&rsquo;s near the half year, you
+know,&rdquo; and Siddle vanished unobtrusively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hobbs shook his head, and gazed at Elkin as though the latter was a refractory
+bullock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle&rsquo;s a fair-minded chap,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He can&rsquo;t
+stand &rsquo;earin&rsquo; any of us &rsquo;angin&rsquo; a man without a fair
+trial.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman had marked the chemist for more subtle treatment when an opportunity
+arose, or could be made. At present, he was not sorry such a restraining
+influence was removed. The next half hour should prove a golden one if well
+utilized. He was right. Before the inn was cleared, what between Elkin&rsquo;s
+savage comments and the other men&rsquo;s thinly-veiled allusions, he knew all
+that Steynholme could tell with regard to Grant and Doris Martin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant&rsquo;s first thought next morning was of the girl who had been thrust so
+prominently into his life by the death of another woman. That was, perhaps, the
+strangest outcome of the tragedy. Doris was easily the prettiest and most
+intelligent girl in the village, a rare combination in itself, even among young
+ladies of much higher social position than a postmaster&rsquo;s daughter. But
+her father was a self-educated man, whose life had been given to books, whose
+only hobby was the culture and study of bees. He had often refused promotion,
+solely because his duties at Steynholme were light, and permitted of many free
+hours. In his only child he found a quick pupil and a sympathetic helper. Of
+her own accord she took to poetry and music. In effect, had Doris Martin
+attended the best of boarding-schools and training colleges, she would have
+received a smattering of French and a fair knowledge of the piano or violin,
+whereas, after more humble tuition, it might fairly be said of her that few
+girls of her age had read so many books and assimilated their contents so
+thoroughly. From her mother she inherited her good looks and a small yearly
+income, just sufficient to maintain a better wardrobe than her father&rsquo;s
+salary would permit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, newly settled in Steynholme, found the postmaster and his daughter
+intellectually on a par with himself, and this claim could certainly not be
+made on behalf of the local &ldquo;society&rdquo; element. The three became
+excellent friends. Naturally, the young people spent a good deal of time
+together. But there had been no love-making&mdash;not a hint or whisper of it!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now, by cruel chance, their names were linked by scandal in its most
+menacing form, since there was no gainsaying the fact that Doris&rsquo;s
+star-gazing on that fatal Monday night was indissolubly bound up with the death
+of Adelaide Melhuish.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the first time, then, the notion peeped up in Grant&rsquo;s mind that the
+whirligig of existence might see Doris his wife. But the conceit resembled the
+Gorgon&rsquo;s teeth, which, when sown in the ground, sprang forth as armed
+men. The very accident which revealed a not unpleasing possibility had
+established a grave obstacle in the way of its ultimate realization. Already
+there was a cloud between him and the Martins, father and daughter. To what a
+tempest might not that cloud develop when the questionings and innuendoes of
+the inquest established an aura of suspicion and intrigue around a perfectly
+innocent meeting in the garden of <i>The Hollies</i>!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant ate his breakfast in wrath. In wrath, too, he glanced through the morning
+newspapers, and saw his own name figuring large in the &ldquo;story&rdquo; of
+the &ldquo;alleged&rdquo; murder. The reporters had missed nothing. They had
+even got hold of the &ldquo;peculiar coincidence&rdquo; of his (Grant&rsquo;s)
+glimpse of a face at the window. His play was recalled, and Adelaide
+Melhuish&rsquo;s success in the title-r&ocirc;le. Then Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman
+was introduced. He was described as &ldquo;a man fairly well known in the
+City.&rdquo; That was all. The press could say nothing as yet of marital
+disagreements, nor was any hint concerning Doris Martin allowed to appear. But
+these journalistic fire-works were only held in reserve. &ldquo;Dramatic and
+sensational developments&rdquo; were promised, and police activity in &ldquo;an
+unexpected direction&rdquo; fore-shadowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All of which, of course, was mere journalistic paraphrasing of circumstances
+already known to the writers, and none the less galling to Grant on that
+account.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And there was no answer from the Commissioner of Police at Scotland Yard. True,
+the overnight telegram might have reached the Department after office hours.
+Grant, like most members of the general public, held the vague belief that
+Government officials do very little work. Still, one might reasonably expect
+better things from the institution which was supposed to safeguard law-abiding
+citizens.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Calm analysis of Ingerman&rsquo;s nebulous threats had revealed a hostile force
+not to be despised. Possibly, the man was already in league with that
+narrow-minded village constable, so every passing hour made more urgent the
+need of a trained intelligence being brought to bear on the mystery of Adelaide
+Melhuish&rsquo;s killing. Grant racked his brains to discover who could
+possibly have a motive for committing the crime. Naturally, his thoughts flew
+to Ingerman. Surely that sinister-looking person should be forced to give an
+account of himself instead of, as was probable, being allowed to instill
+further nonsense into the suspicious mind of P. C.  Robinson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were two morning deliveries of London letters in Steynholme, one at eight
+and another at half past ten. Grant waited until the postman had left a
+publisher&rsquo;s circular (the only letter for <i>The Hollies</i> by the
+second mail). Then, in a fever of impatience, he jammed on a hat and went out.
+He would wait no longer. He would telegraph Scotland Yard again, and,
+incidentally, demand an audience at the post office.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No sooner had he entered the highroad than he saw P. C.  Robinson on guard.
+That important person was standing on the bridge, apparently taking the air. He
+was nibbling the chin-strap of his helmet; both thumbs were locked in his belt.
+From that strategic position three roads came under observation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a fine morning, and Grant&rsquo;s sense of humor was not proof against
+this open espionage. He smiled, and determined to take a rise out of
+&ldquo;Sherlock,&rdquo; as Bates had christened the policeman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The bridge lay a hundred yards to the left. The road was straight until it
+curved around the house and its shrubberies, so the view was blocked on that
+side. Grant filled and lighted a pipe with a deliberateness meant to be
+provoking, glancing several times doubtfully at P. C.  Robinson, who, of
+course, was grandly unaware of his presence. Then he strolled off to the right,
+and, when hidden, took to his heels for a hundred yards sprint. Turning into a
+winding bridle-path tucked between hedges of thorn and hazels, he walked to a
+point where it crossed a patch of furze. At a little distance a hand-bridge
+spanned the river, and gave access to the eastern end of the village by a steep
+climb of the wooded cliff. The path, in fact, was a short cut to that part of
+Steynholme.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sat on a hump of rock, and waited. It was a boyish trick, but very
+successful. Within three minutes, at the utmost, P. C.  Robinson hurried past,
+using a stalking, stealthy stride which was distinctly ludicrous.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The eyes of the two men met, but Grant alone was prepared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hello, Robinson!&rdquo; he cried cheerfully. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the
+rush? Surely our rural peace has not been disturbed again?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson knew he had been &ldquo;sold,&rdquo; but rose to the occasion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Excuse me, Mr. Grant,&rdquo; he puffed. &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t wait now.
+Have an appointment. I&rsquo;ll see you later.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Honor demanded that he should not relax that swift pace. Unhappily, the path up
+the cliff was visible throughout from Grant&rsquo;s rock, so, on reaching the
+summit, Robinson was a-boil in more ways than one. Moreover, peeping through
+the first screen of trees that offered, he had the mortification of seeing the
+man who had befooled him go back the way he came.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Purple-faced with heat and anger, the policeman forgot his surroundings, and
+glowered at Grant with real fury. So he heard no one approaching along the main
+road until he was hailed a second time with, &ldquo;Hello, Robinson!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned sharply. This was Mr. Elkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good morning!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Have you seen the
+superintendent?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? Mr. Fowler? No. Is <i>he</i> here so early?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must have missed him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;ll hardly find him on Bush Walk,&rdquo; which was the
+name of the path.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You never can tell,&rdquo; came the dark answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At any rate, the policeman elected to abandon his self-imposed vigil, and the
+two walked together into the village.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My! You look as though you&rsquo;d run a mile,&rdquo; commented Elkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This murder has kept me busy,&rdquo; growled the other, frankly mopping
+his forehead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay, that&rsquo;s so. And it isn&rsquo;t done with yet, by a long way.
+Pity you weren&rsquo;t in the Hare and Hounds last night. You&rsquo;d have
+heard something. There&rsquo;s a chap staying there, name of
+Ingerman&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve met him. The dead woman&rsquo;s husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, perhaps you&rsquo;ve got his yarn already?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It all depends what he said to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, he hinted things. Unless I&rsquo;m greatly mistaken, you&rsquo;ll
+soon be making an arrest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe I could put my hand on the murderer this very minute,&rdquo;
+said Robinson vindictively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin laughed, somewhat half-heartedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lay you fifty to one against the time,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+the only one near enough for that limit, you know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The policeman realized that he had allowed annoyance to shake his wits. He
+looked at Elkin rather sharply, and noticed that the horse-breeder seemed to be
+nervous and ill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t quite mean that I could grab my man this minute,&rdquo;
+he said, &ldquo;but, if I can guess him, it amounts to nearly the same thing.
+What have you been doing to yourself, Mr. Elkin? You look peeky to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Too much whiskey and tobacco. I&rsquo;ll call at Siddle&rsquo;s for a
+&lsquo;pick-me-up.&rsquo; Am I wanted for the jury?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I left a notice at your place last evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t get it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Been away?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. Fact is, I went home late, and didn&rsquo;t bother about letters
+this morning. What time is the inquest?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Three o&rsquo;clock, in the club-room of the Hare and Hounds.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will that fellow, Grant, be there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rather. Dr. Foxton warned him yesterday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good! What about Doris Martin? Will she be a witness?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They were entering the village, and could see down the long, wide slope of the
+hill. Grant had just come into sight at its foot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Both men scowled at the distant figure, but neither passed any comment. They
+parted, the policeman walking straight on, Elkin bearing to the left. The
+chemist&rsquo;s shop stood exactly opposite the post office, so Elkin, arriving
+first, was aware of his unconscious rival&rsquo;s destination.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had not answered Mr. Siddle&rsquo;s greeting, but gazed moodily through a
+barricade of specifics piled in the window. Then he swore.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s wrong now?&rdquo; inquired the chemist quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That Grant. Got a nerve, hasn&rsquo;t he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t say, unless you explain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s just gone into the post office.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why shouldn&rsquo;t he? He wants stamps, may be; plenty of &rsquo;em, I
+should imagine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, you&rsquo;re a fish, Siddle. You aren&rsquo;t crazy about a girl,
+like I am. The sooner Grant&rsquo;s in jail the better I&rsquo;ll be
+pleased.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you take my advice, which you won&rsquo;t, I know, you will not utter
+that sort of remark publicly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t help it. Bet you a fiver I&rsquo;m engaged to Doris Martin
+within a week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Siddle took thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why so quickly?&rdquo; he asked, after a pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll catch her on the hop, of course. If she&rsquo;s engaged to me
+it&rsquo;ll help her a lot when this case comes into court.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot believe that Doris would accept any man for such a
+reason.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not &lsquo;any man.&rsquo; She knows I&rsquo;m after her. Will
+you take my bet, even money?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I don&rsquo;t bet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you needn&rsquo;t put a damper on me. In fact, you can&rsquo;t.
+Have you that last prescription of Dr. Foxton&rsquo;s handy? My liver wants a
+tonic.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The chemist thumbed a dog-eared volume, read an entry carefully, and retired to
+a dispensing counter in the rear of the shop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I send it?&rdquo; came his voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I&rsquo;ll wait. Give me a dose now, if you don&rsquo;t mind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For some reason, Fred Elkin was not himself that day. He was moody, and fretful
+as a sick colt. But he had diagnosed his ailment and its cause accurately; a
+discreet doctor was probably aware of his failings, and had considered them in
+the &ldquo;mixture.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The post office was not busy when Grant entered. A young man, a stranger, was
+seated at the telegraphist&rsquo;s desk, tapping a new instrument. The G. P.
+O., forewarned, had lent an expert to deal with press messages.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Martin, sorting some documents, came forward when he saw Grant. His kindly,
+somewhat pre-occupied face was long as a fiddle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good morning, Mr. Martin,&rdquo; said Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good morning. What can I do for you?&rdquo; was the stiff reply. Grant
+was in no mind to be rebuffed, however.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must have a word with you in private,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry&mdash;but my time is quite full.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, too, but the matter is urgent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The click of the sounder became less businesslike. There was an element in the
+tone of each voice that drew the London telegraphist&rsquo;s attention. Martin,
+usually the mildest-mannered man in Sussex, was obviously ill at ease. But he
+simply could not hold out against Grant&rsquo;s compelling gaze.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come into the back room,&rdquo; he said nervously. &ldquo;Call me if
+I&rsquo;m needed,&rdquo; he added, nodding to his assistant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant did not hesitate an instant when the postmaster reached the &ldquo;back
+parlor&rdquo; through another door. The open window, draped in clematis, gave a
+delightful glimpse of <i>The Hollies</i>. A window-box of mignonette filled the
+air with its delicate perfume. Grant hoped that Doris would be there, but the
+only signs of her recent presence were a hat and an open book on the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, Mr. Martin,&rdquo; he said gravely, &ldquo;you and I should have a
+serious talk. It is idle to deny that gossip is spreading broadcast certain
+malicious and absurd rumors which closely concern Doris and myself. To me these
+things are of slight consequence. To a girl of your daughter&rsquo;s age they
+are poisonous. If you, her father, know the whole truth, you can regulate your
+actions so as to defeat the scandalmongers. That is why I am here to-day. That
+is why I came here yesterday, but your attitude took me aback, and I was idiot
+enough to go without a word of explanation. I was too shaken then to see my
+clear course, and follow it regardless of personal feelings. This morning I am
+master of myself, and I insist that you listen now while I tell you exactly
+what occurred on Monday night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely&mdash;these matters&mdash;are&mdash;for the authorities,&rdquo;
+stammered the older man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? Your daughter&rsquo;s good name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Martin reddened. His agitation was pitiful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is hardly in question, sir,&rdquo; he said brokenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am speaking of the tongue of slander. Heaven help and direct me! I
+would suffer death rather than see Doris subjected to the leers and innuendoes
+of every lout in the village.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant&rsquo;s earnestness could hardly fail to impress his friend. But Martin
+had either made up his mind or been warned not to discuss the murder, and
+adhered loyally to that line of conduct. He retreated toward the door leading
+to the post office proper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is too late to interfere now,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What on earth do you mean?&rdquo; demanded Grant, yielding to a gust of
+anger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The whole&mdash;of the circumstances&mdash;are being inquired into by
+the police,&rdquo; came the hesitating answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has that prying scoundrel, Robinson, dared to cross-examine
+Doris?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He came here, of course, but Scotland Yard has taken up the
+inquiry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A detective&mdash;here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. He is with Doris in the garden at this moment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant knew the topography of the house. Without asking permission, he tore
+through yet a third door leading to a kitchen and scullery, nearly upsetting a
+tiny maid who had her ear or eye to the key-hole, and raced into the garden in
+which the postmaster kept his bees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris, standing with her hands behind her back, was looking at The Hollies, and
+deep in conversation with an alert and natty little man who was evidently
+absorbed in what she was saying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, in a whirl of fury, was only conscious that Doris&rsquo;s companion was
+slight, almost diminutive, of frame, very erect, and dressed in a well-fitting
+blue serge suit, neat brown boots and straw hat, when the two heard his
+footsteps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was flustered. Her Romney face held a look of scare.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, here is Mr. Grant!&rdquo; she said, striving vainly to speak with
+composure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The little man pierced Grant with an extraordinarily penetrating glance from
+very bright and deeply-recessed black eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, Mr. Grant, is it!&rdquo; he chirped pleasantly. &ldquo;Good morning!
+So <i>you&rsquo;re</i> the villain of the piece, are you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap06"></a>Chapter VI.<br />
+Scotland Yard Takes a Hand</h2>
+
+<p>
+It was a singular greeting, to say the least, and the person who uttered it was
+quite as remarkable as his queer method of expressing himself seemed to
+indicate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, though in a fume of hot anger, had the good sense to choke back the
+first impetuous reprimand trembling on his lips. In fact, wrath quickly
+subsided into blank incredulity. He saw before him, not the conventional
+detective who might be described as a superior Robinson&mdash;not even the
+sinewy, sharp-eyed, and well-spoken type of man whom he had once heard giving
+evidence in a famous jewel-robbery case&mdash;but rather one whom he would have
+expected to meet in the bar of a certain well-known restaurant in Maiden Lane,
+a corner of old London where literally all the world&rsquo;s a stage, and all
+the men and women merely players.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During his theatrical experiences he had come across scores of such men, dapper
+little fellows, wizened of face yet curiously youthful in manner; but they,
+each and all, were labeled &ldquo;low comedian.&rdquo; Certainly, a rare
+intelligence gleamed from this man&rsquo;s eyes, but that is an attribute not
+often lacking in humorists who command high salaries because of their facility
+in laughter-making. This man, too, had the wide, thin-lipped, mobile mouth of
+the actor. His ivory-white, wrinkled forehead and cheeks, the bluish tint on
+jaws and chin, his voice, his perky air, the very tilt of his straw hat, were
+eloquent of the footlights. Even his opening words, bizarre and cheerfully
+impertinent, smacked of &ldquo;comic relief.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I figure prominently in this particular &lsquo;piece,&rsquo;&rdquo;
+snapped Grant. &ldquo;May I ask your name, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A wise precaution with suspicious characters,&rdquo; rejoined the other,
+smiling. Grant was suddenly reminded of a Japanese grinning at a joke, but he
+bent over a card which the stranger had whisked out of a waistcoat pocket. He
+read:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<b>Mr. Charles F. Furneaux</b>,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>Criminal Investigation Department</i>,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<b>New Scotland Yard, S.W</b>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He could not control himself. He gazed at Mr. Charles F. Furneaux with a
+surprise that was not altogether flattering.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did the Commissioner of Police send <i>you</i> in response to my
+telegram?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is what lawyers call a leading question,&rdquo; came the prompt
+retort. &ldquo;And I hate lawyers. They darken understanding, and set honest
+men at loggerheads.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it happens to be very much to the point at this moment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Mr. Grant, if you really press for an answer, it is
+&lsquo;Yes&rsquo; and &lsquo;No.&rsquo; The Commissioner received a certain
+telegram, but he may have acted on other grounds. Even Commissioners can be
+creatures of impulse, or expediency, just as the situation demands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are here, at any rate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is what legal jargon terms an admitted fact.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you had better begin by assuming that I am no villain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is assumed. It couldn&rsquo;t well be otherwise after the excellent
+character you have been given by this young lady.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She, at least, will speak well of me, I do believe,&rdquo; said Grant,
+with a strange bitterness, for his heart was sore because of the seeming
+defection of his friend, the postmaster. &ldquo;What I actually had in mind was
+the stupidity of the local policeman, who is convinced that I am both a
+criminal and a fool.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The two are often synonymous,&rdquo; said Furneaux dryly. &ldquo;But I
+acquitted you on both counts, Mr. Grant, on hearing, and even seeing, how you
+spent Monday evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, who had cooled down considerably, found a hint of badinage in this
+comment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have evidently been told that Miss Martin and I were star-gazing in
+the garden of my house,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It happens to be true.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes. There was a very fine cluster of small stars in Canis Major,
+south of Sirius, that night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know something about the constellations, then?&rdquo; was the
+astonished query.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Enough for the purposes of Scotland Yard,&rdquo; smirked Furneaux, who
+had checked P. C.  Robinson&rsquo;s one-sided story by referring to
+Whitaker&rsquo;s Almanack. &ldquo;It may relieve your mind if I tell you that I
+have never seen a real live astronomer in the dock. Venus and Mars are often in
+trouble, but their devoted observers seldom, if ever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant warmed to this strange species of detective, though, if pressed for an
+instant decision, he would vastly have preferred that one of more orthodox
+style had been intrusted with an inquiry so vital to his own happiness and good
+repute. Eager, however, to pour forth his worries into any official ear, he
+brought back the talk to a definite channel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you come to my place?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;I have much to say.
+Let me assure you now, in Miss Martin&rsquo;s presence, that she is no more
+concerned in this ghastly business than any other young lady in the
+village.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But she is interested. And <i>you</i> are. And I am. Why not discuss
+matters here, for the present, I mean? We have a glorious view of your house
+and grounds. We can see without being seen. None can overhear. I advise both of
+you to go thoroughly into this matter here and now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux spoke emphatically. Even Doris put in a timid plea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps that would be the best thing to do,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Mr.
+Furneaux has been most sympathetic. I am sure he understands things already in
+a way that is quite wonderful to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The very sound of her voice was comforting. Grant might have argued with the
+detective, but could not resist Doris. Without further demur he went through
+the whole story, giving precise details of events on the Monday night. Then the
+recital widened out into a history of his relations with Adelaide Melhuish. He
+omitted nothing. Doris gasped when she heard Superintendent Fowler&rsquo;s
+version of the view a coroner&rsquo;s jury might take of her presence in the
+garden of <i>The Hollies</i> at a late hour. But Grant did not spare her. He
+reasoned that she ought to be prepared for an ordeal which could not be
+avoided. He was governed by the astute belief that his very outspokenness in
+this respect would weaken the inferences which the police might otherwise draw
+from it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux uttered never a word. He was a first-rate listener, though his
+behavior was most undetective-like, since he hardly looked at Grant or the
+girl, but seemed to devote his attention almost exclusively to the scenic
+panorama in front.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, when Grant came to the somewhat strenuous passage-at-arms of the
+previous night between Ingerman and himself, the little man broke in at once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Isidor G. Ingerman?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Is he a tall, lanky,
+cadaverous, rather crooked person, with black hair turning gray, and an
+absurdly melodious voice?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have described him without an unnecessary word,&rdquo; said Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux clicked his tongue in a peculiar fashion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go on!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a regular romance&mdash;quite
+in your line, Mr. Grant, of course, but none the less enthralling because, as
+you so happily phrased Miss Martin&rsquo;s lesson in astronomy, it happens to
+be true.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was scrupulously fair to Ingerman. He admitted the
+&ldquo;financier&rsquo;s&rdquo; adroitness of speech, and made clear the fact
+that if the visit had the levying of blackmail for its object such a possible
+outcome was only hinted at vaguely. Being a novelist, one whose temperament
+sought for sunshine rather than gloom in life, he wound up in lighter vein. The
+ruse which tricked P. C.  Robinson into a breathless scamper of nearly a mile
+on a hot day in June was described with gusto. Doris, who knew the village
+constable well, laughed outright, while Furneaux cackled shrilly. None who
+might be watching the little group in that delightful garden, with its scent of
+old-world flowers and drone of bees, could have guessed that a grewsome tragedy
+formed their major theme.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl was the first to realize that even harmless merriment was in ill
+accord with the presence of death, for the body of Adelaide Melhuish lay within
+forty yards of the place where they stood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I leave you now?&rdquo; she inquired. &ldquo;Father may be wanting
+help in the office.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shan&rsquo;t detain you more than a few seconds,&rdquo; said Furneaux
+briskly. &ldquo;On Monday evening you two young people parted at half past ten.
+How do you fix the time?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris answered without hesitation:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The large window of Mr. Grant&rsquo;s study was open, and we both heard
+a clock in the hall chime the half-hour. I said, &lsquo;Goodness me, is that
+half past ten?&rsquo; and started for home at once. Mr. Grant came with me as
+far as the bridge. When I reached my room, in exactly five minutes after
+leaving <i>The Hollies</i>, I stood at the open window&mdash;that
+window&rdquo;&mdash;and she pointed to a dormer casement above the
+sitting-room&mdash;&ldquo;and looked out. It was a particularly fine night,
+mild, but not very clear, as a slight mist often rises from the river after a
+hot day in summer. I may have been there about ten minutes, no longer, when I
+saw the study window of <i>The Hollies</i> thrown open, and Mr. Grant&rsquo;s
+figure was silhouetted by the lamp behind him. He seemed to be listening for
+something, so I, who must have heard any unusual sound, listened too. There was
+nothing. I could hear the ripple of the river beneath the bridge, so everything
+was very still. After a minute, or two, perhaps&mdash;no longer&mdash;Mr. Grant
+went in, and closed the window. Then I went to bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did Mr. Grant draw any blind or curtains?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There are muslin curtains attached to each side of the window. One
+cannot see into the room from a distance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux measured an imaginary line drawn from Doris&rsquo;s bedroom to the
+edge of the cliff, and prolonged it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nor can you see the river or foot of the lawn from your room,&rdquo; he
+commented.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. In winter I can just make out the edge of the lawn. When the trees
+are in leaf, all the lower part is hidden.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You had actually retired to rest about eleven, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So if Mr. Grant came out again you would not know?&rdquo; Doris blushed
+furiously, but her reply was unfaltering.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I would have known during the next half-hour, at least,&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;An inclined mirror hangs in my room. I use it sometimes for adjusting a
+hat. The square of light from Mr. Grant&rsquo;s room is reflected in it, and
+any sudden increase in the illumination caused by opening the window or pulling
+the curtains aside would certainly have caught my eye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have an unshakable witness in Miss Martin,&rdquo; said Furneaux,
+stabbing a finger at Grant. &ldquo;Now, I&rsquo;ll hurry off. You and I, Mr.
+Grant, meet at Philippi, otherwise known as the crowner&rsquo;s quest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Any benevolent intent he may have had in leaving these young people together
+was, however, frustrated by Doris, whose composure seemed to have fled since
+her statement about the mirror. She resolutely accompanied the detective, and
+Grant had to follow. All three passed into the post office, Doris using the
+private door. Mr. Martin looked up from his desk when they appeared, and
+requested his daughter to check a bundle of postal orders. The pretext was
+painfully obvious, but Grant was not so wishful now to clear up matters with
+Doris&rsquo;s father, as the girl herself might be trusted to pass on an
+accurate account of the affair from beginning to end.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was about to reach the street quick on Furneaux&rsquo;s heels when the
+little man turned suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By the way, don&rsquo;t you want a shilling&rsquo;s worth of
+stamps?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant smiled comprehension, and went back to the counter, where Doris herself
+served him. She did not try to avoid his glance, but rather met it with a
+baffling serenity oddly at variance with her momentary loss of self-possession
+in the garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he entered the street the detective had vanished.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked down the hill at a rapid pace, disregarding the eyes peeping at him
+through open doorways, over narrow window-curtains, and covertly staring when
+people passed in the roadway. The sensitive side of his temperament shrank from
+this thinly-veiled hostility. He was by way of being popular in Steynholme, yet
+not a soul spoke to him. Before he reached the bridge, the other side of him,
+the man of action, of cool resource in an emergency, rose in rebellion against
+the league of silly clodhoppers. Back he strode to the post office and dashed
+off a telegram. It ran:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Walter Hart, Savage Club, Adelphi, London. Come here and help to lay a
+ghost.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He signed it in full, name and address. Doris was gone, but her father received
+it, and read the text in a bewildered way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I find myself deserted by my Steynholme friends so I am trying to import
+one stanch one,&rdquo; said Grant, almost vindictively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Martin murmured the cost, and Grant stormed out again. This time, passing the
+Hare and Hounds, he looked at door and windows. He caught a face scowling at
+him over a brown wire blind bearing the words &ldquo;Wines and Spirits&rdquo;
+on it in letters of dull gold. It was a commonplace type of face,
+small-featured, ginger-moustached, and crowned by a billy-cock hat set at a
+rakish angle. Its most marked characteristic was the positive hatred which
+glowed in the sharp, pale-blue eyes. Grant wondered who this highly censorious
+young man might be. At any rate, he meant to ascertain whether or not the
+critic was susceptible of satire at his own expense. He walked up to the
+window, elevated his eyebrows at the frowning person within, pretended to read
+the words on the screen, looked again at the man inside, and shook his head
+gravely in the manner of one who has accurately determined cause and effect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Fred Elkin was quick-witted enough to appreciate Grant&rsquo;s unspoken
+comment. He was also unmannerly enough to put out his tongue. Then Grant
+laughed, and turned on his heel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Siddle, quietly observant of recent comings and goings, was standing at the
+door of the shop, and missed no item of this dumb show. He raised both hands in
+silent condemnation of Elkin&rsquo;s childishness, whereupon the horse-dealer
+jerked a thumb toward Grant&rsquo;s retreating figure, and went through a rapid
+pantomime of the hanging process. His crony disapproved again, and went in.
+Now, both those men were on the jury panel, so, to all appearance, Grant would
+be judged by at least one deadly enemy, whose animosity might or might not be
+fairly balanced by the chemist&rsquo;s impartial mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tenant of <i>The Hollies</i> actually dreaded the loneliness of his
+dwelling now, though it was that very quality which had drawn him to Steynholme
+a year earlier. Work or reading was equally out of the question that day. He
+sought the industrious Bates, who was trenching celery in the kitchen garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have &rsquo;ee made out owt about un, sir?&rdquo; inquired that hardy
+individual, pausing to spit on the handle of his spade.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Grant. &ldquo;The thing is a greater mystery than
+ever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m thinkin&rsquo; her mun ha&rsquo; bin killed by a loony,&rdquo;
+announced Bates.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Something of the kind, no doubt. But why are the little less dangerous
+loonies of Steynholme united in the belief that I am the guilty one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ax me another,&rdquo; growled Bates.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is spreading this rumor? Robinson?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;E dussen&rsquo;t, sir. &rsquo;E looks fierce, but
+&rsquo;e&rsquo;ll &rsquo;old &rsquo;is tongue. T&rsquo;super will see to
+that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Someone is talking. That is quite certain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a chap in the &rsquo;Are an&rsquo; &rsquo;Ounds&mdash;kem
+&rsquo;ere last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ingerman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay, sir, that&rsquo;s the name. &rsquo;E&rsquo;s makin&rsquo; a song of
+it, I hear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anybody else?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fred Elkin is gassin&rsquo; about. Do &rsquo;ee know un? Breeds
+&rsquo;osses at Mount Farm, a mile that-a-way,&rdquo; and Bates pointed to the
+west.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant hazarded a guess, and described the face of condemnation seen at the inn.
+Bates nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s un,&rdquo; he said. Then he drove the spade into the rich
+loam. &ldquo;They do say,&rdquo; he added, apparently as an after-thought,
+&ldquo;as Fred Elkin is mighty sweet on Doris, but her&rsquo;ll &rsquo;ave nowt
+to do wi&rsquo; un.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant whistled softly. This explanation threw light on a dark place.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The plot thickens,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Mr. Elkin becomes more
+interesting than he looks. Are there other disappointed swains in the
+offing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has Miss Martin any other suitors?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lots of &rsquo;em &rsquo;ud be after her like wasps round a plum-tree if
+she&rsquo;d give &rsquo;em &rsquo;alf a chance. But <i>you</i> put a stopper on
+&rsquo;em.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates was blunt of speech, though a philosopher withal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Elkin is my only serious rival, then?&rdquo; laughed Grant, passing off
+as a joke a thrust which was shrewder than the gardener knew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;E &rsquo;as plenty of brass, but I reckon nowt on
+&rsquo;im,&rdquo; was the contemptuous answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, he is not a likely person to kill a woman he had never before
+seen. Miss Martin will marry whom she chooses, no doubt. The present problem is
+to find out who murdered Miss Melhuish. Now, had <i>I</i> been the victim you
+would be thinking hard, Bates.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I tell &rsquo;ee, sir, it wur a loony.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nor was Bates to be moved from that opinion. He held to it, through thick and
+thin, for many days.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant wandered into the front garden. His eyes rose involuntarily to the
+distant post office, and he noticed at once that the dormer window was closed.
+Yet Doris shared his own love of fresh air, and that window had always been
+open till that very hour. Somehow, this simple thing seemed to shut him out of
+her life. He walked to the river, and gazed at the spot where the body was
+drawn ashore. In the absence of rain the water ran clear as gin, and the marks
+made by the feet of Adelaide Melhuish&rsquo;s murderer were still perceptible.
+If only those misshapen blotches could reveal their secret! If only some
+Heaven-sent ray of intuition would enable him to put the police on the track of
+the criminal! Theoretically, a novelist and essayist should be a first-rate
+detective, yet, brought face to face with an actual felony, here was one who
+perforce remained blind and dumb.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet he was not blameworthy for failing to solve a mystery which was rapidly
+establishing a record for bewildering elements. Wherein he did err most
+lamentably was in his reading of a woman&rsquo;s heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No answering telegram came from his friend in London. The day wore slowly till
+it was time to attend the inquest. He found a crowd gathered in front of the
+Hare and Hounds. Superintendent Fowler was there, and quite a number of
+policemen, whose presence was explained when a buzz of excitement heralded
+Grant&rsquo;s arrival. He decided not to stand this sort of persecution a
+moment longer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before the superintendent could interfere, he leaped on to a set of stone
+mounting-steps which stood opposite the door. Instantly, seeing that he was
+about to speak, the angry murmuring of the mob was hushed. He looked into a
+hundred stolid faces, and stretched out his right hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot help feeling,&rdquo; he said, in slow, incisive accents which
+carried far, &ldquo;that a set of peculiar circumstances has led you Steynholme
+folk to suspect me of being responsible, in some way, for the death of the lady
+whose body was found in the river near my house. Now, I want to tell you that I
+am not only an innocent but a much-maligned man. The law of the land will
+establish both facts in due season. But I want to warn some of you, too, I
+shall not trouble to issue writs for libel. If any blackguard among you dares
+to insult me openly, I shall smash his face.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He knew when to stop. Superintendent Fowler&rsquo;s nudge was not called for,
+as the orator simply met the scrutiny of all those eyes without another word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Curiously enough, the sense of justice is inherent in every haphazard gathering
+of the public. Grant&rsquo;s soldierly bearing, his calm defiance of hostile
+opinion, the outspoken threat which he so plainly meant, won instant favor.
+Someone shouted, &ldquo;Hear, hear!&rdquo; and the crowd applauded. From that
+moment he had little to complain of in the attitude of the community as a
+whole. There were subtle and dangerous enemies to be fought and conquered, but
+Steynholme looked on, keen to learn of any new sensation, of course, but
+placidly content that the final verdict should be left in the hands of the
+authorities.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap07"></a>Chapter VII.<br />
+&ldquo;Alarums and Excursions&rdquo;</h2>
+
+<p>
+The inquest was surprisingly tame after the stirring events which had led up to
+it. Indeed, save for two incidents, the proceedings were almost dull.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The coroner, a Knoleworth solicitor named Belcher, prided himself on conducting
+this <i>cause célèbre</i> with as little ostentation as he would have displayed
+over an ordinary inquiry. Messrs. Siddle, Elkin, Tomlin and Hobbs, with eight
+other local tradesmen and farmers, formed the jurors, and the chemist was
+promptly elected foreman; no witnesses were ordered out of court; the
+formalities of &ldquo;swearing in&rdquo; the jury and &ldquo;viewing&rdquo; the
+body were carried through rapidly. Almost before Grant had time to assimilate
+these details Superintendent Fowler, who marshalled the evidence, called his
+name. The coroner&rsquo;s officer tendered him a well-thumbed Bible, while the
+coroner himself administered the oath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant eyed the somewhat soiled volume, and opened it before putting it to his
+lips. The action probably did not please the jury. Elkin nudged Tomlin, and
+sniggered at the rest of his colleagues, as much as to say: &ldquo;What did I
+tell you? The cheek of him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin, by the way, looked ill. When his interest flagged for an instant his
+haggard aspect became more noticeable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman was there, of course. Furneaux sat beside Mr. Fowler. A stranger, whom
+Grant did not recognize, proved to be the County Chief Constable. There was a
+strong muster of police, and the representatives of the press completely
+monopolized the scanty accommodation for the public. To Grant&rsquo;s relief,
+Doris Martin was not in attendance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He told the simple facts of the finding of Adelaide Melhuish&rsquo;s corpse. A
+harmless question by the coroner evoked the first &ldquo;scene&rdquo; which set
+the reporters&rsquo; pencils busy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you recognize the body!&rdquo; inquired Mr. Belcher.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you can give the jury her name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before Grant could answer, Ingerman sprang up, his sallow face livid with
+passion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I protest, sir, against this man being permitted to identify my
+wife,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was either deeply moved, or proved himself an excellent actor. His
+flute-like voice vibrated with an intense emotion. Thus might Mark Antony have
+spoken when vowing that Brutus was an honorable man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; demanded the coroner sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Isidor George Ingerman, husband of the deceased lady,&rdquo; came the
+clear-toned reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sit down, sir, and do not interrupt the court again,&rdquo; said
+the coroner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I demand, sir, that you note my protest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sit down! Were you any other person I would have you removed. As it is,
+I am prepared to regard your feelings to the extent of explaining that the
+witness is not identifying the body but relating a fact within his own
+knowledge.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman bowed, and resumed his seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For some reason, Grant stared blankly at Furneaux. The latter did not meet his
+glance, but put a finger on those thin lips. It might, or might not, be a
+warning to repress any retort he had in mind. At any rate, obeying a nod from
+the coroner, he merely said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She was a well-known actress, Miss Adelaide Melhuish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Belcher&rsquo;s pen hesitated a little. Then it scratched on. Undoubtedly,
+he was himself exercising the restraint he meant to impose on others.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are quite sure?&rdquo; he said, after a pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you, Mr. Grant. Wait here until you sign your deposition. Of
+course, you are aware that this inquiry will stand adjourned, and the whole
+matter will be gone into fully at a later date.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I have been informed, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman was the next witness. <i>He</i>, like a good democrat, kissed the
+cover of the Bible. The coroner began by giving him some advice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is a purely formal inquiry, to permit of a death certificate being
+issued. You will oblige me, therefore, by answering my questions without
+introducing any extraneous subject.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman adhered to these instructions. Having already shot a
+carefully-prepared bolt, he meant avoiding any further conflict with the
+authorities. His evidence was brief and to the point. The deceased was his
+wife. They were married at a London registrar&rsquo;s office on a given date,
+six years ago. His wife acted under her maiden name. There was no family.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The court was well lighted by four long windows in the eastern wall, which each
+witness faced, so Grant was free to study his avowed enemy at leisure. He
+thought he made out a crafty underlook in Ingerman which he had failed to
+detect the previous night. That slow, smooth voice seemed to weigh each
+syllable. Such a man would never blurt out an unconsidered admission. He was a
+foe to be reckoned with. The subtle malignancy of that well-timed outburst was
+proof positive in that respect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The jury, apparently, attached much weight to his words. On some faces there
+was an expectancy which merged into marked disappointment when his evidence
+came to an end. The foreman alone displayed the judicial attitude warranted by
+the oath he had taken. Somehow, Grant had faith in Mr. Siddle. The man looked
+intellectual. When spoken to in his shop his manner was invariably reserved.
+But that was his general repute in Steynholme&mdash;a quiet, uninterfering
+person, who had come to the village a young man, yet had never really entered
+into its life. For instance, he neither held nor would accept any public
+office. At first, people wondered how he contrived to eke out a living, but
+this puzzle was solved by his admitted possession of a small annuity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Dr. Foxton, general practitioner, who held undisputed sway in the district,
+told how he had conducted an autopsy on the body of the deceased. He found a
+deep, incised wound on the back of the skull, a wound which would have caused
+death in any event. The instrument used must have been a heavy and blunt one.
+Miss Melhuish was dead or dying when thrown into the river. The body was well
+nourished, and the vital organs sound. Undoubtedly she had been murdered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates followed, and evoked a snigger by the outspokenness of blunt Sussex.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hauled &rsquo;um in,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;an&rsquo; knew it wur a
+dead &rsquo;un by the feel of the rope.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The coroner was not curious. He merely wished to put on record the time and
+manner in which Mr. Grant summoned assistance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then P. C. Robinson entered the box, and contrived to bring about the second
+&ldquo;incident.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He told how, &ldquo;from information received,&rdquo; he went to <i>The
+Hollies</i>, and found Mr. Grant standing near the river with a dead body at
+his feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One side of Mr. Grant&rsquo;s face was covered with blood,&rdquo; he
+went on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If the policeman was minded to create a sensation, he certainly succeeded. A
+slight hum ran through the court, and then all present seemed to restrain their
+breathing lest a word of the evidence should be lost. The mention of
+&ldquo;blood&rdquo; in a murder case was a more adroit dodge than Robinson
+himself guessed, perhaps. Few of his hearers troubled to reflect that a smudge
+of fresh gore on Grant&rsquo;s cheek could hardly have any bearing on the death
+of a woman whose body had admittedly lain all night in the river. It sufficed
+that Robinson had introduced a touch of the right color into the inquiry. Even
+the coroner was worried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well!&rdquo; he said testily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I took down his statement, sir,&rdquo; said the witness, well knowing
+that he had wiped off Grant&rsquo;s morning score in the matter of Bush Walk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind his statement. That must await the adjourned hearing. What
+did you do with the body?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Took it to the stable of the Hare and Hounds, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where it was viewed recently by the jury?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is the body identified by Mr. Ingerman as that of his wife?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That will do.... Superintendent Fowler, will this day week at ten
+o&rsquo;clock suit you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said the superintendent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then the inquest stands adjourned until that day and hour. Gentlemen of
+the jury, you must be here punctually.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t we ask any questions?&rdquo; cried Elkin, in an injured
+tone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. You cannot,&rdquo; snapped the coroner emphatically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After a few formalities, which included the reading and signing of the
+depositions, the courthouse emptied. The whole thing was over in half an hour.
+Grant, determined to have a word with the representative of Scotland Yard, went
+openly to Furneaux, and asked him to come to The Hollies and join him in a cup
+of tea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; was the curt answer. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m busy. I&rsquo;ll see
+you later.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was difficult to reconcile the detective&rsquo;s present stand-off manner
+with his earlier camaradie, to say nothing of the seemingly friendly hint
+conveyed by the signal to pass no comment on Ingerman&rsquo;s interruption.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Rather sick at heart, Grant went out into the sunshine. He was snap-shotted a
+dozen times by press photographers. One man, backing impudently in front of him
+in order to secure a sharp focus, tripped over the raised edge of a cartway
+into a yard, and sat down violently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The onlookers laughed, but Grant helped the photographer to rise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you want a really good picture of the Steynholme murderer, come to my
+place, and I&rsquo;ll give you one,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The pressman was grateful, because Grant&rsquo;s action had tended to mitigate
+his discomfiture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No one but a fool thinks of you as a murderer, Mr. Grant,&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;What I really want is a portrait of &lsquo;the celebrated&rsquo;
+author in whose grounds the body was found.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come along, then, and I&rsquo;ll pose for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The photographer was surprised, but joyfully accepted the gifts the gods gave.
+He could not guess that his host was pining for human companionship. He could
+not fathom Grant&rsquo;s disappointment, on reaching <i>The Hollies</i>, at
+finding no telegram from a trusted friend, Walter Hart. And he was equally
+unconscious of the immense service he rendered by compelling his host to talk
+and act naturally. He enlightened Grant, too, in the matter of inquests.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Next week there will be a gathering of lawyers,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;The police will be represented, probably by the Treasury, if the case is
+thought sufficiently important. That chap, Ingerman, too, will employ a
+solicitor, I expect, judging from his attitude to-day. In fact, any one whose
+interests are affected ought to secure legal assistance. One never knows how
+these inquiries twist and turn.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Grant, smiling at the journalist&rsquo;s tact.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll order tea to be got ready while you&rsquo;re taking your
+pictures. By the way, what sort of detective is Mr. Charles F. Furneaux?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A pocket marvel,&rdquo; was the enthusiastic answer.
+&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you heard of him before? Well, you wouldn&rsquo;t, unless
+you followed famous cases professionally. He seldom appears in the
+courts&mdash;generally manages to wriggle out of giving direct evidence. But
+I&rsquo;ve never known him to fail. He either hangs his man or drives him to
+suicide. If I committed a crime, and was told that Furneaux was after me,
+I&rsquo;d own up and save trouble, because I wouldn&rsquo;t have the ghost of a
+chance of winning clear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He strikes one as too flippant for a detective.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Lots of people have thought that, and they&rsquo;re either
+disappearing in quicklime beneath some corridor of a prison, or doing time at
+Portland. I wonder if Winter also is coming down on this job.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is &lsquo;Winter&rsquo;?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Chief Inspector at the &lsquo;Yard.&rsquo; A big, cheerful-looking
+fellow&mdash;from his appearance might be a gentleman-farmer and J. P., with a
+taste for horses and greyhounds. He and Furneaux are called the Big &rsquo;Un
+and the Little &rsquo;Un, and each is most unlike the average detective. But
+Heaven help any wrong-doer they set out to trail! They&rsquo;ll get him, as
+sure as God made little apples.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then the sooner Mr. Winter visits Steynholme the better I shall be
+pleased. This tragedy is becoming a perfect nightmare. You heard that
+fat-headed policeman speak of my face being covered with blood. He did it
+purposely. I made a fool of him this morning, so he paid me out, the literal
+truth being that a branch of that Dorothy Perkins rose there caught my cheek as
+I entered this room on Tuesday morning&mdash;before I discovered the
+body&mdash;and broke the skin. I suppose the cut is visible still? I saw it
+to-day while shaving.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the other, chortling over the &ldquo;copy&rdquo; his
+colleagues were missing. &ldquo;The mark is there right enough. Queer how
+inanimate objects like a rose-tree can make mischief. I remember a case in
+which a chestnut in a man&rsquo;s pocket sent him to penal servitude. There was
+absolutely no evidence against him, except a possible motive, until that
+chestnut was found and proved to be one of a particular species, grown only in
+a certain locality.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How fortunate that the Dorothy Perkins is popular!&rdquo; laughed Grant.
+&ldquo;Will your paper publish photographs of the principals in this
+affair?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I expect so. I&rsquo;ve a fine collection&mdash;the jury, all in a
+row&mdash;and you, making that speech to the mob.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! Will that appear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By Jove, yes, sir. It was wired off before the inquest opened.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant reddened slightly. His own impetuous action had blurted out to the whole
+world that which Steynholme was only thinking. No wonder Furneaux had warned
+him to go slow. Perhaps the little man was annoyed because of his challenge to
+the village crowd? Well, be it so. He meant, and would live up to, every word
+of it!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The afternoon dragged after the pressman&rsquo;s departure. What Grant really
+hungered for was a heart-to-heart talk between Doris Martin and himself. But,
+short of a foolish attempt to carry the post office by storm, he saw no means
+of realizing his desire. He must, perforce, await the less troubled hours of
+the morrow or next day. Doris would surely give her father an exact account of
+the conversation between Grant, Furneaux, and herself that morning, and that
+greatly perplexed man could hardly fail to see how unjust was the tittle-tattle
+of the village.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So, avoiding Mrs. Bates, whose fell intent it was to ask him what he wanted for
+dinner, he struck off along the road to Knoleworth, walked eight miles in two
+hours, and reached <i>The Hollies</i> about seven o&rsquo;clock, rather
+inclined for a meal and much more contented with life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Minnie announced that a gentleman &ldquo;who brought a bag&rdquo; had been
+awaiting him since half-past five, and was now asleep on the lawn! A glance at
+the aforesaid bag, still reposing in the entrance hall, sent Grant quickly into
+the garden. A long, broad-shouldered person was stretched on a wicker chair,
+and evidently enjoying a nap. A huge meerschaum pipe and tobacco pouch lay on
+the grass. The newcomer&rsquo;s face was covered by a broad-brimmed, decidedly
+weather-beaten slouch hat, which, legend had it, was purchased originally in
+South America in the early nineties, and had won fame as the only one of its
+kind ever worn in the Strand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hullo! Wally! Glad to see you!&rdquo; shouted Grant joyously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sleeper stirred.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, not another drop!&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;You fellows must have
+heads of triple brass and stomachs of leather!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get up, you rascal, or I&rsquo;ll spill you out of the chair!&rdquo;
+said Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A lazy hand removed the hat, and a pair of peculiarly big and bright eyes gazed
+up into his.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s you, is it?&rdquo; drawled a quiet voice. &ldquo;Why the
+blazes did you send for me? And, having sent, why wake me out of the best sleep
+I&rsquo;ve had for a week?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But why didn&rsquo;t you let me know you were coming? I would have met
+the train.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did. Here&rsquo;s the telegram. That pink-cheeked maid of yours nearly
+had a fit when I opened it to show her that I was expected.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You wired from Victoria, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would you have preferred Charing Cross, or the Temple? Isn&rsquo;t
+Victoria respectable?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant laughed as they shook hands. Hart was the most casual adventurer in
+existence. His specialty was revolutions. Wherever the flag of rebellion was
+raised against a government, thither went Walter Hart post-haste by train,
+steamer, or on horseback. He had been sentenced to death five times, and
+decorated by successful Jack Cades twice as often.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m a sort of outlaw. That&rsquo;s why I sought your help,&rdquo;
+explained Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know all about you, Jack,&rdquo; said Hart slowly, picking up the pipe
+and filling it from the pouch. The meerschaum was carved to represent the head
+of a grinning negro, and was now ebon black from use.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I felt like a pint of Sussex ale after a hot journey in the train, so
+hied me to the village inn, where several obliging gentlemen told me your real
+name. Two of them, Ingerman and Elkin, apparently make a hobby of enlightening
+strangers as to your right place in society.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must interview Elkin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not worth while, my boy. Ingerman is the crafty one. I thought I might
+be doing you more harm than good, or I would have given him a thick ear this
+afternoon ... Oh, by the way, what time is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seven o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A little fellow named Furneaux is coming here to dinner at seven-thirty.
+Said he would drop in by the back door, and mutter &lsquo;Hush! I&rsquo;m
+Hawkshaw, the detective.&rsquo; He resembles a cock-sparrow, so I asked him why
+he didn&rsquo;t fly in through an attic window. He took my point at once, and
+remarked that he wanted none of my lip, or he would ask me officially what
+became of Don Ramon de Santander&rsquo;s big pink pearl. It&rsquo;s a queer
+yarn. There was a bust-up in Guatemala&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here, Wally,&rdquo; broke in Grant anxiously. &ldquo;Are you
+serious? Did Furneaux really say he was coming here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He did, and more&mdash;he expressed a partiality for a chicken roasted
+on a spit. You have a spit in your kitchen, he says, and a pair of chickens in
+your larder.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How did you contrive to meet him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a poor guesser, Jack. <i>He</i> met <i>me</i>. &lsquo;That
+you, Mr. Hart?&rsquo; he said. &lsquo;Mr. Grant&rsquo;s house is the first on
+the right across the bridge. Tell him&rsquo;&mdash;and the rest of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you warned Mrs. Bates?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Bates being?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My housekeeper.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir. If she&rsquo;s anything like your housemaid, I&rsquo;m glad I
+didn&rsquo;t, or I should have been chucked into the road. I had the deuce of a
+job to reach the lawn. Had I ordered dinner I might now have been in the
+village lockup.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant hurried away, and placated Mrs. Bates after a stormy interlude. Precisely
+at 7.30 p. m. Minnie came and said that &ldquo;Mr. Hawkshaw&rdquo; had arrived.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bring him out here,&rdquo; said Grant. &ldquo;Fetch some sherry and
+glasses, and give us five minutes&rsquo; notice before dinner is served.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Please, sir,&rdquo; tittered Minnie, &ldquo;the gentleman prefers to
+stay indoors. He said his complexion won&rsquo;t stand the glare.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; smiled Grant, rising. &ldquo;Put the sherry and
+bitters on the sideboard.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Say,&rdquo; murmured Hart, &ldquo;is this chap really a
+detective?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. He stands high at Scotland Yard.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never more than five feet four, I&rsquo;ll swear. But I wouldn&rsquo;t
+have missed this for a pension. I have a revolver in my hip pocket, of course.
+One would feel lonely without it, even in England. But I hope you can stage a
+few knives and daggers, and a red light. I can cut masks out of a strip of
+black velvet. That girl will have a piece stowed away somewhere.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two entered the dining-room study, where the table was now laid for dinner.
+Furneaux was seated on the edge of a chair in the darkest corner. His eyes
+gleamed at them strangely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can you trust Bates?&rdquo; he said to Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a wholly unexpected question, and Grant answered sharply:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course, I can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell him to make sure that no one trespasses on your lawn between now
+and ten o&rsquo;clock. Close that window, draw the blind and curtains, and
+block that small window, the one through which you saw the ghost.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ye gods!&rdquo; cackled Hart ecstatically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why all these precautions?&rdquo; demanded Grant, rather amused now.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m supposed to be on the very verge of arresting you, and it
+would weaken the faith of my allies if I were seen drinking your wines and
+eating your chicken.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By the way, how did you know I had chickens in store, and a spit on
+which to roast them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I looked you over at five-thirty this morning, having traveled from
+London by the mail train. I must lecture you on your inefficient
+window-catches, Mr. Grant. Several self-respecting burglars of my acquaintance
+would give your house the go-by as being too easy. And, one other matter. I
+suggest that any man who mentions the Steynholme murder again before the coffee
+arrives shall be fined a sovereign for each offense, such fine, or fines, to
+form a fund for the relief of his hearers. <i>Cré nom d&rsquo;un pipe</i>!
+Three intelligent men can surely discuss more interesting topics while they
+eat!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap08"></a>Chapter VIII.<br />
+An Interrupted Symposium</h2>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have a cigarette,&rdquo; said Grant to Furneaux, when the blinds were
+drawn, a lamp lighted, and the sherry dispensed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The self-invited guest took one. He sniffed it, broke the paper wrapping, and
+crumbled some of the tobacco between finger and thumb.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, those Greeks!&rdquo; he said sadly. &ldquo;They simply can&rsquo;t
+go straight. This brand of Turk used to be made of a tobacco grown on a slope
+above Salonica. A strip of sun-baked soil built up a reputation which is now
+being bartered for filthy lucre by the use of Egyptian
+&lsquo;fillings.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a connoisseur, Mr. Hawknose&mdash;try these,&rdquo; said
+Hart, proffering a case, from which the detective drew a cigarette, throwing
+the other one aside.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why &lsquo;Hawknose&rsquo;?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A blend. First syllable of Hawkshaw and second of Furneaux&mdash;the
+latter Anglicized, of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And vulgarized.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You prefer Furshaw, perhaps?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Either effort is feeble for a man who can write about South America, and
+be lucid. Do you smoke this stuff, may I ask?&rdquo; While talking, he had
+smelt and destroyed the second cigarette.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If it&rsquo;s a fair question, what the devil do <i>you</i>
+smoke?&rdquo; cried Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing. I&rsquo;m a non-smoker. My profession demands a clear
+intellect, not a brain atrophied by nicotine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Piffle! Carlyle and Bismarck were smokers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who reads Carlyle now-a-days? And what modern German pays heed to
+Bismarck&rsquo;s dogmas? Look at that pipe of yours. It was once a pure ivory
+white. Now it is black&mdash;soiled by tobacco juice. Your lungs are slowly
+emulating it, and your wits will cloud in time. Read Tolstoi, Mr. Hart. He will
+teach you how nicotine deadens the conscience.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At last I know why I smoke like a Thames tug,&rdquo; laughed Hart,
+&ldquo;but I&rsquo;m blest if I can understand why <i>you</i> make such a study
+of the vile weed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Most criminals are addicted to the habit. I classify them by their brand
+of tobacco. For instance, a clever forger would never descend to thick twist,
+while a swell mobsman would turn with horror from a woodbine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Minnie entered, and nodded, whereupon Grant led the others upstairs to wash.
+From the bathroom he looked out over a darkening landscape. Doris&rsquo;s
+dormer window was open. She was leaning on the sill, but he could not tell
+whether or not her eyes were turned his way. Her attitude was pensive,
+disconsolate, curiously forlorn for a girl normally high-spirited. He was on
+the point of signaling to her when he remembered Furneaux&rsquo;s presence.
+There was something impish, almost diabolically clever, in that little
+man&rsquo;s characteristics which induced wariness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dinner was a marvel, considering the short notice given to the cook.
+Luckily, Mrs. Bates, a loyal soul, had resolved to tempt her employer&rsquo;s
+appetite that evening. Village gossip had it that the police were about to
+arrest him, and she was determined he should enjoy at least one good meal
+before being haled to prison. Hence, the materials were present. The rest was a
+matter of quantities, and Sussex seldom stints itself in that respect.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The chatter round the table was light and amusing. The three were well matched
+conversationally. Furneaux evidently held the opinion once expressed by a
+notable Walrus&mdash;that the time had come
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<i>To talk of many things:<br />
+Of shoes&mdash;and ships&mdash;and sealing-wax&mdash;<br />
+Of cabbages&mdash;and kings.</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was in excellent form, and the others played up to him. Hart&rsquo;s slow
+drawl was ever trenchant and witty, and Grant forgot his woes in congenial
+company. As for the mercurial detective himself, it might be said of him as of
+the school-master of Auburn:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<i>And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,<br />
+That one small head could carry all he knew.</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was he who dropped them with a bounce from the realm of fancy to the
+unpleasing region of ugly fact. No sooner had Minnie cleared the table, and
+brought in the coffee, than he whisked around on Grant as though hitherto he
+had been only awaiting an opportunity of scarifying him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he said, propping an elbow on the table, and supporting his
+chin on a clenched fist, &ldquo;the embargo is off the Steynholme affair.
+<i>You</i> didn&rsquo;t kill Adelaide Melhuish, Mr. Grant. Who did?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish I could tell you,&rdquo; was the emphatic answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you suspect anybody? You needn&rsquo;t fear the libel law in
+confiding your secret thought to me, and I assume that Mr. Hart is
+trustworthy&mdash;where his friends are concerned?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why that unkind differentiating clause, my pocket Vidocq?&rdquo; put in
+Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because two Kings and a baker&rsquo;s dozen of Presidents have, at
+various times, sent most unflattering reports to this country about you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must have annoyed &rsquo;em most damnably.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You had. I congratulate you, but Heaven only knows where I may convoy
+you some day on an extradition warrant....Proceed, Mr. Grant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I assure you, on my honor, that the only reasonable suggestion I can
+make is that put forward by my gardener to-day,&rdquo; said Grant. &ldquo;He
+thinks that the murder must have been committed by a lunatic. I can offer no
+other hypothesis.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your gardener may be right. But what lunatic, barring yourself and the
+horse-coper, Elkin, is in love with Doris Martin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Like Elkin the previous night, Grant struck the table till things rattled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Keep her name out of it,&rdquo; he cried fiercely. &ldquo;You are a man
+of the world, not a suspicious idiot of the Robinson type. You heard to-day the
+full and true explanation of her presence here on Monday night. It was a sheer
+accident. Why harp on Doris Martin rather than any member of the Bates
+family?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who, may I ask, is Doris Martin?&rdquo; put in Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Steynholme postmaster&rsquo;s daughter,&rdquo; said Furneaux.
+&ldquo;A remarkably pretty and intelligent girl. If her father was a peer she
+would be the belle of a London season. As it is, her good looks seem to have
+put a maggot in more than one nut in this village.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart waved the negro&rsquo;s head in the air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The lunatic theory for mine,&rdquo; he declared. &ldquo;If one
+woman&rsquo;s lovely face could bring a thousand ships to Ilion, why should not
+another&rsquo;s drive men to madness in Steynholme?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well phrased, sir,&rdquo; cackled Furneaux delightedly.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wangle that in on a respected colleague of mine, who is a
+whale at deducing a proposition from given premises, but cannot induce a
+general fact from particular instances to save his life ... Now, stifle your
+romantic frenzy, Mr. Grant, and listen to me. If you were minded to instruct me
+in the art of writing good English, I would sit at your feet an attentive
+disciple. When I, Furneaux, of the &lsquo;Yard,&rsquo; lay down a first
+principle in the investigation of crime, I expect deference on your part. I
+tell you unhesitatingly that if Doris Martin didn&rsquo;t exist, Adelaide
+Melhuish would be alive now. That, as a thesis, is nearly as certain a thing as
+that the sun will rise to-morrow. I go farther, and hazard the guess, not the
+fixed belief, though my guesses are usually borne out by events, that if Doris
+Martin had not been in this garden at half past ten on Monday night, Adelaide
+Melhuish would not have been killed some twenty minutes later. It is useless
+for you to fume and rage in vain effort to disprove either of these presumptive
+facts. You are simply beating the air. This mystery centers in and around the
+postmaster&rsquo;s daughter. Come, now, you are a reasonable person. Admit the
+cold, hard truth, and then give play to your fancy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Hart, brandishing his pipe again, &ldquo;I suggest that
+you and I, here and now, form a mutual admiration society.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is a cruel and bitter thing that an innocent girl should be dragged
+into association with a foul crime,&rdquo; said Grant stubbornly. &ldquo;I am
+not disputing the force of your acumen, Mr. Furneaux. My only desire is to
+shield the good name of a very charming young lady.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s done can&rsquo;t be undone,&rdquo; countered the detective,
+well knowing that Grant confessed himself beaten.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But what is all the bother about? You heard from Miss Martin&rsquo;s own
+lips absolutely the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Put her in the
+witness-box, and what more can she tell you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not worrying about her appearance in the witness-box,&rdquo; said
+Furneaux dryly. &ldquo;Long before that stage is reached I shall be hunting a
+star burglar, or, perhaps, looking into the Foreign Office <i>dossier</i> of
+our worthy friend here, as to-day&rsquo;s papers hint at trouble in Venezuela.
+No, sir. The county police will get all the credit. P. C.  Robinson will be
+swanking about then, telling the yokels what <i>he</i> did. I, with Olympic
+nod, say, &lsquo;There&rsquo;s your man!&rsquo; and the handcuffs&rsquo;
+brigade do the rest. So far as I can foresee, Miss Martin&rsquo;s name may be
+spared any undue prominence in this inquiry. I go even farther, and promise
+that anything I can do in that way shall be done.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is very kind and considerate of you,&rdquo; said Grant gratefully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t halloo till you&rsquo;re out of the wood.&rdquo; said
+Furneaux, sitting back suddenly and nursing his left knee with clasped hands.
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t control other people&rsquo;s actions, you know. What I
+insist on to-night is that you shall envisage this affair in its proper light.
+We have a long way to travel before counsel rises with his smug &lsquo;May it
+please you, me lud, and gentlemen of the jury.&rsquo; But, having persuaded you
+to agree that, willy nilly, Miss Doris is the hub of our little universe for
+the hour, I now swear you and this fire-eater in as assistants. There must be
+no more speeches, no punching of heads, very little love-making, and that by
+order&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has the postmaster&rsquo;s daughter a delectable sister, O Liliputian
+cop?&rdquo; demanded Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. Two of &rsquo;em would have caused a riot long since. Mr. Grant will
+do all, and more than all, necessary in that direction.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant leaned forward. He spoke very earnestly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want you to believe me when I tell you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that I
+never gave serious thought to the notion of marrying Miss Martin until such a
+possibility was suggested last night by that swab, Ingerman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, Ingerman! You kept a record of what he said, I gather?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, here it is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant rose, and went to a writing-desk with nests of drawers which stood
+against the wall on the left of the door. He never used it for its primary
+purpose. When the table was laid for meals, Minnie or her mother had orders to
+remove all papers and books to the top of the desk. The house contained no
+other living-room of size. The hall was spacious; a smoking den next the
+dining-room had degenerated into a receptacle of guns, fishing-rods,
+golf-clubs, Alpenstocks, skis and other such sporting accessories. The
+remainder of the ground-floor accommodation was given up to the Bateses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Unlocking a drawer, Grant produced a notebook, which he handed to Furneaux. The
+detective laid it on the table. He was sitting with his back to the large
+window. Hart faced him. Grant&rsquo;s chair was between the two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By the way, as you&rsquo;re on your feet, Mr. Grant,&rdquo; said
+Furneaux, &ldquo;you might just show me exactly where you were standing when
+you saw the face at the window.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For the love of Mike, what&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; gurgled Hart.
+&ldquo;&lsquo;The face at the window&rsquo;; &lsquo;the postmaster&rsquo;s
+daughter.&rsquo; How many more catchy cross-heads will you bring into the
+story?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Poor Adelaide Melhuish undoubtedly came here on Monday night and looked
+in at me while I was at work,&rdquo; said Grant sadly. &ldquo;You know the
+history of my calf love three years ago, Wally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I ever forget it? You bored me stiff about it. Then, when the
+crash came, you walked me off my legs in the Upper Engadine. Ugh! That night on
+the Forno glacier. It gives me a chill to think of it now. Furneaux, pass the
+port. Your name is wrongly spelt. It should be <i>fourneau</i>, not Furneaux. A
+little oven. Hot stuff. Got me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My <i>dear</i> Hart, you flatter me,&rdquo; retorted the detective
+instantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How long am I to pose here?&rdquo; snapped Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sorry,&rdquo; said Furneaux. &ldquo;These interruptions are banal. Is
+that where you were?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I had my hand outstretched for a book. It&rsquo;s dark in this
+corner. When I want to find a book I light a candle, which is always placed on
+the ledge of the window for the purpose. The blind was not drawn that night. It
+seldom is. I had the book in my hand, and had found the required passage when I
+chanced to look at the window and saw <i>her</i> face.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mind reconstructing the scene. This lamp was on the table, I
+suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, pull up the blind, light your candle, and find the book. Act the
+whole incident, in fact.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant obeyed. He held the candlestick until he had picked out the particular
+volume; then he placed it in the recess of the window, and searched through the
+pages of the book.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux bent forward so as to watch the rehearsal and catch the effect of the
+light externally. The hour was not so late as when Adelaide Melhuish, or her
+ghost, gazed in through one of those narrow panes, but the night was dark
+enough to lend the necessary <i>vraisemblance</i>. Hart, deeply interested,
+looked on with rapt, eager eyes. For a full minute the tableau remained thus.
+Then, with a rapidity born of many a close &rsquo;scape in wild lands, Hart
+drew a revolver from a hip pocket, and fired at the window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He alone was in a position to see through all parts of it. Grant was still
+thumbing a small brown volume in the manner of one who knew that a certain
+passage would be found therein but was ignorant of its exact place in the text.
+Furneaux, intent on his every movement, had only a side-long view of the
+window, which, it will be remembered, formed a tiny rectangle in a thick wall.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The revolver was a heavy-caliber weapon, and the explosion blew out the lamp.
+The flame of the candle flickered, owing either to the passage of the bullet or
+the disturbance of the air. But it burnt steadily again within the fifth part
+of a second, and they all saw a starred hole in the center pane of glass of the
+second tier from the bottom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What fool&rsquo;s game are you playing?&rdquo; shrilled Furneaux,
+nevertheless active as a wildcat in his spring to the French window, there to
+snatch at the blind and turn the knob which controlled a lever bolt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Laying another ghost&mdash;one with whiskers,&rdquo; said Hart coolly.
+&ldquo;I got him, too, I think.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must be mad, mad!&rdquo; shrieked the detective, tearing open the
+window, and vanishing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For Heaven&rsquo;s sake, Wally, no more shooting!&rdquo; cried Grant,
+running after Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Minnie and her mother appeared at the dining-room door. Finding the place in
+semi-obscurity, and reeking with gunpowder, they screamed loudly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You Steynholme folk are all on the jump,&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;Cheer
+up, fair dames! Thunder relieves the atmosphere, you know, and one live
+cartridge is often more effective than an ocean of talk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bub-bub-but who&rsquo;s shot, sir?&rdquo; gasped Minnie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A ghost, a most scoundrelly apparition, with fearsome eyes, offensive
+whiskers, and a hat which is a base copy of mine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Owd Ben!&rdquo; sighed Mrs. Bates, collapsing straightway in a faint.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Luckily, Minnie caught her mother and broke her fall, because the housekeeper
+was large and solid, and might have been seriously injured otherwise. Hart was
+distressed by this development, but, being eminently a ready person in an
+emergency, he rose to the occasion by extracting the empty case from the
+revolver, and holding it to the poor woman&rsquo;s nostrils, while supporting
+her with an arm and a knee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is far more effective than burnt brown paper, Minnie,&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;Now, don&rsquo;t get excited, but mix some brandy and water, and
+we&rsquo;ll have your mother telling us who Owd Ben is, or was, before Hawk-eye
+comes back to disturb us. Judging by the noises I hear, he&rsquo;s busy
+outside.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s father!&rdquo; shrieked Minnie hysterically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good Lord! Has your father&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For an instant, Hart was nearly alarmed, but Grant&rsquo;s voice came
+authoritatively:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right, Bates. Let go, I tell you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Phew!&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;I was on the point of confusing your
+respected dad with Owd Ben ... That&rsquo;s it, ma! Sniff hard! As a cook
+you&rsquo;re worth your weight in gold, which is some cook.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Furneaux, seeing that no dead body was stretched on the strip of
+grass beneath the window, dashed into the shrubbery to the right, and was
+clutched in a mighty embrace by an older but much more powerful man in Bates,
+who had hurried from the front of the house on hearing the pistol-shot. Most
+fortunately, the gardener, deeming his vigil a needless one, had not armed
+himself with a stick, or the consequences might have been grave. As it was, no
+one except Hart had been vouchsafed sight or sound of the latest specter,
+which, however, had left a very convincing souvenir of its visit in the shape
+of a soft felt hat with two bullet holes through the crown.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux, quivering with silent wrath, soon abandoned the search when this
+<i>pièce de conviction</i> was found at the root of the Dorothy Perkins
+rose-tree. Seeing the lamp relighted, he peremptorily bade Grant and Bates come
+in with him. He closed the window, adjusted the blind again, and poured
+generous measures of port wine into two glasses. Handing one to Bates, he took
+the other himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Friend,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;some men have fame thrust upon them, but
+you have achieved it. To-night you pierced the heel of Achilles. Here&rsquo;s
+to you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dunno wot &rsquo;ee&rsquo;s saying mister, but &lsquo;good
+health&rsquo;,&rdquo; said Bates, swigging the wine with gusto.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, for your master&rsquo;s sake, not a word to a soul about this
+hubbub.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Right you are, sir! But that there pryin&rsquo; Robinson wur on t&rsquo;
+bridge five minutes since. And, by gum, here he is!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A determined knock and ring came at the front door. Minnie, helped by Hart, had
+just escorted Mrs. Bates to the kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let <i>me</i> go!&rdquo; said Furneaux, darting out into the hall. He
+opened the door, and thrust his face into the police-constable&rsquo;s,
+startling the latter considerably. Before Robinson could utter a syllable, the
+detective hissed a question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did anyone cross the bridge after that shot was fired?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nun&mdash;No, sir,&rdquo; stuttered the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You saw no one running along the road?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Saw nothing, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. Glad to find you&rsquo;re on the job. Don&rsquo;t let on you
+met me here. Good-night!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mighty is Scotland Yard with the provincial police. Robinson was back on his
+self-imposed beat before he well realized that he knew neither why nor by whom
+nor by what sort of weapon the commotion had been created. But he was quite
+sure the noise came from the garden front of Mr. Grant&rsquo;s house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That little hop-o&rsquo;-me-thumb thinks he&rsquo;s smart, dam
+smart,&rdquo; he communed angrily, &ldquo;but I&rsquo;ve taken a line of me
+own, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ll stick to it, though the Yard sends down twenty
+men!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He heard footsteps coming down a paved footpath which ran like a white riband
+through the cobble-beaded width of the high-street, and withdrew swiftly to the
+shelter of a disused tannery adjoining the village end of the bridge. A cloaked
+female figure sped past. Though the night was rather dark for June, he had no
+difficulty in recognizing Doris Martin&rsquo;s graceful movements. No other
+girl in Steynholme walked like her. She was slim enough to dispense with tight
+corsets, and tall enough to wear low-heeled shoes, nor did she need to pinch
+her toes in order to gain the semblance of small feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After her went Robinson, keyed to exultation by this outcome of his
+watchfulness. She was going to <i>The Hollies</i>, of course. The road led to
+Knoleworth, and no young woman of her age in the village would dream of taking
+a lonely walk in the country at ten o&rsquo;clock at night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a man of his height and somewhat ponderous build, the policeman followed
+with real stealth. Thus, when she turned in at the gate, he was there by the
+time she had reached the front door. He heard her pull the bell. Curiously
+enough, to his thinking, Furneaux again appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Mr. Grant at home?&rdquo; he heard Doris say.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Will you come in?&rdquo; replied the detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is he&mdash;is all well here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite, I assure you. But <i>do</i> come in. I&rsquo;ll escort you home.
+I&rsquo;m going to the inn in five minutes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris, after hesitating a little, entered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson crept on tiptoe over a stretch of gravel, and took to the shrubbery.
+It was high time, he thought, that the local constabulary learnt what was going
+on in that abode of mystery.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap09"></a>Chapter IX.<br />
+How Whom the Cap Fits&mdash;</h2>
+
+<p>
+Several minutes had elapsed between the two unexpected visits. During those
+minutes a somewhat acrimonious discussion broke out in the dining-room. Bates
+went to reassure his wife, and Hart sauntered back from the kitchen. He was
+received by Furneaux and Grant more in sorrow than in anger, a pose on their
+part which he blandly disregarded. He helped himself to the remains of the
+decanter of port.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The next point of vital interest in the narrative is to establish, by
+such evidence as is available, who Owd Ben is, or was,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I
+presume, since he had attained local celebrity as a ghost, he has passed over,
+as the spiritists say.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sit down!&rdquo; cried Furneaux savagely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart sat down, and began filling that portentous pipe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You fellows merely ran into each other outside, I take it,&rdquo; he
+said, apparently by way of a chatty remark. &ldquo;The crack of the pistol-shot
+and the supposed resurrection of Owd Ben threw Mrs. Bates temporarily off her
+balance, so I helped in reviving her. Between such a cook and such a ghost, who
+would hesitate?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Furneaux was really irritated, he swore in French.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+<i>&ldquo;Nom d&rsquo;un bon petit homme gris!&rdquo;</i> he almost squealed,
+&ldquo;why did you whip out that infernal revolver? You spoiled everything,
+everything! Have you no sense in that picturesque head of yours? Your skull is
+big enough to hold brains, not soap-bubbles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did your French father marry a Jap?&rdquo; inquired Hart, with sudden
+interest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now you&rsquo;re insulting my mother,&rdquo; yelped the detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not I. You know nothing about the finest race of little women in the
+world, or you would not even imagine such rubbish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But why, why, didn&rsquo;t you tell me that you saw someone
+outside?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t have believed me. The goblin was disappearing. I had
+to shoot quick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why shoot at all?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sir, there are certain manifestations I object to on principle. What
+self-respecting ghost ever wore whiskers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This was no ghost. You shot the man&rsquo;s hat off.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then what the blazes are you growling at? Had I, in blood-curdling
+whisper, told you that once again there was a face at the window, you would
+have scoffed at me. The ill-looking scamp caught my eye after his first glance
+at Grant. He was mizzling when I fired. You would have sat there and argued
+about hypnosis, with our worthy author&rsquo;s skilled support. And there would
+have been no hat! I do an admirable bit of trick shooting, yet I am only
+reviled for my dexterity. Really, Charles Fran&ccedil;ois!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah! You remember, at last,&rdquo; and the detective smiled sourly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Parfaitement</i>! as they say in Paris, where you and I met once,
+though &rsquo;twas in a crowd. But <i>I</i> didn&rsquo;t steal the blessed
+pearl. I believe it was that blatant patriot, Domengo Suarez.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got <i>some</i> brains, then. Why not use them? Don&rsquo;t
+you see what a fix we three would have found ourselves in had you shot the
+man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, consider, Carlo mio! A spook with whiskers! What court would find
+me guilty? Let me produce the authentic record of Owd Ben, and I have no doubt
+but that the Lord Chief Justice himself would have potted his representative.
+He&rsquo;d be bound to confess it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux was cooling down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve shaken my confidence,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Unless I have
+your promise that you will never do such a thing again while in my company, I
+shall ban you from this inquiry with bell, book, and candle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. It&rsquo;s a bargain. Now let us ponder Exhibit A.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stretched a long arm over the table, and took the hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Put it on!&rdquo; commanded the detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart did so, and scowled frightfully. Furneaux bent forward and squinted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Notice the line of those bullet-holes,&rdquo; he said to Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Any man wearing that hat must have had his scalp ploughed up,&rdquo;
+said Grant instantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, we know that nothing of the kind happened. Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was perched on top of a wig,&rdquo; drawled Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux was slightly disappointed&mdash;there was no denying it. Being a vain
+little person, he liked to show off in a minor matter such as this.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he admitted, &ldquo;and what&rsquo;s the corollary?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That the wearer is probably a clean-shaven person with thin hair, a
+daring scoundrel who is well posted in the leading characteristics of Owd Ben.
+Charles le Petit, time is now ripe for details of that hairy goblin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where did you dig him up from, anyhow?&rdquo; said the detective
+testily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Bates recognized him from my vivid description.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Her husband can tell us the story,&rdquo; put in Grant.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll fetch him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had not moved ere the front door bell rang a second time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here is Owd Ben himself, I expect,&rdquo; said Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If it&rsquo;s that Robinson&mdash;&rdquo; growled Furneaux vexedly,
+hastening to forestall Minnie.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But it was Doris Martin, and very pretty she looked as she entered the room,
+her high color being the joint outcome of a rapid walk and a very natural
+embarrassment at finding the frankly admiring eyes of a stranger fixed on her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t quite know why I&rsquo;m here,&rdquo; she said, with a
+nervous laugh, addressing Grant directly. &ldquo;You will think I am always
+gazing in the direction of <i>The Hollies</i>, but my room commands this house
+so fully that I cannot help seeing or hearing anything unusual. A few minutes
+ago I heard what I thought was a muffled gunshot. I looked out, and saw your
+window thrown open, though the light was dim, and only a candle was showing in
+the smaller window. I was alarmed, so came to inquire what had happened.
+You&rsquo;ll pardon me, I&rsquo;m sure.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Say you don&rsquo;t, Jack, I implore you, and let me apologize for
+you,&rdquo; pleaded Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doris, this is my good friend, Wally Hart,&rdquo; smiled Grant.
+&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you sit down? We have an exciting story for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Father will be horribly anxious if he knows I have gone out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nevertheless, there was sufficient spice of Mother Eve in Doris that she should
+take the proffered chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sorry to interrupt,&rdquo; broke in Furneaux. &ldquo;Did you meet P. C. 
+Robinson!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You came by way of the bridge?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no other way, unless one makes a detour by Bush Walk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective whirled round on Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What room is over this one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Minnie&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s in the kitchen, with her mother. See that she doesn&rsquo;t
+come upstairs while I&rsquo;m absent. You three keep on talking.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; said Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris, more self-possessed now, read the meaning of the quip promptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Grant has often spoken of you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You talk, and
+we&rsquo;ll listen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not so, divinity,&rdquo; came the retort. &ldquo;I may be a parrot, but
+I don&rsquo;t want my neck wrung when you&rsquo;ve gone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t encourage him, Doris,&rdquo; said Grant, &ldquo;or
+you&rsquo;ll be here till midnight.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If that&rsquo;s the best you can do, you had better leave the recital to
+me,&rdquo; laughed Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had stolen noiselessly to the bedroom overhead. The
+casement window was open&mdash;he had noted that fact while in the garden. He
+peeped out, and was just in time to see Robinson emulating a Sioux Indian on
+the war-path. The policeman removed his helmet, and was about to peer
+cautiously through the small window. The detective&rsquo;s blood ran cold. What
+if Hart discovered yet another ghost?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Robinson&mdash;go home!&rdquo; he said, in sepulchral tones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The constable positively jumped. He gaped on all sides in real terror. He, too,
+had heard hair-raising tales of Owd Ben.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go home!&rdquo; hissed Furneaux, leaning out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the other looked up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s you, sir!&rdquo; he gasped, sighing with relief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Man, you&rsquo;ve had the closest shave of your life! There&rsquo;s a
+fellow below there who shoots at sight.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I&rsquo;m on duty, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be in Kingdom Come if you gaze in at that window. Be
+off!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Robinson, you and I will quarrel if you don&rsquo;t do as I bid you. And
+that would be a pity, because I want to inform Mr. Fowler that he has a
+particularly smart man in Steynholme.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well, sir, if <i>you&rsquo;re</i> satisfied, I <i>must</i>
+be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And away went the eavesdropper, crushed, still tingling with that fear of the
+supernatural latent in every heart, but far from convinced.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux tripped downstairs. The routing of Robinson had put him into a real
+good humor. He found the three in the dining-room gazing spell-bound at the
+felt hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, young lady, you&rsquo;re coming with me,&rdquo; he said, grinning
+amiably. &ldquo;The Sussex constabulary is quelled for the hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, Mr. Furneaux, I recognize that hat!&rdquo; said Doris, and it was
+notable that even Hart remained silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective looked at her strangely, but put no question.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am almost sure it belongs to our local Amateur Dramatic
+Society,&rdquo; went on the girl. &ldquo;It was worn by Mr. Elkin last
+November. He played a burlesque of Svengali. I was Trilby, and caught a horrid
+cold from walking about without shoes or stockings.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t tell me any more,&rdquo; was Furneaux&rsquo;s surprising
+comment. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do the rest. But let me remark, Miss Martin, that I
+experienced great difficulty, not so long ago, in persuading friend Grant that
+you were the only important witness this case has provided thus far. Playing in
+a burlesque, were you? We&rsquo;ve been similarly engaged to-night. The farce
+must stop now. It makes way for grim tragedy. Not one word of to-night&rsquo;s
+events to anyone, please.... Are you ready?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris stood up. Hart thrust the negro&rsquo;s head at the detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fouché,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;do you honestly mean slinging your hook
+without making any inquiry as to Owd Ben?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, the ghost!&rdquo; said Doris eagerly. &ldquo;The Bateses would think
+of him, of course. An old farmer named Ben Robson used to live in this house
+about the time of Napoleon. He was suspected by the authorities to be an agent
+of the smugglers, and the story goes that his own daughter quarreled with him
+and betrayed him. He narrowly escaped hanging, owing to his age, I believe, and
+was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. At last he was released, being
+then a very old man, and he came straight here and strangled his daughter. It
+is quite a terrible story. He was found dead by her side. Then people
+remembered that she had spoken of someone scaring her by looking in through
+that small window some nights previously. Naturally, a ghost was soon
+manufactured. I really wonder why the man who rebuilt and renamed the place in
+the middle of last century didn&rsquo;t have the window removed
+altogether.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Glad I began the work of demolition tonight,&rdquo; said Hart, and, for
+once, his tone was serious.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why did you never tell me that scrap of history, Doris?&rdquo; inquired
+Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You liked the place so much that father and I agreed not to mar your
+enthusiasm by recalling an unpleasant legend,&rdquo; she said frankly.
+&ldquo;Not that what I&rsquo;ve related isn&rsquo;t true. The record appears in
+a Sussex Miscellany of those years.... Oh, my goodness, can it be eleven
+o&rsquo;clock!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The hall clock had no doubt on the point. Furneaux pocketed the written notes
+regarding Ingerman, and grabbed the hat off the table. Grant, for some reason,
+was aware that the detective repressed an obvious reference to the last
+occasion on which the girl had heard that same clock announce the hour.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux would allow no other escort. He and Doris made off immediately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they were gone, Hart stared fixedly at an empty decanter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dim recollection of your port, Jack, is that it was a wine of many
+virtues and few vices,&rdquo; he mused aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant took the hint, and went to a cellar. Returning, he found his crony poring
+over the book which, singularly enough, figured prominently on each occasion
+when the specter-producing window was markedly in evidence. Hart glanced up at
+his host, and nodded cheerfully at a dust-laden bottle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is there in &lsquo;The Talisman&rsquo; which needed so much
+research?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Some lines by Sir David Lindsay, quoted by Scott,&rdquo; was the answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are these they?&rdquo; And Hart read:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<i>One thing is certain in our Northern land;<br />
+Allow that birth, or valor, wealth, or wit,<br />
+Give each precedence to their possessor,<br />
+Envy, that follows on such eminence,<br />
+As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck&rsquo;s trace,<br />
+Shall pull them down each one.</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Love isn&rsquo;t mentioned. The fair Doris will be true. You&rsquo;re in
+luck, my boy. But somebody is out for your blood, and here is clear warning.
+Gee whizz! If I remain in Steynholme a week I shall become an occultist. What
+is a lyme-hound?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&lsquo;Lyme,&rsquo; or &lsquo;leam,&rsquo; is the old-time word for
+&lsquo;leash.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good!&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;That will appeal to Furneaux. Have him in
+to dinner every day, Jack. He&rsquo;s a tonic!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux, for some reason known only to himself, did not accompany Doris to the
+post office. Once they were across the bridge, and the broad village street,
+more green than roadway, was seen to be empty, he tapped her on the shoulder
+and said pleasantly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Run away home now, little girl. Sleep well, and don&rsquo;t worry. The
+tangle will right itself in time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Poor Mr. Grant is suffering,&rdquo; she ventured to murmur.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And a good thing, too. It will steady him. Hurry, please. I&rsquo;ll
+wait here till you are behind a locked door.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No one in Steynholme will hurt me,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You never can tell. I&rsquo;m not taking any chances to-night,
+however.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So Doris sped swiftly up the hill. Arrived at her house, she waved a hand to
+the detective, who flourished his straw hat in response. A fine June night in
+England is never really dark, so the two could not only see each other but,
+when Doris disappeared, Furneaux, turning sharply on his heel, was able to make
+out the sudden straightening of a pucker in the blind of a ground-floor room in
+P. C.  Robinson&rsquo;s abode.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective walked straight there, and tapped lightly on the window.
+Robinson, after an affected delay, came to the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there?&rdquo; he demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As if you didn&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; laughed Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson turned a key, and looked out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s you, sir?&rdquo; he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll get tired of saying that before I quit Steynholme,&rdquo;
+said the detective. &ldquo;May I come in? No, don&rsquo;t show a light here.
+Let&rsquo;s chat in the back kitchen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was just going to have a bite of supper, sir,&rdquo; began Robinson
+apologetically. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s laid in the kitchen. On&rsquo;y bread and
+cheese an&rsquo; a glass of beer. Will you join me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With pleasure, if I hadn&rsquo;t stuffed myself at Grant&rsquo;s place.
+Nice fellow, Grant. Pity you and he don&rsquo;t seem to get on together. Of
+course, we policemen cannot allow friendship to interfere with duty, but,
+between you and me, Robinson&mdash;strictly in confidence&mdash;Grant had no
+more to do with the actual murder of Miss Melhuish than either of us
+two.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson had turned up a lamp, and hospitably installed Furneaux in his own
+easy-chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The &lsquo;actual murder,&rsquo; you said, sir?&rdquo; he repeated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. It was his presence at <i>The Hollies</i> which brought an
+infatuated woman there, and thus directly led to her death. That is all. Grant
+is telling the truth. I assure you, Robinson, I never allow myself to break
+bread with a man whom I may have to convict. So, I&rsquo;ll change my mind, and
+take a snack of your bread and cheese.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The village constable, by no means a fool, grinned at the implied tribute. What
+he did not appreciate so readily was the fact that his somewhat massive form
+was being twiddled round the detective&rsquo;s little finger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Right you are, sir,&rdquo; he cried cheerily. &ldquo;But, if Mr. Grant
+didn&rsquo;t kill Miss Melhuish, who did!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In all probability, the man who wore that hat,&rdquo; chirped Furneaux,
+taking a nondescript bundle from a coat pocket, and throwing it on the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson started. This June night was full of weird surprises. He set down a
+jug of beer with a bang&mdash;his intent being to fill two glasses already in
+position, from which circumstance even the least observant visitor might deduce
+a Mrs. Robinson, <i>en negligé</i>, hastily flown upstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He examined the hat as though it were a new form of bomb.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By gum!&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;Are these bullet-holes?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They are.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;An&rsquo; is this what someone fired at?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But how in thunder&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He checked himself in time. He did not want to admit that he had been watching
+the only recognized road to Grant&rsquo;s house all the evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite so!&rdquo; chortled Furneaux, with admirable misunderstanding.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re quick on the trigger, Robinson&mdash;almost as quick as
+that friend of Grant&rsquo;s who arrived by the 5.30 from London. You perceive
+at once that no ordinary head could have worn that hat without having its hair
+combed by the same bullet. It was stuck on to a thick wig. Now, tell me the
+man, or woman, in Steynholme, who wears a wig and a hat like that, and you and
+I will guess who killed Miss Melhuish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson suspected that, as he himself would have put it, his leg was being
+pulled rather violently. Furneaux read his face like a printed page. Chewing,
+much against his will, a mouthful of bread and cheese, he mumbled in solemn,
+broken tones:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Think&mdash;Robinson. Don&rsquo;t&mdash;answer&mdash;offhand.
+Has&mdash;anybody&mdash;ever worn&mdash;such things&mdash;in a play?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the policeman was convinced, galvanized by memory, as it were.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By gum!&rdquo; he cried again. &ldquo;Fred Elkin&mdash;in a charity
+performance last winter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux choked with excitement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A horsey-looking chap, on to-day&rsquo;s jury,&rdquo; he gurgled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The scoundrel!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No wonder he looked ill.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No wonder, indeed. How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill
+deeds done!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, sir&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson was flabbergasted. He could only murmur &ldquo;Fred Elkin!&rdquo; in a
+dazed way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have a drink,&rdquo; said Furneaux sympathetically. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+wet my whistle, too. Only half a glass, please. Now, we mustn&rsquo;t jump to
+conclusions. This Elkin looks a villain, but may not be one. That is to say,
+his villainy may be confined to dealings in nags. But you see, Robinson, what a
+queer turn this affair is taking. We must get rid of preconceived notions.
+Superintendent Fowler and you and I will go into this matter thoroughly
+to-morrow. Meanwhile, breathe not a syllable to a living soul. If I were you,
+I&rsquo;d let Mr. Grant understand that we regard him as rather outside the
+scope of our inquiry. This beer is very good for a country village. You know a
+good thing when you see it, I expect. Pity I don&rsquo;t smoke, or I&rsquo;d
+join you in a pipe. I must get a move on, now, or that fat landlord will be
+locking me out. Good night! Yes. I&rsquo;ll take the hat. <i>Good</i>
+night!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While walking up the hill Furneaux fanned himself with the straw hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One small bit of my brain is evidently a hereditary bequest from a
+good-natured ass!&rdquo; he communed. &ldquo;Here am I, Furneaux, plagued
+beyond endurance by a first-class murder case, and I must go and busy myself
+with the love affair of a postmaster&rsquo;s daughter and a feather-headed
+novelist!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Tomlin admitted him to the Hare and Hounds, he buttonholed the landlord,
+who, at that hour, was usually somewhat obfuscated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said the detective gravely, &ldquo;I am told that you
+Steynholme folk indulge occasionally in such frivolities as amateur
+theatricals?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Once in a way, sir. Once in a way. Afore I lock up the bar, will
+you&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not to-night. I&rsquo;ve mixed port and beer already, and I&rsquo;m only
+a little fellow. Now you, Mr. Tomlin, can mix anything, I fancy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve tried a few combinations in me time, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, about these theatrical performances&mdash;is there any scenery,
+costumes, &lsquo;props&rsquo; as actors call them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir. They&rsquo;re stored in the loft over the club-room&mdash;the
+room where the inquest wur held.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What, <i>here</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux&rsquo;s shrill cry scared Mr. Tomlin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Y-yes, sir,&rdquo; he stuttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that my candle?&rdquo; said the detective tragically.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m tired, dead beat. To-night, Mr. Tomlin, you are privileged to
+see the temporary wreck of a noble mind. God wot, &rsquo;tis a harrowing
+spectacle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux skipped nimbly upstairs. Tomlin proceeded to lock up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s good for trade,&rdquo; he mumbled, &ldquo;but I&rsquo;ll be
+glad when these &rsquo;ere Lunnon gents clears out. They worry me, they do.
+Fair gemme a turn, &rsquo;e did. A tec&rsquo;, indeed! He&rsquo;s nothin&rsquo;
+but a play-hactor hisself!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap10"></a>Chapter X.<br />
+The Case Against Grant</h2>
+
+<p>
+Next morning, after a long conference with Superintendent Fowler, from which,
+to his great chagrin, P. C. Robinson was excluded, Furneaux went to the post
+office, dispatched an apparently meaningless telegram to a code address, and
+exchanged a few orthodox remarks with Doris and her father about the continued
+fine weather. While he was yet at the counter, Ingerman crossed the road and
+entered the chemist&rsquo;s shop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me see,&rdquo; said the detective musingly, &ldquo;by committing a
+slight trespass on your left-hand neighbor&rsquo;s garden, can I reach the yard
+of the inn?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What the eye doesn&rsquo;t see the heart doesn&rsquo;t grieve
+over,&rdquo; smiled Doris. &ldquo;Mrs. Jefferson went to Knoleworth early
+to-day, and took her maid. By shopping at the stores there, they save their
+fares, and have a day out each week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I go that way, then?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Suppose you send that
+goggle-eyed skivvy of yours on an errand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was done, and Furneaux made the desired transit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, Tomlin, to whom the comings and goings of all and sundry formed the staple
+of the day&rsquo;s gossip, had seen the detective go out, but could &ldquo;take
+his sollum davy&rdquo; that the queer little man had not returned. He, too, had
+watched Ingerman going to Siddle&rsquo;s. Ten minutes later Elkin came down the
+hill, and headed for the same rendezvous. Five minutes more, and Hobbs, the
+butcher, joined the others. Tomlin was seething with curiosity, but there were
+some casual customers in the &ldquo;snug,&rdquo; so he could not abandon his
+post.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon, however, Ingerman led Elkin and Hobbs to the inn. Evidently, the
+&ldquo;financier&rdquo; had been making some small purchases. He was in high
+spirits. Ordering appetizers before the mid-day meal, he announced that he was
+returning to London that afternoon, but would be in Steynholme again for the
+adjourned inquest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No matter how my business suffers, I mean to see this affair
+through,&rdquo; he vowed. &ldquo;You gentlemen can pretty well guess my private
+convictions. You were good enough to give me your friendship, so I spoke as
+openly as one dares when no charge has actually been laid against any
+particular person.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; said Elkin, with whom sunshine seemed to disagree, because he
+looked miserably ill. &ldquo;We know what you mean, Mr. Ingerman. If the police
+were half sharp they&rsquo;d have nabbed their man before this ... Did you put
+any water in this gin, Tomlin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Water?&rdquo; wheezed Tomlin indignantly. <i>&ldquo;Water?&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, no offense. I can&rsquo;t taste anything. I believe I could
+swallow dope and not feel it on my tongue.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You do look bad, an&rsquo; no mistake, Fred,&rdquo; agreed Hobbs.
+&ldquo;Are you vettin&rsquo; yerself? Don&rsquo;t. Every man to his trade, sez
+I. Give Dr. Foxton a call.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m taking his medicine regular. Perhaps I need a change.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Ave a week-end in Lunnon,&rdquo; said Hobbs, with a broad wink.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Change of medicine, I mean. I&rsquo;m not leaving Steynholme till things
+make a move. My next trip to London will be my honeymoon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You look like a honeymooner, I don&rsquo;t think,&rdquo; guffawed Hobbs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You wouldn&rsquo;t laugh if I told <i>you</i> what you really look
+like,&rdquo; cried Elkin angrily. &ldquo;Bet you a level fiver I&rsquo;m
+married this year. Now, put up or shut up!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux peeped in, through a door, always open, which led to the stairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can I have my account, Mr. Tomlin?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m
+going to town by the next train.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t mean to say, Mr. Furneaux, that you are abandoning the
+case so soon?&rdquo; broke in Ingerman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did I say that?&rdquo; inquired the detective meekly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. One can&rsquo;t help drawing inferences occasionally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Great mistake. Look at our worthy landlord. He&rsquo;s been drawing
+inferences as well as corks, and he&rsquo;s beat to the world.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tomlin was, indeed, gazing at his smaller guest open-mouthed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;S&rsquo;elp me!&rdquo; he gurgled. &ldquo;I could ha&rsquo;
+sworn&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bad habit,&rdquo; and Furneaux crooked a waggish forefinger at him.
+&ldquo;Even the wisest among us may err. Last night, for instance, I blundered.
+I really fancied I had a clew to the Steynholme murderer. And where do you
+think it ended? In the loft of your club-room, Mr. Tomlin. In a box of old
+clothes at that. Silly, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wot! Them amatoor play-hactin&rsquo; things?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exactly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin grunted, though intending to laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not so sharp for a London &rsquo;tec, I must say,&rdquo; he cried.
+&ldquo;Why, those props have been there since before Christmas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I know now,&rdquo; was the downcast reply. &ldquo;Twelve hours ago
+I thought differently. Didn&rsquo;t I, Mr. Tomlin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tomlin tried hard to look knowing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, is that wot you wur drivin&rsquo; at?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Dang
+me, mister, I could soon ha&rsquo; put you right &rsquo;ad you tole me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, well. Can&rsquo;t be helped. I may do better in London. What do
+<i>you</i> say, Mr. Ingerman? The City is the real mint of money and crime. Who
+knows but that a stroll through Cornhill may have some bearing on the
+Steynholme mystery?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May be you&rsquo;d get a bit nearer if you took a stroll along the
+Knoleworth Road, and not so very far, either,&rdquo; guffawed Elkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who knows?&rdquo; repeated Furneaux sadly. &ldquo;Good-day, gentlemen.
+Some of this merry party will meet again, of course, if not here, at the
+Assizes. Don&rsquo;t forget my bill. Mr. Tomlin. By the way, one egg at
+breakfast had seen vicissitudes. It shouldn&rsquo;t be rated too highly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m traveling by your train,&rdquo; cried Ingerman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I understood,&rdquo; said Furneaux over his shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was silence for a moment after he had gone. Ingerman looked thoughtful,
+even puzzled. He was casting back in his mind to discover just how and when the
+detective &ldquo;understood&rdquo; that his departure was imminent, since he
+himself had only arrived at a decision after leaving the chemist&rsquo;s.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That chap is no good,&rdquo; announced Elkin. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll back old
+Robinson against him any day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sh-s-sh! He may &rsquo;ear you,&rdquo; muttered the landlord.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t care if he does. Cornhill! What the blazes has Cornhill to
+do with the murder at <i>The Hollies</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman appreciated the value of that concluding phrase. Elkin had used it
+once before in Siddle&rsquo;s shop, and was quietly reproved by the chemist for
+his outspokenness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman, however, did not inform the company that his office lay in an alley
+off Cornhill. He elected to rub in Elkin&rsquo;s words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Siddle seemed to object to <i>The Hollies</i> being mentioned as the
+scene of the crime,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I wonder why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because he&rsquo;s an old molly-coddle,&rdquo; snapped the horse-dealer.
+&ldquo;Thinks everyone is like himself, a regular slow-coach.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tomlin closed the door into the passage, closed it for the first time in living
+memory, whereat Furneaux, on the landing above, grinned sardonically, and ran
+downstairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wot&rsquo;s this about them amatoor clo&rsquo;es?&rdquo; he inquired
+portentously. &ldquo;Oo &rsquo;as the key of that box?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>I</i> have,&rdquo; said Elkin. &ldquo;I locked it after the last
+performance, and, unless you&rsquo;ve been up to any monkey tricks, Tomlin, the
+duds are there yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re bitin&rsquo; me &rsquo;ead off all the mornin&rsquo;,
+Fred,&rdquo; protested the aggrieved landlord. &ldquo;Fust, the gin was wrong,
+an&rsquo; now I&rsquo;m supposed to &rsquo;ave rummidged yur box. Wot
+for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux popped in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My bill ready?&rdquo; he squeaked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir. The train&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Leaves at two, but I&rsquo;m driving to Knoleworth with Superintendent
+Fowler.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The door closed behind him. Tomlin shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Box! Jack-in-the-box, I reckon,&rdquo; he said darkly, turning to a
+dog-eared ledger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Neither at Knoleworth nor Victoria did Ingerman catch sight of the detective,
+though he was anxious either to make the journey in the company of the
+representative of Scotland Yard or arrange an early appointment with him. True,
+he was not inclined to place the strange-mannered little man on the same high
+plane as that suggested by certain London journalists to whom he had spoken.
+But he wanted to win the confidence of &ldquo;the Yard&rdquo; in connection
+with this case, and the belief that he was being avoided was nettling. He found
+consolation, of a sort, in the illustrated papers. One especially contained two
+pages of local pictures. &ldquo;Mr. Grant addressing the crowd,&rdquo; with
+full text, was very effective, while there were admirable studies of <i>The
+Hollies</i> and the &ldquo;scene of the tragedy.&rdquo; His own portrait was
+not flattering. The sun had etched his Mephistophelian features rather sharply,
+whereas Grant looked a very fine fellow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman would have been more than surprised were he privileged to overhear a
+conversation which began and ended before he reached his flat in North
+Kensington.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux, who had jumped into the fore part of the train at Knoleworth, and was
+out in a jiffy at Victoria, handed his bag to a station detective, and turned
+into Vauxhall Bridge Road, one of the quietest of London&rsquo;s main
+thoroughfares. There he met a big man, dressed in tweeds, whose manifest
+concern at the moment seemed to center in a rather bad wrapping of a very good
+cigar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah! How goes it, Charles?&rdquo; cried the big man heartily, affecting
+to be aware of Furneaux&rsquo;s presence when the latter had walked nearly a
+hundred yards down a comparatively deserted street.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s wrong with the toofa?&rdquo; inquired Furneaux testily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My own carelessness. Stupid things, bands on cigars.... Well,
+what&rsquo;s the rush?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a train to Steynholme at five o&rsquo;clock. I want you to
+take hold. I must have help. Like your cigar, this case has come
+unstuck.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. James Leander Winter, Chief Inspector under the Criminal Investigation
+Department, whistled softly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tut, tut!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;One can never trust the newspapers.
+Reading this morning&rsquo;s particulars, it looked dead easy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me how it struck you. Sometimes the uninformed brain is vouchsafed
+a gleam of unconscious genius.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter appeared to be devoting his mind to circumventing the vagaries of a
+fragile tobacco-leaf. He was a man of powerful build, over forty, heavy but
+active, deep-chested, round-headed, with bulging blue eyes which radiated
+kindliness and strength of character. The press photographer described him
+accurately to Grant. The average Londoner would have taken him for a county
+gentleman on a visit to the Agricultural Show at Islington, with a morning at
+Tattersall&rsquo;s as a variant. Yet, Sam Weller&rsquo;s extensive and peculiar
+knowledge of London compared with his as a freshman&rsquo;s with a don&rsquo;s
+of a university. It would be hard to assess, in coin of the realm, the value of
+the political and social secrets stowed away in that big head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;First, I must put a question or two,&rdquo; he said, smiling at a baby
+which cooed at him from the shaded depths of a passing perambulator. &ldquo;Is
+there another woman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, the postmaster&rsquo;s daughter, Doris Martin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shy, pretty little bird, of course?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Everything that is good and beautiful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Grant a Lothario?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Excellent chap. Quarter of an hour before the murder he was giving Doris
+a lesson in astronomy in the garden of <i>The Hollies</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never heard it called <i>that</i> before.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This time the statement happens to be strictly accurate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Honest Injun?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure of it. If anything, the death of Adelaide Melhuish
+cleared the scales off their eyes. Those two have never kissed or
+squeezed&mdash;yet. They&rsquo;ll be starting quite soon now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How old is Doris?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nineteen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But a really good-looking girl of nineteen must have had admirers before
+Grant went to the village.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She had, and has. Having educated herself out of the rut, however, she
+left many runners at the post. One is persistent&mdash;a youngish horse-coper
+named Elkin. Adelaide Melhuish probably saw her with Grant. Neither Doris nor
+Grant knew that Adelaide Melhuish, as such, was in Steynholme. That is to say,
+the girl had seen Miss Melhuish in the post office, and recognized her as a
+famous actress, but that is all. And now I shan&rsquo;t tell you any more, or
+you&rsquo;ll know all that I know, which is too much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The cigar was behaving itself at last, having burnt down to the fracture, so
+Winter&rsquo;s thoughts could be given exclusively to the less important matter
+of the Steynholme affair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To begin with,&rdquo; he said instantly. &ldquo;Ingerman can establish a
+cast-iron alibi.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I imagined. But he&rsquo;s a bad lot. I throw in that item
+gratuitously.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The oddly-assorted pair walked in silence until Vauxhall Bridge was in sight.
+Winter pulled out a watch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What time did you say my train left Victoria?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Plenty of time yet to make your guess and listen to further
+details,&rdquo; scoffed Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Frankly, I give it up. But, if I must share in the hunt, I tell you now
+that, metaphorically speaking, I shall cling to the postmaster&rsquo;s daughter
+till torn away by sheer force of evidence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux dug his colleague in the ribs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the effect of constant association with me, James,&rdquo;
+he cackled gleefully. &ldquo;Ten years ago you would have pounced on Elkin.
+You&rsquo;ve hit it! I&rsquo;m a prood mon the day. The pupil is equaling the
+master.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You little rat, I had hanged my first murderer before you knew the
+meaning of <i>habeas corpus</i>! Let&rsquo;s turn now, and get to
+business.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Few Treasury barristers, leading for the Crown, could have marshaled the facts
+with such lucidity and fairness as Furneaux during that saunter to Victoria
+Station.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice,&rdquo; said Othello to
+Lodovico, and these Scotland Yard men, charged with so great a responsibility,
+never forgot the great-hearted Moor&rsquo;s advice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Winter took his seat in the train at five o&rsquo;clock he could have
+drawn a plan of Steynholme, which he had never seen, and marked thereon the
+exact position of each house mentioned in this record. Moreover, he was
+acquainted with the chief characters by sight, as it were. And, finally, he and
+Furneaux had arranged a plan of campaign.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux refreshed a jaded intellect by an evening at the opera. Next morning,
+at eleven o&rsquo;clock, he was inquiring for Mr. Ingerman at an office in a
+certain alley off Cornhill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A smart youth interposed a printed formula between the visitor and a door
+marked &ldquo;Private.&rdquo; Furneaux wrote his name, and put
+&ldquo;Steynholme&rdquo; in the space reserved for &ldquo;business.&rdquo; He
+was admitted at once. Mr. Ingerman, apparently, was immersed in a pile of
+letters, but he swept them all aside, and greeted the caller affably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Glad to see you, Mr. Furneaux,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I missed you on
+the train yesterday. Did you&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nice quiet place you&rsquo;ve got here, Mr. Ingerman,&rdquo; interrupted
+the detective.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. But, as I was about to&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Artistically furnished, too,&rdquo; went on Furneaux dreamily.
+&ldquo;Oak, self-toned carpets and rugs, restful decorations. Those etchings,
+also, show taste in the selection. &lsquo;The Embankment&mdash;by Night.&rsquo;
+Fitting sequel to &lsquo;The City&mdash;by Day.&rsquo; I&rsquo;m a child in
+such matters, but, &rsquo;pon my honor, if tempted to pour out my hard-earned
+savings into the lap of a City magnate, I would disgorge here more readily than
+in some saloon-bar of finance, where the new mahogany glistens, and the
+typewriters click like machine-guns.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman was nettled. He glanced at his correspondence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have a somewhat far-fetched notion of my position,&rdquo; he said,
+with a staccato quality in his velvet voice. &ldquo;I am not a magnate, and I
+toil here to make, not to lose, money for my clients.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A noble ideal. Forgive me if my rhapsody took the wrong line.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I&rsquo;m sure you will forgive me if I now put the question which
+leads to the probable cause of your visit. Did you travel by the two
+o&rsquo;clock train yesterday?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I avoided you purposely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I ask, why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My mind was weary. I wanted my wits about me when I tackled you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman smiled, and leaned back, resting both elbows on the arms of the chair,
+and bringing the tips of his fingers together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Proceed,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You prefer that I should drag out a statement piecemeal rather than
+receive it <i>en bloc</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Put it that way, if you like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall even enjoy it. To clear the ground, are you the Isidor G.
+Ingerman who exploited the A1 Mine in Abyssinia?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman&rsquo;s finger-tips whitened under a sudden pressure, but his voice
+remained calm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;An unfortunate episode,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And the Aegean Transport Company, Limited?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Into which I was inveigled by Greeks. But why this history of ruined
+enterprises?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a sort of schooling. I have noticed that the smartest counsel
+invariably begin with a few fireworks in order to induce the proper frame of
+mind in a witness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does that mean that you want me to blurt out bitter and prejudiced
+accusations against Mr. Grant?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want to hear what you have to say about the death of your wife. You
+forced the cross-examining role on me. I&rsquo;m doing my best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman kept silent during many seconds. When he spoke, his cultured voice was
+suave as ever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps it was my fault, Mr. Furneaux,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You gave
+me a strong hint. I should have taken it, and we might have started an
+interesting chat on pleasanter lines. So, with apologies for my insistence
+about the train, I make a fresh start. I believe firmly that Grant was directly
+concerned in the murder. And I shall justify my belief. Within the past
+fortnight a <i>rapprochement</i> between my wife and myself became possible. It
+was spoken of, even reduced to the written word. I have her letters. Mine
+should be found among her belongings. May I take it that they <i>have</i> been
+found?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah. So far, so good. My poor wife reached the parting of the ways. She
+saw that her life was becoming an empty husk. I think the theater was palling
+on her. But I see now that she still cherished the dream of winning the man she
+loved&mdash;not me, her husband, but that handsome dilettante, Grant. I take
+it, therefore, that she went to Steynholme to determine whether or not the
+glamour of the past was really dead. Unfortunately, she witnessed certain
+idyllic passages between her one-time lover and a charming village girl.
+Imagine the effect of this discovery on one of the artistic temperament.
+&lsquo;Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,&rsquo; and my unhappy wife would
+lash herself into an emotional frenzy. She would tear a passion to rags. Her
+very training on the stage would come to her aid in scathing
+words&mdash;perhaps threats. If Grant remained cold to her appeal the village
+beauty should be made to suffer. Then <i>he</i> would flame into storm. And so
+the upas-tree of tragedy spread its poisonous shade until reason fled, and some
+demon whispered, &lsquo;Kill!&rsquo; I find no flaw in my theory. It explains
+the inexplicable. Now, how does it strike you, Mr. Furneaux?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As piffle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that so? I have the advantage, of course, in knowing my wife&rsquo;s
+peculiarities. And I have made some study of Grant. He admits already that he
+is under suspicion. Why, if he is innocent? Mind you, I pay little heed to the
+crude disposal of the body. Horace, I think, has a truism that art lies in
+concealing art. My wife&rsquo;s presence in Steynholme was no secret. She would
+have been missed from the inn. Search would be made. The murder must be
+revealed sooner or later, and the murderer himself was aware that by no
+twisting or turning could his name escape association with that of his victim.
+Why not face the music at once? he would argue. The very simplicity of the
+means adopted to fasten a kind of responsibility on him might prove his best
+safeguard. Even now I doubt whether any jury will find him guilty on the
+evidence as it stands, but my duty to my unhappy wife demands that I shall
+strengthen the arm of justice by every legitimate means in my power.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that your case, Mr. Ingerman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At present, yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It assumes that the police adopt your view.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not necessarily. The police must do their work without fear or favor.
+But Grant can be committed for trial on a coroner&rsquo;s warrant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Grant is certainly in an awkward place.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only a little while ago you dismissed my theory of the crime as airy
+persiflage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That was before you quoted Horace. I have a great respect for Horace.
+His ode to the New Year is a gem.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would you care to see my wife&rsquo;s recent letters?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They are at my flat, I&rsquo;ll send you copies. The originals are
+always at your disposal for comparison, of course. Now may I, without offense,
+ask a question?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it wise that the emissary of Scotland Yard should leave
+Steynholme?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But didn&rsquo;t I tell you that I might obtain light in the
+neighborhood of Cornhill?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True. I could have given you the facts in Steynholme.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m a greater believer in what the theater people call
+&lsquo;atmosphere.&rsquo; Some of your facts, Mr. Ingerman, remind me of an
+expert&rsquo;s report in a mining prospectus. When tested by cyanide of
+potassium the gold in the ore often changes into iron pyrites. But don&rsquo;t
+hug the delusion that I shall neglect Steynholme. The murderer is there, not in
+London, and, unless my intellect is failing, he will be tried for his life at
+the next Lewes Assizes. Meanwhile, may I give you a bit of advice?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By all means.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Employ a sound lawyer, one who will avoid needless mud-slinging. Good
+day! Send those letters to the Yard by to-night&rsquo;s post if
+practicable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It shall be done.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the door closed on Furneaux, Ingerman smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve given that little Frenchman furiously to think,&rdquo; he
+murmured.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the &ldquo;little Frenchman&rdquo; was smiling, too. He had elaborated the
+scheme already discussed with Winter. It was much to his liking, though
+unorthodox, rather crack-brained, more than risky, and altogether opposed to
+the instructions of the Police Manual. Each of these drawbacks was a
+commendation to Furneaux. In fact, the Steynholme mystery had taken quite a
+favorable turn during that talk with Ingerman.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap11"></a>Chapter XI.<br />
+P. C. Robinson Takes Another Line</h2>
+
+<p>
+About the time Furneaux was whisked past <i>The Hollies</i> in Superintendent
+Fowler&rsquo;s dogcart, Grant and Hart were finishing luncheon, and planning a
+long walk to the sea. Grant would dearly have liked to secure Doris&rsquo;s
+company, but good taste forbade that he should even invite her to share the
+ramble. Thus, the death of a woman with whom he had not exchanged a word during
+three years had already set up a barrier between Doris and himself. Though
+impalpable, it was effective. It could neither be climbed nor avoided. Quiet
+little Steynholme had suddenly become a rigid censor of morals and etiquette.
+Until this evil thing was annihilated by slow process of law, Doris and he
+might meet only by chance and never remain long together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the two were ready to start, Hart elected to dispense with his South
+American sombrero.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sensitive to ridicule,&rdquo; he professed. &ldquo;The village
+urchins will christen me &lsquo;Owd Ben,&rsquo; and the old gentleman&rsquo;s
+character was such that I would feel hurt. So, for to-day, I&rsquo;ll join the
+no hat brigade.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder if we&rsquo;ll meet Furneaux,&rdquo; said Grant, selecting a
+walking-stick. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s odd that we should have seen nothing of him
+this morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It would be still more odd if we had, remembering the precautions he
+took not to be observed coming here last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, that&rsquo;s so. I forgot to ask the reason. There was one, I
+suppose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of the best. That little man is a live wire of intelligence. He&rsquo;s
+wasted on Scotland Yard. He ought to be a dramatist or an ambassador.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quaint alternatives, those.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all. Each profession demands brains, and is at its best in
+coining cute phrases. I&rsquo;ve met scores of both tribes, and they&rsquo;re
+like as peas in a pod.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A bell rang.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the front door,&rdquo; said Grant. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
+Furneaux himself, I hope.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the visitor was P. C.  Robinson, who actually smiled and saluted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Glad I&rsquo;ve caught you before you went out, sir,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;Mr. Furneaux asked me to tell you he had to hurry back to London. I was
+also to mention that he had got the whiskers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What whiskers? Whose whiskers?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all he said, sir&mdash;he&rsquo;d got the whiskers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, Owd Ben&rsquo;s whiskers, of course. How dense you are,
+Jack!&rdquo; put in Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, this was the first Robinson had heard of whiskers in connection with the
+crime. He remembered Elkin&rsquo;s make-up as Svengali, of course, and could
+have kicked himself for not associating earlier a set of sable whiskers with
+the black wig and the bullet-torn hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, Owd Ben! What figure did that redoubtable ghost cut in the mystery?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There are certain <i>lacunae</i> in your otherwise vigorous and
+thrilling story, constable,&rdquo; went on Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very likely, sir,&rdquo; agreed Robinson, much to the surprise of his
+hearers. He had not the slightest notion what a <i>lacuna</i>, or its plural,
+signified. He was only adopting Furneaux&rsquo;s advice, and trying to be
+civil.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, you see that, do you?&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;Well, fill &rsquo;em
+in. When, where, and how did the midget sleuth obtain the specter&rsquo;s hairy
+adornments?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The policeman, whose wits were thoroughly on the alert, realized that he had
+scored a point, though he knew not how.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He did not tell me, sir,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a rum
+business, that&rsquo;s what it is, no matter what way you look at it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, agreeably aware of the village constable&rsquo;s change of front,
+accepted the olive branch readily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;re just going for a walk,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;If you have
+ten minutes to spare, Mrs. Bates will find you some luncheon, I have no
+doubt.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sir, meals are a trifle irregular during a busy time like
+this,&rdquo; admitted Robinson, feeling that his luck was in, because tongues
+would surely be loosened in the kitchen to an official guest introduced by the
+master of the establishment. He was right. No member of the Bates family
+dreamed of reticence, now that the household was restored to favor with
+&ldquo;the force.&rdquo; Before Robinson departed, he was full of information
+and good food.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+What more natural, then, an hour later, than that he should contrive to meet
+Elkin as the horse-dealer was taking home a lively two-year-old pony he had
+been &ldquo;lungeing&rdquo; on a strip of common opposite his house?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Each was eager to question the other, but Elkin opened fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything fresh?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You have a fair course now,
+Robinson. That little London &rsquo;tec has bunked home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has he?&rdquo; In the language of the ring, Robinson thought fit to spar
+for an opening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, none of your kiddin&rsquo;,&rdquo; said Elkin, stroking the nervous
+colt&rsquo;s neck. &ldquo;You know he has. You don&rsquo;t miss much
+that&rsquo;s going on. Bet you half a thick &rsquo;un you&rsquo;d have put
+someone in clink before this if the murder at <i>The Hollies</i> had been left
+in your hands.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s as may be, Mr. Elkin. But this affair seems to have gripped
+you for fair. You look thoroughly run down. Sleepin&rsquo; badly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rotten! Hardly got a wink last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You shouldn&rsquo;t be out so late. Why, on&rsquo;y a week ago you were
+in bed regular at 10.15.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That inquest broke up the day yesterday, so I was delayed at
+Knoleworth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What time did you reach home?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dashed if I know. After twelve before I was in bed. By the way,
+what&rsquo;s this about things missing from a box owned by the Amateur Dramatic
+Society? That silly josser of a detective&mdash;What&rsquo;s his name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Furneaux,&rdquo; said Robinson, who was clever enough not to appear too
+secretive, and was thanking his stars that Elkin had introduced the very topic
+he wanted to discuss.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay, Furneaux. I remember now. He worried old Tomlin last night about
+that box, which is kept in the loft over the club-room. So Tomlin and I, and
+Hobbs, just to satisfy ourselves, went up there as soon as Furneaux left
+to-day. And, what do you think? The box was unlocked, though I locked it
+myself, and have the key; and a hat and wig and whiskers I wore when we played
+a skit on &lsquo;Trilby&rsquo; were missing. If that isn&rsquo;t a clew, what
+is?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A clew!&rdquo; repeated the bewildered Robinson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I&rsquo;m telling you, though I kept dark before the other fellows.
+Didn&rsquo;t you say Grant&rsquo;s cheek was bleeding on Tuesday
+morning?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, the whiskers were held on by wires that slip over the ears. One
+wire was sharp as a needle. I know, because it stuck into a finger more than
+once. Why shouldn&rsquo;t it scratch a man&rsquo;s cheek, and the cut open
+again next morning?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By jing, you&rsquo;ve got your knife into Mr. Grant, an&rsquo; no
+mistake,&rdquo; commented Robinson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You yourself gave him a nasty jab at the inquest,&rdquo; sneered Elkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was just tellin&rsquo; the facts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So am I. I think you ought to know about that hat and the other things.
+I would recognize them anywhere. Furneaux had something up his sleeve, too, or
+he wouldn&rsquo;t have pumped Tomlin... Woa, boy! So long, Robinson! I must put
+this youngster into his stall.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wait, Mr. Elkin,&rdquo; said Robinson solemnly. &ldquo;I want
+to have a word with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The policeman was glad of the respite. He needed time to collect his thoughts.
+The story of the dinner-party and its excitement disposed completely of
+Elkin&rsquo;s malicious theory with regard to Grant, but, since the
+horse-dealer was minded to be communicative, it would be well to encourage him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come in, and have a drink,&rdquo; said Elkin, when the colt had been
+stabled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, thanks&mdash;not when I&rsquo;m on duty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin raised his eyebrows sarcastically. He could not possibly guess that
+Robinson was adopting Furneaux&rsquo;s pose of never accepting hospitality from
+a man whom he might have to arrest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, blaze away. I&rsquo;m ready.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The younger man leaned against a gate. He looked ill and physically worn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your business has kept you out late of a night recently, you say, Mr.
+Elkin,&rdquo; began the other, speaking as casually as he could contrive.
+&ldquo;Now, it might help a lot if you can call to mind anyone you met on the
+roads at ten or eleven o&rsquo;clock. For instance, last night&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin laughed in a queer, croaking way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Last night my mare brought me home. I was decidedly sprung, Robinson.
+Glad you didn&rsquo;t spot me, or there might have been trouble. What between
+the inquest, an&rsquo; no food, an&rsquo; more than a few drinks at Knoleworth,
+I&rsquo;d have passed Owd Ben himself without seeing him, though I believe I
+did squint in at <i>The Hollies</i> as I went by.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What time would that be?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, soon after eleven.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sure.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t be certain to ten minutes or so. The pubs hadn&rsquo;t
+closed when I left Knoleworth. What the devil does it matter, anyhow?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It mattered a great deal. Robinson could testify that Elkin did not cross
+Steynholme bridge &ldquo;soon after eleven.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing much,&rdquo; was the answer. &ldquo;You see, I&rsquo;m anxious
+to find out who might be stirring at that hour, an&rsquo; you know everybody
+for miles around. I&rsquo;d like to fix your journey by the clock, if I
+could.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dash it all, man, I was full to the eyes. There! You have it
+straight.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Were you out on Monday night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The night of the murder?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I left the Hare and Hounds at ten, and came straight home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who was there with you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The usual crowd&mdash;Hobbs, and Siddle, and Bob Smith, and a commercial
+traveler. Siddle went at half past nine, but he generally does.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You met no one on the road?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The monosyllable seemed to lack Elkin&rsquo;s usual confidence. It sounded as
+if he had been making up his mind what to say, yet faltered at the last moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson ruminated darkly. As a matter of fact, long after eleven o&rsquo;clock
+on that fateful night, he himself had seen Elkin walking homeward. He was well
+aware that the licensing hours were not strictly observed by the Hare and
+Hounds when &ldquo;commercial gentlemen&rdquo; were in residence. Closing time
+was ten o&rsquo;clock, but the &ldquo;commercials,&rdquo; being cheery souls,
+became nominal hosts on such occasions, and their guests were in no hurry to
+depart. Robinson saw that he had probably jumped to a conclusion, an acrobatic
+feat of reasoning which Furneaux had specifically warned him against. At any
+rate, he resolved now to leave well enough alone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, we don&rsquo;t seem to get any forrarder,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;You ought to take more care of your health, Mr. Elkin. You&rsquo;re a
+changed man these days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be all right when this murder is off our chests, Robinson.
+You won&rsquo;t have a tiddley? Right-o! So long!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson walked slowly toward Steynholme. At a turn in the road he halted near
+the footpath which led down the wooded cliff and across the river to Bush Walk.
+He surveyed the locality with a reflective frown. Then, there being no one
+about, he made some notes of the chat with Elkin. The man&rsquo;s candor and
+his misstatements were equally puzzling. None knew better than the policeman
+that the vital discrepancy of fully an hour and a half on the Monday night
+would be difficult to clear up. Tomlin, of course, would have no recollection
+of events after ten o&rsquo;clock, but the commercial traveler, who could be
+traced, might be induced to tell the truth if assured that the police needed
+the information solely for purposes in connection with their inquiry into the
+murder. That man must be found. His testimony should have an immense
+significance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That evening, shortly before seven o&rsquo;clock, a stalwart,
+prosperous-looking gentleman in tweeds &ldquo;descended&rdquo; from the London
+express at Knoleworth. The local train for Steynholme stood in a bay on the
+opposite platform, and this passenger in particular was making for it when he
+nearly collided with another man, younger, thinner, bespectacled, who hailed
+him with delight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You, too? Good egg!&rdquo; was the cry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The gentleman thus addressed did not seem to relish this geniality.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where the deuce are you off to?&rdquo; he demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To Steynholme&mdash;same as you, of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here, Peters, a word in your ear. If you know me during the next
+few days, you&rsquo;ll never know me again. I suppose you&rsquo;ll be staying
+at the local inn&mdash;there&rsquo;s only one of any repute in the
+place?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s so. I&rsquo;ve got you. May I take it that you will
+reciprocate when the time comes?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have I ever failed you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. We meet as strangers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters bustled off. He had the reputation of being the smartest &ldquo;writer
+up&rdquo; in London of mystery cases. The Steynholme affair had interested both
+him and a shrewd news-editor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The pair arrived at the Hare and Hounds within a few minutes of each other. The
+big man registered as &ldquo;Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina.&rdquo; Peters ordered
+a chop, and went off at once to interview the local policeman. Mr. Franklin
+took more pains over the prospective meal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you a nice chicken?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, Mr. Tomlin had a veritable spring chicken in the larder at that moment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And do you think your cook could provide a <i>tourne-dos</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A what-a, sir?&rdquo; wheezed Tomlin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The visitor explained. He liked variety, he said. Half the chicken might be
+deviled for breakfast. The two dishes, with plain boiled potatoes and French
+beans, would suit him admirably. He was sorry he dared not try Tomlin&rsquo;s
+excellent claret, but a dominating doctor had put him on the water-cart. In
+effect, Mr. Franklin impressed the landlord as a man of taste and ample means.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters had gobbled his chop before Franklin entered the dining-room, but they
+met later in the snug, where Elkin was being chaffed by Hobbs anent his
+carryin&rsquo;s on in Knoleworth the previous night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle came in, but the chatter was not so free as when the habitués had the
+place to themselves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, Peters had marked the gathering as one that suited his purpose exactly, so
+he gave the conversation the right twist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose you local gentlemen have been greatly disturbed by this
+sensational murder?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hobbs took refuge in a glass of beer. Siddle gazed contemplatively at his neat
+boots. Tomlin meant to say something; Elkin, eying the stranger, and summing
+him up as a detective, answered brusquely:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The murder is bad enough, but the fat-headed police are worse. Three
+days gone, and nothing done!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What murder are you discussing, may I ask?&rdquo; put in Franklin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters turned on him with astonishment in every line of a peculiarly mobile
+face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mean to say, sir, that you haven&rsquo;t heard of the Steynholme
+murder?&rdquo; he gasped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I seldom, if ever, read such things in the newspapers, and, as I landed
+in England only a week ago from France, my ignorance, though abyssmal, is
+pardonable. Moreover, I can say truly that I am far more interested in pedigree
+horses than in vulgar criminals.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters explained fluently. This was no ordinary crime. A beautiful and popular
+actress had been done to death in a brutal way, and the country was already
+deeply stirred by the story.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin waited impatiently till the journalist drew breath. Then he broke in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pedigree horses you mentioned, sir,&rdquo; he said, his rancor against
+Grant being momentarily conquered by the pertinent allusion to his own
+business. &ldquo;What sort? Racing, coaching, roadsters, or hacks?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All sorts. The Argentine, where I have connections, offers an ever-open
+door to good horseflesh.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you having a look round?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. There are several decent studs within driving distance of
+Steynholme. Isn&rsquo;t that so, landlord?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lots, sir,&rdquo; said Tomlin. &ldquo;An&rsquo; the very man
+you&rsquo;re talkin&rsquo; to has some stuff not to be sneezed at.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that so?&rdquo; Mr. Franklin gazed at Elkin in a very friendly
+manner. &ldquo;May I ask your name, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin produced a card. Every hoof in his stables appreciated in value
+forthwith, but he was far too knowing that he should appear to rush matters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Call any day you like, sir,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Glad to see you. But
+give me notice. I generally have an appetizer here of a morning about
+eleven.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;An&rsquo; you want it, too, Fred,&rdquo; said Hobbs. &ldquo;Dash me,
+you&rsquo;re as thin as a herrin&rsquo;. Stop whiskey an&rsquo; drink beer,
+like me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you might also follow that gentleman&rsquo;s example,&rdquo;
+interposed Siddle quietly, nodding towards Mr. Franklin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; snapped Elkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t worry about murders.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a nice thing to say. Why should <i>I</i> worry about the
+d&mdash;d mix-up?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The chemist made no reply, but Hobbs stepped into the breach valiantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Keep yer &rsquo;air on, Fred,&rdquo; he vociferated. &ldquo;Siddle means
+no &rsquo;arm. But wot else are yer a-doing of, mornin&rsquo;, noon, an&rsquo;
+night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin laughed, with his queer croak.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you stay here a day or two, you&rsquo;ll soon get to know what
+they&rsquo;re driving at, sir,&rdquo; he said to Franklin. &ldquo;The fact is
+that this chap, Grant, who found the body, and in whose garden the murder was
+committed, has been making eyes at the girl I&rsquo;m as good as engaged to.
+That would make anybody wild&mdash;now, wouldn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Possibly,&rdquo; smiled Franklin. &ldquo;Of course there is always the
+lady&rsquo;s point of view. The sex is proverbially fickle, you know.
+&lsquo;Woman, thy vows are traced in sand,&rsquo; Lord Byron has it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay, an&rsquo; some men&rsquo;s, too,&rdquo; guffawed Hobbs. &ldquo;Wot
+about Peggy Smith, Fred?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin blew a mouthful of cigarette smoke at the butcher.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What about that tough old bull you bought at Knoleworth on
+Monday?&rdquo; he retorted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hobbs&rsquo;s face grew purple. Mr. Franklin beckoned to Tomlin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ask these gentlemen what they&rsquo;ll have,&rdquo; he said gently. The
+landlord made a clatter of glasses, and the threatened storm passed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve aroused my curiosity,&rdquo; remarked Franklin to Peters,
+but taking the company at large into the conversation. &ldquo;This does
+certainly strike one as a remarkable case. Is there no suspicion yet as to the
+actual murderer?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;None whatever,&rdquo; said Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what you may call the police opinion,&rdquo; broke in
+Elkin. &ldquo;We Steynholme folk have a pretty clear notion, I can assure
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The matter is still <i>sub judice</i>, and may remain so a long
+time,&rdquo; said Siddle. &ldquo;It is simply stupid to attach a kind of
+responsibility to the man who happens to occupy the house associated with the
+crime. I have no patience with that sort of reasoning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hobbs, who did not want to quarrel with Elkin, suddenly championed him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all very well,&rdquo; he rumbled. &ldquo;But the hevidence
+you an&rsquo; me &rsquo;eard, Siddle, an&rsquo; the hevidence we know
+we&rsquo;re goin&rsquo; to &rsquo;ear, is a lot stronger than that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure you&rsquo;ll pardon me, friends,&rdquo; said Siddle,
+rising with an apologetic smile, &ldquo;but I happen to be foreman of the
+coroner&rsquo;s jury, and I feel that this matter is not for me, at any rate,
+to discuss publicly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Out he went, not even heeding Tomlin&rsquo;s appeal to drink the ginger-ale he
+had just ordered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just like &rsquo;im,&rdquo; sighed Hobbs. &ldquo;Good-&rsquo;earted
+fellow! Would find hexcuses for a black rat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin talked more freely now that the chemist&rsquo;s disapproving eye was off
+him. Ultimately, Mr. Franklin elected to smoke a cigar in the open air, and
+strolled forth. He sauntered down the hill, stood on the bridge, and admired
+the soft blue tones of the landscape in the half light of a summer evening.
+Shortly before closing time, Robinson appeared, it being part of his routine
+duty to see that no noisy revelers disturbed the peace of the village. He
+noticed the stranger at once, and elected to walk past him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus, he received yet another shock when Mr. Franklin addressed him by name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good evening, Robinson,&rdquo; said the pleasant, clear-toned voice.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been expecting you to turn up. Kindly go back home, and leave
+the door open. I want to slip in quietly. I am Chief Inspector Winter, of
+Scotland Yard.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t say so, sir!&rdquo; stammered Robinson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I do say it, and will prove it to you, of course. I&rsquo;ll be with
+you in a minute or two. There&rsquo;s someone coming. You and I must not be
+seen together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson made off, and Winter lounged along the Knoleworth road. He met Bates,
+going to the post with letters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Naturally, Bates looked him over. Returning from the post office, he kept a
+sharp eye for the unknown loiterer, but saw him not. He even walked quickly to
+the bend of the road, but the other man had vanished.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant and Hart were talking of anything but the murder when Bates thrust his
+head in. He was grasping his goatee beard, sure sign of some weight on his
+mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Beg pardon,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but I thought you&rsquo;d like to
+know. The place is just swarmin&rsquo; with &rsquo;em.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bees?&rdquo; inquired Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates stared fixedly at the speaker for a second or two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir, &rsquo;tecs,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a big
+&rsquo;un now&mdash;just the opposite to the little &rsquo;un, Hawkshaw. I
+&rsquo;ope I &rsquo;aven&rsquo;t to tackle this customer, though. He&rsquo;d
+gimme a doin&rsquo;, by the looks of &rsquo;im.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Bates had disappeared before Grant remembered that the press photographer had
+mentioned the Big &rsquo;Un and the Little &rsquo;Un of the Yard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, I wonder,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His wonder could hardly have equaled Winter&rsquo;s had he heard the
+gardener&rsquo;s words. The guess was a distinct score for blunt Sussex, though
+it was founded solely on the assumption that all comers now, unless Bates was
+personally acquainted with them, were limbs of the law.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap12"></a>Chapter XII.<br />
+Wherein Winter Gets to Work</h2>
+
+<p>
+Winter had identified Bates at the first glance. The letters in the man&rsquo;s
+hand, too, showed his errand, so, while the gardener was climbing the hill, the
+detective slipped into Robinson&rsquo;s cottage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He found the policeman awaiting him in the dark, because a voice said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Beg pardon, sir, but the other gentleman from the &lsquo;Yard&rsquo;
+asked me to take him into the kitchen. A light in the front room might attract
+attention, he thought.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just what Mr. Furneaux would suggest, and I agree with him,&rdquo; said
+Winter, quite alive to the canny discretion behind those words, &ldquo;the
+other gentleman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson led the way. Supper was laid on the table. Poor Mrs. Robinson had
+again beaten a hasty retreat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, Robinson,&rdquo; said the Chief Inspector affably, &ldquo;before we
+come to business I&rsquo;ll prove my bona fides. Here is my official card, and
+I&rsquo;ll run quickly through events until 1.30 p.m. to-day. I met Mr.
+Furneaux at Victoria, and he posted me fully up to that hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So the policeman listened to a clear summary of the Steynholme case as it was
+known to the authorities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did not warn either Mr. Fowler or you of my visit because a telegram
+could hardly be explicit enough,&rdquo; concluded Winter. &ldquo;At the inn I
+am Mr. Franklin, an Argentine importer of blood stock in the horse line. At
+this moment the only other man beside yourself in Steynholme who is aware of my
+official position is Mr. Peters, and he is pledged to secrecy. To-morrow or any
+other day until further notice, you and I meet as strangers in public. By the
+way, Mr. Furneaux asked me to tell you that he found the wig and the false
+beard in the river early this morning. The wearer had apparently flung them off
+while crossing the foot-bridge leading from Bush Walk, having forgotten that
+they would not sink readily. Perhaps he didn&rsquo;t care. At any rate, Mr.
+Hart&rsquo;s bullet seems to have laid Owd Ben&rsquo;s ghost. Now, what of this
+fellow, Elkin? He worries me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can I offer you a glass of beer, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With pleasure. May I smoke while you eat? You see, I differ from Mr.
+Furneaux in both size and habits.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson poured out the beer. He was preternaturally grave. The somewhat
+incriminating statements he had wormed out of the horse-dealer that afternoon
+lay heavy upon him. But he told his story succinctly enough. Winter nodded to
+emphasize each point, and congratulated him at the end.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You arranged that very well,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I gather, though,
+that Elkin spoke rather openly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just as I&rsquo;ve put it, sir. He tripped a bit over the time on Monday
+night. But it&rsquo;s only fair to say that he might have had Tomlin&rsquo;s
+license in mind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That issue will be settled to-morrow. I&rsquo;ll find out the commercial
+traveler&rsquo;s name, and send a telegram from Knoleworth before noon.... Who
+is Peggy Smith?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson set down an empty glass with a stare of surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bob Smith&rsquo;s daughter, sir,&rdquo; he answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No doubt. But, proceed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sir, she&rsquo;s just a village girl. Her father is a blacksmith.
+His forge is along to the right, not far. She&rsquo;ll be twenty, or
+thereabouts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Frivolous?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not more than the rest of &rsquo;em, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you seen her flirting with Elkin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson took thought.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now that I come to think of it, she might be given a bit that way. Her
+father shoes Elkin&rsquo;s nags, so there&rsquo;s a lot of comin&rsquo;
+an&rsquo; goin&rsquo; between the two places. But folks would always look on it
+as natural enough. Yes, I&rsquo;ve seen &rsquo;em together more than
+once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In that case, he can hardly grumble if the postmaster&rsquo;s daughter
+has an eye for another young man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Martin!&rdquo; snorted Robinson. &ldquo;She wouldn&rsquo;t look the
+side of the road he was on. Fred Elkin isn&rsquo;t her sort.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he said to-night in the Hare and Hounds that he and Miss Martin were
+practically engaged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stuff an&rsquo; nonsense! Sorry, sir, but I admire Doris Martin. I like
+to see a girl like her liftin&rsquo; herself out of the common gang.
+She&rsquo;s the smartest young lady in the village, an&rsquo; not an atom of a
+snob. No, no. She isn&rsquo;t for Fred Elkin. Before this murder cropped up
+everybody would have it that Mr. Grant would marry her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How does the murder intervene?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson shifted uneasily in his chair. He knew only too well that he himself
+had driven a wedge between the two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Steynholme&rsquo;s a funny spot, sir,&rdquo; he contrived to explain.
+&ldquo;Since it came out that Doris an&rsquo; Mr. Grant were in the garden at
+<i>The Hollies</i> at half past ten on Monday night, without Mr. Martin
+knowin&rsquo; where his daughter was, there&rsquo;s been talk. Both the
+postmaster an&rsquo; the girl herself are up to it. You can see it in their
+faces. They don&rsquo;t like it, an&rsquo; who can blame &rsquo;em!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who, indeed? But this Elkin&mdash;surely he had some ground for a
+definite boast, made openly, among people acquainted with all the
+parties?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s more than Elkin would marry Doris if she lifted a finger,
+sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can you name them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Tomlin wants a wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter laughed joyously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Next?&rdquo; he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They say that Mr. Siddle is a widower.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The chemist? Foreman of the jury?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;From appearances, he is a likelier candidate than either Elkin or
+Tomlin. Anybody else?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t be far wrong if I gave you the name of most among the
+young unmarried men in the parish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear me! I must have a peep at this charmer. But I want those names,
+Robinson.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter produced a note-book, so he was evidently taking the matter seriously.
+The policeman, however, was flustered. His thoughts ran on Elkin, whereas this
+masterful person from London insisted on discussing Doris Martin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My difficulty is, sir, that she has never kep&rsquo; company with any of
+&rsquo;em,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind. Give me the name of every man who, no matter what his
+position or prospects, might be irritated, if no more, if he knew that Miss
+Martin and Mr. Grant were presumably spooning in a garden at a rather late
+hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a totally new line of inquiry for Robinson, but he bent his wits to it,
+and evolved a list which, if published, would certainly be regarded with
+incredulous envy by every other girl in the village than the postmaster&rsquo;s
+daughter; as for Doris herself, she would be mightily surprised when she saw
+it, but whether annoyed or secretly gratified none but a pretty girl of
+nineteen can tell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter departed soon afterwards. Before going to the inn he had a look at the
+forge. A young woman, standing at the open door of the adjoining cottage,
+favored him with a frank stare. There was no light in the dwelling. When he
+returned, after walking a little way down the road, the door was closed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Next morning, Bates heard of Peters as the detective and of Mr. Franklin as a
+&ldquo;millionaire&rdquo; from South America. Moreover, he scrutinized both in
+the flesh, and saw Robinson salute Peters but pass the financial potentate with
+indifference.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alas, that a reputation, once built, should be destroyed!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was mistook, sir,&rdquo; he reported to Grant later.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s another &rsquo;tec about, but &rsquo;e ain&rsquo;t the
+chap I met last night. They say this other bloke is rollin&rsquo; in money,
+an&rsquo; buyin&rsquo; hosses right an&rsquo; left.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then he&rsquo;ll soon be rolling in the mud, and have no money,&rdquo;
+put in Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is he?&rdquo; inquired Grant carelessly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A Mr. Franklin, from South America, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant and Hart exchanged glances. Curiously enough, Hart remained silent till
+Bates had gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must look this joker up, Jack,&rdquo; he said then. &ldquo;To me the
+mere mention of South America is like Mother Gary&rsquo;s chickens to a sailor,
+a harbinger of storm.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Hart consumed Tomlin&rsquo;s best brew to no purpose&mdash;in so far as
+seeing Mr. Franklin was concerned, since the latter was in Knoleworth, buying a
+famous racing stud. Being in the village, however, this fisher in troubled
+waters was not inclined to return without a bag of some sort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked straight into the post office. Doris and her father were there, the
+telegraphist being out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good day, everybody,&rdquo; he cried cheerfully. &ldquo;Grant wants to
+know, Mr. Martin, if you and Miss Doris will come and dine with him, us, this
+evening at 7.30?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The postmaster gazed helplessly at this free-and-easy stranger. Doris laughed,
+and blushed a little.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is Mr. Hart, a friend of Mr. Grant&rsquo;s, dad,&rdquo; she
+explained. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid we cannot accept the invitation. We are so
+busy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The worst of excuses,&rdquo; said Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But there is a London correspondent here who hands in a long telegram at
+that hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s his name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Peters.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Great Scott! Jimmie Peters here? I&rsquo;ll soon put a stopper on him.
+He&rsquo;ll come, too&mdash;jumping. See if he doesn&rsquo;t. Is it a bargain?
+Short telegram at six. Dinner for five at 7.30. Come, now, Mr. Martin.
+It&rsquo;s up to you. I can see &lsquo;Yes&rsquo; in Doris&rsquo;s eye. Over
+the port&mdash;most delectable, I assure you&mdash;I&rsquo;ll give full details
+of the peculiar case of a man in Worcestershire whose crop of gooseberries
+increased fourfold after starting an apiary. And what does it matter if you do
+lose a queen or two in June? The drones will attend to that trifle....
+It&rsquo;s a fixture, eh? Where&rsquo;s Peters? In the Pull and Push?
+I&rsquo;ll rout him out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The whirlwind subsided, but quickly materialized again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Peters nearly fell on his knees and wept with joy,&rdquo; announced
+Hart. &ldquo;He believes he was given a bull steak for luncheon. He pledges
+himself to have only five hundred words on the wire at five
+o&rsquo;clock.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, father and daughter had decided that there was no valid reason why
+they should not dine with Mr. Grant. Martin already regretted his aloofness on
+the day of the inquest, though, truth to tell, Hart&rsquo;s expert knowledge of
+bee-culture was the determining factor. On her part, Doris was delighted. Her
+world had gone awry that week, and this small festivity might right it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not one word of the improvised dinner-party did Hart confide to Grant. He
+informed the only indispensable person, Mrs. Bates, and left it at that. Grant,
+a restless being these days, took him for another long walk. It chanced that
+their road home led down the high-street. The hour was a quarter past seven,
+and Peters hailed them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart introduced the journalist, saying casually:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jimmie is coming to dinner, Jack.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Delighted,&rdquo; said Grant, of course.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters looked slightly surprised, but passed no comment. Then Doris and her
+father appeared. They joined the others, shook hands, and, to Grant&rsquo;s
+secret perplexity, the whole party moved off down the hill in company. When the
+Martins turned with the rest to cross the bridge, Grant began to suspect his
+friend.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wally,&rdquo; he managed to whisper, &ldquo;what game have you been
+playing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you satisfied?&rdquo; murmured Hart. &ldquo;Sdeath, as they
+used to say in the Surrey Theater, you&rsquo;re as bad as Furshaw!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were others far more perturbed by that odd conjunction of diners than the
+puzzled host, who merely expected Mrs. Bates to belabor him with a rolling pin.
+Mr. Siddle, for instance, had just closed his shop when the five met. That is
+to say, the dark blue blind was drawn, but the door was ajar. He came to the
+threshold, and watched the party until the bridge was neared, when one of them,
+looking back, might have seen him, so he stepped discreetly inside. Being a
+non-interfering, self-contained man, he seemed to be rather irresolute. But
+that condition passed quickly. Leaning over the counter, he secured a hat and a
+pair of field-glasses, and went out. He, too, knew of Mrs. Jefferson&rsquo;s
+weakness for shopping in Knoleworth, and that good lady had gone there again.
+Her train was due in ten minutes. A wicket gate led to a narrow passage
+communicating with the back door of her residence. He entered boldly, reached
+the garden, and hurried to the angle on the edge of the cliff next to the
+Martins&rsquo; strip of ground.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, a spacious dinner-table was laid at <i>The Hollies</i>. Doris, Mr. Martin,
+and Peters soon strolled out on to the lawn. The pedestrians had obviously gone
+upstairs to wash after their tramp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Siddle rather forgot himself. He stared so long and earnestly through the
+field-glasses that he ran full tilt into Mrs. Jefferson and maid before
+regaining the high-street. But the chemist was a ready man. He lifted his hat
+with an inquiring smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you say you wanted some anti-arthritic salts early in the
+week?&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mrs. Jefferson, &ldquo;but I got some to-day in
+Knoleworth, thank you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I was just making up an indent, and might as well include your
+specific if you really needed it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Which was kind and thoughtful of Mr. Siddle, but not quite true, though it
+fully explained his presence at Mrs. Jefferson&rsquo;s gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Franklin, escorting a fragrant Havana up the hill (he had traveled by the
+same train) saw the meeting, and, being aware of Mrs. Jefferson&rsquo;s frugal
+habits, since Furneaux had omitted no item of his movements in Steynholme,
+remembered it later during the nightly gathering in the inn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin greeted Mr. Franklin respectfully when the great man joined the circle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you see anything worth while at Knoleworth, sir?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I was unlucky. All the principals were at a race meeting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By gum! That&rsquo;s right. It&rsquo;s Gatwick today. Dash! I might have
+saved you a journey.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it doesn&rsquo;t matter. In my business there is no call for
+hurry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin looked around.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s our friend, the &rsquo;tec?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think you&rsquo;re wrong about &rsquo;im, meanin&rsquo; Mr.
+Peters,&rdquo; said Tomlin. &ldquo;&rsquo;E&rsquo;s &rsquo;ere for a noospaper,
+not for the Yard.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s his blarney,&rdquo; smirked Elkin. &ldquo;A detective
+doesn&rsquo;t go about telling everybody what he is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whatever his profession may be,&rdquo; put in Siddle&rsquo;s quiet
+voice, &ldquo;I happen to know that he is dining with Mr. Grant. So are Mr.
+Martin and Doris. By mere chance I called at Mrs. Jefferson&rsquo;s. I went to
+the back door, and, finding it closed, looked into the garden. From there I
+couldn&rsquo;t help seeing the assembly on the lawn of <i>The
+Hollies</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dining at Grant&rsquo;s?&rdquo; shouted Elkin in a fury. &ldquo;Well,
+I&rsquo;m&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Ush, Fred!&rdquo; expostulated Tomlin with a shocked glance at
+Mr. Franklin. &ldquo;Wot&rsquo;s wrong wi&rsquo; a bit of grub, ony ways? A
+very nice-spoken young gent kem &rsquo;ere twiced, an&rsquo; axed for Mr.
+Peters the second time. He&rsquo;s a friend o&rsquo; Mr. Grant&rsquo;s, I
+reckon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s wrong?&rdquo; stormed the horse-dealer. &ldquo;Why,
+everything&rsquo;s wrong! The bounder ought to be in jail instead of giving
+dinner-parties. Imagine Doris eating in that house!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ay! Sweetbreads an&rsquo; saddle o&rsquo; lamb,&rdquo; interjected Hobbs
+with the air of one imparting a secret.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin was pallid with wrath. He glared at Hobbs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What I had in my mind was the impudence of the blighter,&rdquo; he said
+shrilly. &ldquo;That poor woman&rsquo;s body leaves here to-morrow for some
+cemetery in London, and Grant invites folk to a small dinner to-night!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A sort of awe fell on the company. None of the others had as yet put the two
+events in juxtaposition, and they had an ugly sound. Even Mr. Siddle stifled a
+protest. Elkin had scored a hit, a palpable hit, and no one could gainsay him.
+He felt that, for once, the general opinion was with him, and drove the point
+home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hobson&mdash;the local joiner and undertaker&rdquo;&mdash;he explained
+for Mr. Franklin&rsquo;s benefit&mdash;&ldquo;came this morning to borrow a
+couple of horses for the job. It&rsquo;s to be done in style&mdash;&lsquo;no
+expense spared&rsquo; was Mr. Ingerman&rsquo;s order&mdash;and the poor thing
+is in her coffin now while Grant&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stopped. Mr. Siddle coughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve said enough, Elkin,&rdquo; murmured the chemist.
+&ldquo;This excitement is harmful. You really ought to be in bed for the next
+forty-eight hours, dieting yourself carefully, and taking Dr. Foxton&rsquo;s
+mixture regularly. He has changed it, I noticed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bed! Me! Not likely. I&rsquo;m going to kick up a row. What are the
+police doing? A set of blooming old women, that&rsquo;s what they are. But
+I&rsquo;ll stir &rsquo;em up, if I have to write to the Home Secretary.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said Mr. Franklin, smiling genially, &ldquo;I cannot
+help taking a certain interest in this affair. May I, then, as a complete
+stranger to all concerned, tell you how this minor episode strikes me. Mr.
+Grant, I understand, denies having seen or spoken to Miss Melhuish during the
+past three years. None of the others now in his house had met her at all.
+Really, if a man may not give a dinnerparty in these conditions, dining-out
+would become a lost art.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin was obviously seeking for some retort which, though forcible, would not
+offend a possible patron. But Siddle answered far more deftly than might be
+looked for from the horse-dealer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your contention, sir, is just what the man of the world would
+hold,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but, in this village, where we live on neighborly
+terms, such an incident would be impossible in almost any other house than
+<i>The Hollies</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Franklin nodded. He was convinced. Tomlin, Hobbs, and a local draper bore
+out the chemist&rsquo;s reasonable theory. Next morning Steynholme was again
+united in condemning Grant, while the postmaster and his daughter were not
+wholly exempted from criticism.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dinner itself was an altogether harmless and cheery meal. By common consent
+not one word was said about the murder. Hart was amusing on the question of
+bees&mdash;almost flippant, Mr. Martin deemed him. Peters had a wide store of
+strange experiences to draw on, while Grant, if rather silent in deference to
+two such brilliant talkers, found much satisfaction in regarding Doris as a
+hostess.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next day being Saturday, or market day, the village was busy. At eleven
+o&rsquo;clock there was a somewhat unnecessary display of nodding plumes and
+long-tailed black horses at the removal of the coffin to the railway station.
+For some reason, the funeral arrangements had not been bruited about until
+Elkin made that envenomed attack on Grant in the Hare and Hounds the previous
+night. Ingerman had sent a gorgeous wreath, the only one forthcoming locally.
+This fact, of course, invited comment, though no whisperer in the crowd
+troubled to add that the interment was only announced in that day&rsquo;s
+newspapers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters, meeting Mr. Franklin on the stairs of the inn, put a note into his
+hand. It read:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you have a chat with Grant? The public mind is being
+inflamed against him. It&rsquo;s hardly fair.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Franklin, meeting Peters in the passage, winked at him, and the journalist
+tortured his brains to turn out some readable stuff which should grip the
+million on Sunday yet not to be damaging to the man whose hospitality he
+enjoyed over night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a word, the passing of Adelaide Melhuish was exploited thoroughly as an
+indictment of her one-time lover, and the only two in Steynholme not aware of
+the fact were Grant, himself, and Wally Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By a singular coincidence, not ridiculously beyond the ken of a verger, when
+Doris went to church on Sunday morning, she found herself beside Mr. Franklin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At the close of the service the same big man whom she had noticed as a neighbor
+in the pew overtook her at the post office door. He lifted his hat. A passer-by
+heard him say distinctly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pardon me for troubling you, but can you tell me at what time the mail
+closes for London?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At four-thirty,&rdquo; said Doris.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No other person overheard Mr. Franklin&rsquo;s next words:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am now going to drop a letter in the box. It&rsquo;s for you. Get it
+at once. It is of the utmost importance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was startled, as well she might be. But&mdash;she went straight for the
+letter. It was marked: &ldquo;Private and Urgent,&rdquo; and ran:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<i><b>Dear Miss Martin</b>.<br />
+<br />
+I am here</i> vice <i>Mr. Furneaux, who is engaged on other phases of the same
+inquiry. My business is absolutely unknown. I figure at the inn as &ldquo;Mr.
+W. Franklin, Argentina.&rdquo; Indeed, Mr. Furneaux left the village because he
+realized the difficulties facing him in that respect. Now, I trust you, and I
+hope you will justify my faith. You know Superintendent Fowler. I want you to
+meet me and him this afternoon at two o&rsquo;clock at the crossroads beyond
+the mill. A closed car will be in waiting, and we can have half an hour&rsquo;s
+talk without anyone in Steynholme being the wiser. Remember that this village,
+like the night, has a thousand eyes. Naturally, I would not trouble you in this
+way if the cause was not vital to the ends of justice. Whether or not you
+decide to keep this appointment, I have every confidence that you will respect
+my wish that</i> no one<i>, other than yourself, shall be informed of my
+identity. But I believe you will be wise, and come.</i>
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+<i>I am,<br />
+Yours faithfully,<br />
+<b>J. L. Winter</b>,<br />
+Chief Inspector, C. I. D., Scotland Yard, S. W.</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A card was inclosed, as a sort of credential. But, somehow, it was not needed.
+Doris had seen &ldquo;Mr. Franklin&rdquo; more than once, and she had heard him
+singing the hymns in church. He looked worthy of credence. His written words
+had the same honest ring. She resolved to go.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her father, sad to relate, had found three dead queens in the hives. He was
+busy, but spared a moment to tell her that Mr. Siddle was coming to tea at four
+o&rsquo;clock. Doris was rather in a whirl, and seemed to be unnecessarily
+astonished.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Siddle! Why?&rdquo; she gasped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not!&rdquo; said her father. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not the first time.
+You can entertain him. I&rsquo;ll look after the letters.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must get some cakes. We have none.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, that&rsquo;s simple. I wonder if that fellow Hart really
+understands apiaculture? You might invite him, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With that letter in her pocket Doris had suddenly grown wary. Hart and Siddle
+would not mix, and her woman&rsquo;s intuition warned her that Siddle had
+chosen the tea-hour purposely in order to have an uninterrupted conversation
+with her. She disliked Mr. Siddle, in a negative way, but the very nearness of
+the detective was stimulating. Let Mr. Siddle come, then, and come alone!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, dad,&rdquo; she laughed. &ldquo;Mr. Hart&rsquo;s knowledge will be
+available to-morrow. In his presence, poor Mr. Siddle would be dumb.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap13"></a>Chapter XIII.<br />
+Concerning Theodore Siddle</h2>
+
+<p>
+Winter, being a cheerful cynic, had not erred when he appealed to that love of
+mystery which, especially if it is spiced with a hint of harmless intrigue, is
+innate in every feminine heart. Indeed, he was so assured of the success of his
+somewhat dramatic move that as he walked to a rendezvous arranged with
+Superintendent Fowler on the Knoleworth road he reviewed carefully certain
+arguments meant to secure Doris&rsquo;s assistance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Passing <i>The Hollies</i>, he smiled at the notion that Furneaux would
+undoubtedly have brought Grant to the conclave. It was just the sort of
+difficult situation in which his colleague would have reveled. But the Chief
+Inspector was more solid, more circumspect, even, singularly enough, more
+sensitive to the probable comments of a crusty judge if counsel for the defense
+contrived to elicit the facts.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything fresh?&rdquo; inquired the superintendent, when a smart car
+drew up, and Winter entered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Fowler was in plain clothes, and the blinds were half drawn. No one could
+possibly recognize either of the occupants unless the car was halted, and the
+inquisitor literally thrust his head inside. The motor was a private one,
+borrowed for the occasion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, a little,&rdquo; said Winter, as the chauffeur put the engine in
+gear. &ldquo;Your man, Robinson, has been drawing Elkin, or Elkin drew
+him&mdash;I am not quite sure which, but think it matterless either way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sketched Robinson&rsquo;s activities briefly, but in sufficient outline.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A new figure has come on the screen&mdash;Siddle, the chemist,&rdquo; he
+added thoughtfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle!&rdquo; Mr. Fowler was surprised. &ldquo;Why, he is supposed to
+be a model of the law-abiding citizen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t say he has lost his character in that respect,&rdquo; said
+Winter. &ldquo;Still, he puzzles me. Elkin is a loud-mouthed fool. The verbal
+bricks he hurls at Grant are generally half baked, and crumble into dust.
+Hitherto, Siddle has tried to repress him, with a transparent honesty that
+rather worried me. On Friday night, however, Siddle attacked Grant with
+poisoned arrows. He did more damage in two minutes than Elkin could achieve in
+as many months.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He showed very clearly that Grant was guilty of gross bad taste in
+inviting Mr. Martin and his daughter to dinner that evening. I&rsquo;m inclined
+to agree with him, if the story has been told fairly. But that is beside the
+main issue. Siddle aroused the sleeping dogs of the village, and the pack is in
+full cry again. Grant seems to have been popular here; he had almost recovered
+from the blow of Miss Melhuish&rsquo;s death by the straightforward speech he
+made before the inquest. But Siddle threw him back into the mud by a few
+skillful words. What is Siddle&rsquo;s record? Is he a local man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think not. Robinson can tell us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Robinson says he &lsquo;believes&rsquo; Siddle is a widower. That
+doesn&rsquo;t argue long and close knowledge.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We must look into it. Robinson has been stationed here four years.
+Siddle is not old, but he has been in business in Steynholme more years than
+that. But&mdash;you&rsquo;ll pardon me, I&rsquo;m sure, Mr. Winter&mdash;may I
+take it that you are really interested in the chemist&rsquo;s history?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent was perplexed, or he would not have adopted his professional
+method of semi-apologetic questions with a man from the C.I.D.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hardly know what I&rsquo;m interested in,&rdquo; laughed Winter.
+&ldquo;Grant didn&rsquo;t kill the lady. I shall be slow to credit Elkin with
+being the scoundrel he looks. Siddle, and Tomlin, if you please, are regarded
+as starters in the Doris Martin Matrimonial Stakes, and I don&rsquo;t think
+Tomlin could ever murder anything but the King&rsquo;s English. It is
+Siddle&rsquo;s <i>volte face</i> that bothers me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Um!&rdquo; murmured Mr. Fowler. He was not an uneducated man, but
+<i>volte face</i>, correctly pronounced, was unfamiliar in his ears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The change was so marked,&rdquo; went on the detective. &ldquo;I gather
+that Siddle is a stickler for charity and fair dealing. He didn&rsquo;t abandon
+the role, of course. It was the sheer ingenuity of his method that caught my
+attention. So I simply catalogue him for research.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has Miss Martin promised to meet us?&rdquo; inquired the other, feeling
+that he was on the track of <i>volte face</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. But there she is!&rdquo; cried Winter. &ldquo;She has just heard the
+car. Tell your chauffeur to slow up. The road is empty otherwise. By the way,
+you help her in. She might be a bit shy of me, and I don&rsquo;t want a
+second&rsquo;s delay.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter&rsquo;s judgment was not at fault. Doris <i>was</i> feeling a trifle
+uncertain, seeing that she was about to encounter a complete stranger.
+Moreover, she had come a good half mile from the shop whence the cakes for tea
+were to be procured at the back door, and as a favor. Her eyes were fixed on
+the slowing car with a timid anxiety that betrayed no small degree of doubt as
+to the outcome of this Sunday afternoon escapade. She was pale and nervous. At
+that moment Doris wished herself safe at home again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One word,&rdquo; broke in the superintendent hurriedly. &ldquo;Why are
+you so sure that Grant is innocent, Mr. Winter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure of nothing with regard to this case. But I have great
+faith in Furneaux&rsquo;s flair for the true scent. It has never failed
+yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Fowler wished his companion would not use such uncommon words. However, he
+got out, and took off his hat with a courteous sweep. Doris had to look twice
+at him. Hitherto, she had always seen him in uniform. Winter smiled at the
+unmistakable expression of relief in her face. She was almost self-possessed as
+she took the seat by his side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good day, Mr. Winter,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Franklin, please. Better become used to my pseudonym.... Plenty of
+room for your feet, Mr. Fowler? That&rsquo;s it. Now we&rsquo;re comfy. The
+chauffeur will bring us back here in half an hour, Miss Martin. Will that suit
+your convenience?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes. I am free till nearly four o&rsquo;clock. We have a guest to
+tea then.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have a well-developed bump of curiosity these days. Who is it, may I
+ask?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Siddle, the local chemist.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed. An old friend, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We have known him seven years, ever since he came to Steynholme.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah. He is not a native of the place?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. He bought Mr. Benson&rsquo;s business. He&rsquo;s a Londoner, I
+believe.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is there&mdash;a Mrs. Siddle?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I&mdash;er&mdash;that is to say, gossip has it that he was married,
+but his wife died.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He doesn&rsquo;t speak of her? Is that it? One would have thought that
+in a house where he is well known&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t really know him well. No one does, I think.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve invited him to tea, at any rate,&rdquo; laughed Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Doris. &ldquo;He invited himself. At least, so I
+gathered from dad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, well. He feels lonely, no doubt, and wishes to chat about recent
+strange events in Steynholme. And that brings me to the reason why I sought
+this chat under such peculiar conditions. You realize my handicap, Miss Martin?
+If I were seen talking to you, or even entering your house as apart from the
+post office, people would begin to wonder. You follow that, don&rsquo;t
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, Doris did follow it. What she did not follow was the veiled admiration in
+Superintendent Fowler&rsquo;s glance at the detective. Those few
+inconsequential questions had shed a flood of light on Siddle&rsquo;s past and
+present, yet the informant was blissfully unaware of their real purport. And
+the way was opened so deftly. The purchase of a chemist&rsquo;s business would
+almost certainly be negotiated through a local lawyer. Let him be found, and
+Siddle&rsquo;s pre-Steynholme days could be &ldquo;looked into,&rdquo; as the
+police phrase has it. The superintendent had the rare merit of being candid
+with himself. He had no previous experience of Scotland Yard men or methods,
+and was inclined to be skeptical about Furneaux. But Winter&rsquo;s prompt use
+of a chance opening, and the restraint which cut off the investigation before
+the girl could suspect any ulterior motive, displayed a technique which the
+Sussex Constabulary had few opportunities of acquiring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, Miss Martin,&rdquo; began Winter, &ldquo;if ever you have the
+misfortune to fall ill&mdash;touch wood, please&mdash;and call in a doctor,
+you&rsquo;ll tell him the facts, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why consult him at all, if I don&rsquo;t?&rdquo; she smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exactly. To-day I&rsquo;m somewhat in the position of a Harley-street
+specialist, summoned to assist an eminent local practitioner in Dr. Fowler.
+That&rsquo;s a sort of gentle preliminary, leading up to the disagreeable duty
+of putting some questions of a personal nature. What you may answer will not go
+beyond ourselves. I promise you that. You will not be quoted, or requested to
+prove your statements. Such a thing would be absurd. If I were really a doctor,
+and you needed my advice, you might easily describe your symptoms all wrong. It
+would be my business to listen, and deduce the truth, and I would never dream
+of rating you for having misled me. You see my point?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, but Mr. Win&mdash;Mr. Franklin, I know nothing whatever about the
+murder.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure you don&rsquo;t. It was a wicked trick of Fate that took
+you to Mr. Grant&rsquo;s garden last Monday night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was really an astronomical almanac,&rdquo; retorted Doris, who now
+felt a growing confidence in this nice-spoken official. &ldquo;Sirius is a star
+remarkable for its beautiful changing lights, and on Monday evening was at its
+best. I think I ought to explain,&rdquo; and she blushed delightfully,
+&ldquo;that the village gossip about Mr. Grant and me is entirely mistaken. We
+are not&mdash;well, I had better use plain English&mdash;we are not lovers. My
+father and I are just on close, friendly terms with Mr. Grant. I&mdash;my
+position hardly warrants even that relationship with an author of some
+distinction. But please set aside any notion of us as likely to become engaged.
+For one thing, it is preposterous. For another, I shall not leave my
+father.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Poor Doris! She little guessed how accurately this skilled student of human
+nature read the hidden thought behind that vehement protest. Even the note of
+vague rebellion against social disabilities was pathetic yet illuminating. Of
+course, he took her quite seriously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let us keep to the hard road of fact,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;What you
+really mean is that Mr. Grant has never made love to you. But I must be candid,
+young lady. There is no earthly reason why he shouldn&rsquo;t, though I could
+name offhand half a dozen why he should.... Well, well, I must not pay
+compliments. My friend, Mr. Furneaux, can manage that with much greater
+facility, being half a Frenchman. And now I&rsquo;m going to say an unpleasant
+thing. I ask your forgiveness in advance. Both Mr. Furneaux and I agree in the
+opinion that your imaginary love affair is indissolubly bound up with the
+mystery of Miss Melhuish&rsquo;s death. In a word, I have brought you here
+today to discuss your prospective marriage, and nothing else. That astonishes
+you, eh? Well, it&rsquo;s the truth, as I shall proceed to make clear.
+There&rsquo;s a Mr. Fred Elkin, for instance&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris uttered a little laugh of dismay. Winter&rsquo;s emphatic words had
+astounded her, but the horse-dealer&rsquo;s name acted as comic relief.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t bear the man,&rdquo; she protested.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have no doubt. But you ought to know that he is loudly proclaiming his
+determination to marry you before the year is out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl&rsquo;s face reddened again, and her eyes sparkled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t marry him if he were a peer of the realm,&rdquo; she
+said indignantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite so. But he is an avowed suitor. Now don&rsquo;t be vexed. Has he
+never declared his intentions to <i>you</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He would never dare. I sing and act a little, at village concerts and
+dramatic performances, and he has annoyed me at times by an officious pretense
+that he was deputed by my father to see me home. I came here quite a little
+girl, so people learnt to use my Christian name. I don&rsquo;t object to it at
+all. But I simply hate hearing it on Mr. Elkin&rsquo;s lips.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exit Fred!&rdquo; said Winter solemnly. &ldquo;Next!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris, after a period of calm, was now profoundly uncomfortable. This kind of
+prying was the last thing she had expected. She had come prepared to defend
+Grant, but, beyond one exceedingly personal reference, the detective had
+studiously shut him out of the conversation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What am I to say?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Do you want a list of all the
+young men who make sheep&rsquo;s eyes at me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I can get that from the Census Bureau. Come, now, Miss Martin.
+<i>You</i> know. Has any man in the village led you to suspect, shall we put
+it? that sometime or other, he might ask you to become his wife?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lo, and behold! Doris&rsquo;s pretty eyes filled with tears. Superintendent
+Fowler was so pleased at hearing Scotland Yard introducing a parenthetical
+query into its sentences that he, sitting opposite, was taken aback when Winter
+said in a fatherly way:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been rather clumsy, I&rsquo;m afraid. But it cannot be
+helped. I must go blundering on. I&rsquo;m groping in the dark, you know, but
+it&rsquo;s a thousand pities I shall have to tread on <i>your</i> toes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t that,&rdquo; sobbed Doris. &ldquo;I hate to put my
+thoughts into words. That&rsquo;s all. There <i>is</i> a man whom
+I&rsquo;m&mdash;afraid of.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned on Winter a face of sudden awe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How can you possibly guess?&rdquo; she said wonderingly, and sheer
+bewilderment dried her tears.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My business is nine-tenths guesswork. At any rate, we are on firm ground
+now. If you could please yourself, I suppose, Mr. Siddle would not come to tea
+to-day!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He certainly would not,&rdquo; declared the girl emphatically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You believe he is coming for a purpose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Elkin&mdash;I must drag him in again for an instant&mdash;pretends that
+the commotion aroused in the village by this murder would incline you favorably
+to a proposal of marriage. Mr. Siddle may have discovered some virtue in the
+theory.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did Mr. Elkin really hint that I needed <i>him</i> as a shield?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was genuinely angry now. She little imagined that Winter was playing on
+her emotions with a master hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t waste any wrath on Elkin,&rdquo; he soothed her. &ldquo;The
+fellow isn&rsquo;t worth it. But his crude idea might be developed more subtly
+by an abler man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think it odd that Mr. Siddle should choose to-day, of all days, for a
+visit,&rdquo; she admitted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter relapsed into silence for a while. The car was running through a
+charming countryside, and a glimpse of the sea was obtainable from the crest of
+each hill. Mr. Fowler was too circumspect to break in on the thread of his
+coadjutor&rsquo;s thoughts. The inquiry had taken a curious turn, and was
+momentarily beyond his grasp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s singular, but it&rsquo;s true,&rdquo; said the detective
+musingly when next he spoke, &ldquo;that I am now going to ask you to act
+differently than was in my mind when I sought this interview. I should vastly
+like to be present when Siddle bares his heart to you this afternoon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can invite you to tea.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Alas! that won&rsquo;t serve our ends. But, if you feel you have a
+purpose, you will be nerved to deal with him. Bring him out into that secluded
+garden of yours&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The first thing he will suggest,&rdquo; and Doris&rsquo;s voice waxed
+unconsciously bitter. &ldquo;He knows that dad will be busy with the mails for
+an hour after tea.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think it bad, most disagreeable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t find the position so awkward if you are playing a part.
+And that is what I want&mdash;a bit of clever acting. Lean on those railings,
+and make Siddle believe that your heart is on Mr. Grant&rsquo;s lawn. You know
+the kind of thing I mean. Dreamy eyes, listless manner, inattention, with
+smiling apologies. You will annoy Siddle, and a cautious man in a temper
+becomes less cautious. Force him to avow his real thoughts. You will learn
+something, trust me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About what?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were no tears in Doris&rsquo;s eyes. They were wide open in wonderment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About his attitude to this tragedy. Do this, and you will be giving Mr.
+Grant the greatest possible help. He needs it. Next Wednesday, at the adjourned
+inquest, he will be put on the rack. Ingerman will fee counsel to be
+vindictive, merciless. Such men are to be hired. Their reputation is built up
+on the slaughter of reputations. I want to understand Siddle before Wednesday.
+By the way, what&rsquo;s his other name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Theodore.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Theodore Siddle. Unusual. Well, your half hour is nearly up. Will you do
+what I ask?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try. May I put one question?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You said you had something altogether different in view before we met.
+What was it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you&mdash;let me see&mdash;I&rsquo;ll tell you on
+Thursday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because it is the hardest thing in the world for a woman to be
+single-minded, in the limited sense of concentration, I mean. Focus your wits
+on Siddle to-day. I don&rsquo;t suggest any plan. I leave that to your own
+intelligence. Vex him, and let him talk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Vex him!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. What man won&rsquo;t get mad if he notices that his best girl is
+thinking about a rival.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This time Doris did not blush. She was troubled and serious, very serious.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do what I can,&rdquo; she promised. &ldquo;When shall I see
+you again?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Soon. There&rsquo;s no hurry. All this is preparatory for
+Wednesday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I to tell my father nothing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Please yourself. Not at present. I recommend you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The car had stopped. It sped on when Doris alighted. She would be home with her
+cakes at three o&rsquo;clock, and Mr. Martin would never have noticed her
+absence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A fine bit of work, if I may say so,&rdquo; exclaimed Fowler
+appreciatively. &ldquo;But I am jiggered if I can imagine what you&rsquo;re
+driving at.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter was cutting the end off a big cigar. He finished the operation to his
+liking before answering earnestly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We stand or fall by the result of that girl&rsquo;s efforts. Furneaux
+thinks so, and I agree with him absolutely. After five days, where are we, Mr.
+Fowler? In the dark, plus a brigand&rsquo;s hat and hair. But there&rsquo;s a
+queer belief in some parts of England that a phosphorescent gleam shows at
+night over a deep pool in which a dead body lies. That&rsquo;s just how I feel
+about Siddle. The man&rsquo;s an enigma. What sort of place is Steynholme for a
+chemist of his capacities? Dr. Foxton has the highest regard for him
+professionally, and I&rsquo;m told he doctors people for miles around. Yet he
+lives the life of a recluse. An old woman comes by day to prepare his meals,
+and tidy the house and shop. His sole relaxation is an hour of an evening in
+the village inn, his visits there being uninterrupted since the murder. He was
+there on the night of the murder, too. For the rest, he is alone, shut off from
+the world. Without knowing it, he&rsquo;s going to fall into deep waters
+to-day, and he&rsquo;ll emit sparks, or I&rsquo;m a Chinaman.... I&rsquo;ll
+leave you here. Good-by! See you on Tuesday, after lunch.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The superintendent drove on alone. He pondered the Steynholme affair in all its
+bearings, but mostly did he weigh up Winter and Furneaux. At last, he sighed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;London ways, and London books, and London detectives!&rdquo; he
+muttered. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re not up to date in Sussex. Now, if I could please
+myself, I&rsquo;d be hot-foot after Elkin. I see what Winter has in his mind,
+but surely Elkin fills the bill, and Siddle doesn&rsquo;t.... What was that
+word&mdash;volt what!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was lucky. She met Mr. Siddle as she emerged from the back passage to the
+cake-shop. Resolving instantly that if an unpleasant thing had to be done it
+should at least be done well, she smiled brightly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;See what you have driven me to&mdash;breaking the Sabbath,&rdquo; she
+cried, holding up the bag of cakes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tea and bread-and-butter with you would be a feast for the gods,&rdquo;
+said Siddle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now you&rsquo;re adapting Omar Khayyam.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A Persian poet of long ago.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never read poetry. But, if your tastes lie that way, I&rsquo;ll
+accomplish some more adaptation.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, please. Cakes for you, Mr. Siddle; poets for giddy young things
+like me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a sting in the words. Doris preened herself on having carried out the
+detective&rsquo;s instructions to the letter thus far.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Arrived in the house she found her father still in the garden, examining some
+larvae under a microscope. He looked severe rather than studious. He might have
+been an omnipotent being who had detected a malefactor in a criminal act. Was
+Steynholme and its secret felon being regarded in that way by the providence
+which, for some inscrutable purpose, permitted, yet would infallibly punish, a
+dreadful murder? She was a girl of devout mind, and the notion was appalling in
+its direct application to current events.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the meantime the chemist, evidently taking a Sunday afternoon
+constitutional, came on Winter, who was leaning on a wall of the bridge and
+looking down stream&mdash;Grant&rsquo;s house being on the left.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He would have passed, in his wonted unobtrusive way, but the detective hailed
+him with a cheery &ldquo;Good day, Mr. Siddle. Are you a fisherman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, Mr. Franklin, I&rsquo;m not,&rdquo; he answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, now, I&rsquo;m surprised. You are just the sort of man whom I
+should expect to find attached to a rod and line&mdash;even watching a
+float.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I tried once when I was younger, but I could neither impale a worm nor
+extract a hook. My gorge rose against either practice. I am a vegetarian, for
+the same reason. If it were not for this disturbing tragedy you would have
+heard Hobbs, the butcher, rallying me about my rabbit-meat, as he calls my
+food.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, well!&rdquo; laughed Winter. &ldquo;Your ideas and mine clash in
+some respects. I look on a well-grilled steak as a gift from Heaven, and after
+it, or before it&mdash;I don&rsquo;t care which&mdash;let me have three hours
+whipping a good trout stream. With the right cast of flies I could show a fine
+bag from this very stretch of water.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not ask Mr. Grant&rsquo;s permission? It would be interesting to
+learn whether he will allow others to try their luck.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Siddle strolled on. Winter bent over, keen to discern the gray-backed fish
+which must be lurking in those clear depths and rippling shallows.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap14"></a>Chapter XIV.<br />
+On Both Sides of the River</h2>
+
+<p>
+The sun, transmuted into Greenwich time, exercised an extraordinary influence
+on the seemingly humdrum life of Steynholme that day. A few minutes after three
+o&rsquo;clock&mdash;just too late to observe either Winter or Siddle&mdash;P.
+C.  Robinson strolled forth from his cottage. He glanced up the almost deserted
+high-street, in which every rounded cobble and white flagstone radiated heat. A
+high-class automobile had dashed past twice in forty minutes, but the pace was
+on the borderland of doubt, so the guardian of the public weal had contented
+himself with recording its number on the return journey.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But his thoughts were far a-field from joyriders, stray cattle, hawkers without
+licenses, and other similar small fry which come into the constabulary net. It
+would be a feather in his cap if he could only strike the trail of the
+veritable Steynholme murderer. The entrancing notion possessed him morning,
+noon, and night. Mrs. Robinson declared that it even dominated his dreams.
+Robinson was sharp. He knew quite well that the brains of the London detectives
+held some elusive quality which he personally lacked. They seemed to peer into
+the heart of a thing so wisely and thoroughly. He did not share Superintendent
+Fowler&rsquo;s somewhat derogatory estimate of Furneaux, with whom he was much
+better acquainted than was his superior officer, while Chief Inspector
+Winter&rsquo;s repute stood so high that it might not be questioned. Still, to
+the best of his belief, the case had beaten both these doughty representatives
+of Scotland Yard; there was yet a chance for the humble police-constable; so
+Robinson squared his shoulders, seamed his brows, and marched majestically down
+the Knoleworth road.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had an eye for <i>The Hollies</i>, of course, though neither he nor anybody
+else could discern more than the bare edge of the lawn from bridge or road,
+owing to the dense screen of evergreen trees and shrubs planted by the tenant
+who remodeled the property.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But the spot where the body of Adelaide Melhuish was drawn ashore was visible,
+and the sight of it started a dim thesis in the policeman&rsquo;s mind which
+took definite shape during less than an hour&rsquo;s stroll. Thus, at four
+o&rsquo;clock exactly, he was pulling the bell at <i>The Hollies</i>. Almost
+simultaneously, Mr. Siddle knocked modestly on the private door of the post
+office, to reach which one had to pass down a narrow yard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Grant at home?&rdquo; inquired Robinson, when Minnie appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yes, the master was on the lawn with Mr. Hart. The policeman found the two
+there, seated in chairs with awnings. They had been discussing, of all things
+in the world, the futurist craze in painting. Hart held by it, but Grant
+carried bigger guns in real knowledge of the artist&rsquo;s limitations as well
+as his privileges.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart was the first to notice the newcomer&rsquo;s presence, and greeted him
+joyously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come along, Robinson, and manacle this reprobate,&rdquo; he shouted.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s nothing but a narrow-minded pre-Rafaelite. A period in prison
+will dust the cobwebs out of his attic.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hello, Robinson!&rdquo; said, Grant. &ldquo;Anything stirring?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not much, sir. I just popped in to ask if you remembered exactly how the
+body was roped?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed, I do not. Some incidents of that horrible half hour have gone
+into a sad jumble. I recollect you calling attention to the matter, but what
+your point was I really cannot say now. Perhaps it may come back if you
+explain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, we don&rsquo;t seem to be making a great deal of progress, sir,
+and I was wondering whether you two gentlemen might help. I don&rsquo;t want it
+mentioned. I&rsquo;m taking a line of me own.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant repressed a smile. He recalled well enough the first &ldquo;line&rdquo;
+the policeman took, and the mischief it had caused. Being an even-minded
+person, however, he admitted that his own behavior had not been above suspicion
+on the day the crime was discovered. In allotting blame, as between Robinson
+and himself, the proportion was six of one and half a dozen of the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Propound, justiciary,&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve started
+well, anyhow. The connection between a line and a rope should be obvious even
+to a judge.... As a pipe-opener, have a drink!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson had removed his helmet, and was flourishing a red handkerchief, not
+without cause, the day being really very hot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not for a few minutes, thank you, sir,&rdquo; said the policeman.
+&ldquo;May I ask Bates for a sack and a cord?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went to the kitchen. Hart was &ldquo;tickled to death,&rdquo; he vowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We are about to witness the reconstruction of the crime, a procedure
+which the French delight in, and the intellect of France is a hundred years
+ahead of our effete civilization,&rdquo; he chortled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was not so pleased. The memory of a distressing vision was beginning to
+blur, and this ponderous policeman must come and revive it. Yet, even he grew
+interested when Robinson illustrated a nebulous idea by knotting a clothesline
+around a sack stuffed with straw, having brought Bates to bear him out in the
+matter of accuracy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There you are, gentlemen!&rdquo; he said, puffing after the slight
+exertion. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the way of it. How does it strike you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s what a sailor calls two half hitches,&rdquo; commented Hart
+instantly. &ldquo;A very serviceable knot, which will resist to the full
+strength of the rope.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We have no sailors in Steynholme, sir,&rdquo; said the policeman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s used regularly by tradesmen,&rdquo; put in Grant.
+&ldquo;A draper, or grocer&mdash;any man accustomed to tying parcels securely,
+in fact&mdash;will fashion that knot nine times out of ten.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How about a&mdash;a farmer, sir?&rdquo; That was as near as Robinson
+dared to go to &ldquo;horse-dealer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think a farmer would be more likely to adopt a timber hitch, which is
+made in several ways. Here are samples.&rdquo; And Grant busied himself with
+rope and sack.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson watched closely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he nodded. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen those knots in a
+farmyard.... Well, it&rsquo;s something&mdash;not much&mdash;but a trifle
+better than nothing.... All right, Bates. You can take &rsquo;em away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you shown that knot to Mr. Furneaux?&rdquo; inquired Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir. I&rsquo;ve kept that up me sleeve, as the sayin&rsquo;
+is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson shuffled uneasily on his feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;These Scotland Yard men will hardly listen to a uniformed constable,
+sir,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell &rsquo;em all about it at the
+inquest on Wednesday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In effect, John P. Robinson he sez they didn&rsquo;t know
+everythin&rsquo; down in Judee,&rdquo; quoted Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got my name pat,&rdquo; grinned the policeman, whose
+Christian names were &ldquo;John Price.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My name is Walter, not Patrick,&rdquo; retorted Hart. Robinson continued
+to smile, though he failed to grasp the joke until late that evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you make up that verse straight off, sir,&rdquo; he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. It&rsquo;s a borrowed plume, plucked from an American quill
+pen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart gave &ldquo;plume&rdquo; a French sound, and Robinson was puzzled to know
+why Grant bade his friend stop profaning a peaceful Sunday afternoon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll have a glass of beer now?&rdquo; went on the host.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t mind if I do, sir, though it&rsquo;s tea-time, and I make
+it a rule on Sundays to have tea with the missis. A policeman&rsquo;s hours are
+broken up, and his wife hardly ever knows when to have a meal ready.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Minnie was summoned. It took her a couple of minutes to draw the beer from a
+cool cellar. So it chanced that when Doris led Mr. Siddle to the edge of the
+cliff about twenty-five minutes past four, the first thing they saw was the
+local police-constable on the lawn of <i>The Hollies</i> putting down a gill of
+&ldquo;best Sussex&rdquo; at a draught.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well!&rdquo; cried the chemist icily, &ldquo;I wonder what
+Superintendent Fowler would say to that if he knew it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is there particularly wrong about Robinson drinking a glass of
+beer?&rdquo; demanded Doris, more alive to the insinuation in Siddle&rsquo;s
+words than was quite permissible under the role imposed on her by Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She waved her hand to the party on the lawn. Grant, whose eyes ever roved in
+that direction, had seen her white muslin dress the moment she appeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who the deuce is that with Miss Martin?&rdquo; he said, returning her
+signal.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle, the chemist,&rdquo; announced Robinson, not too well pleased
+himself at being &ldquo;spotted&rdquo; so openly. &ldquo;Well, gentlemen,
+I&rsquo;ll be off,&rdquo; and he vanished by the side path through the laurels.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle!&rdquo; repeated Grant vexedly. &ldquo;So it is. And she dislikes
+the man, for some reason.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go and rescue the fair maid,&rdquo; prompted Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no. If Doris wanted me she would let me know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How? At the top of her voice?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re far too curious, Wally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Semaphore, of course,&rdquo; drawled Hart. &ldquo;When are you going to
+marry the girl, Jack!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As soon as this infernal business has blown over.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You haven&rsquo;t asked her, I gather?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me when you do, and I&rsquo;ll hie me to London town, though in
+torrid June. You&rsquo;re unbearable in love.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The lash of your wit cuts deeply sometimes,&rdquo; said Grant quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dash it all, old chap, I was talking at random. Very well. I&rsquo;ll do
+penance in sackcloth and ashes by remaining here, and applauding your poetic
+efforts. I&rsquo;ll even help. I&rsquo;m a dab at sonnets.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Mr. Siddle had regained his poise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I meant nothing offensive to the donor of the beer,&rdquo; he said,
+tuning his voice to an apologetic note. &ldquo;But I take it Robinson is
+conducting certain inquiries, and I imagine that his superiors demand a degree
+of circumspection in such conditions. That is all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely you do not rank with the stupid crowd in its suspicions of Mr.
+Grant?&rdquo; said the girl.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m pleased to think you refuse to class me with the
+gossip-mongers of Steynholme, Doris,&rdquo; was the guarded answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There had been no reference to the murder during tea, which was served as soon
+as the chemist came in. The visitor had tabled a copy of a current medical
+journal containing an article on the therapeutic qualities of honey, so the
+talk was lifted at once into an atmosphere far removed from crime. Doris was
+grateful for his tact. When her father went to the office she brought Mr.
+Siddle into the garden solely in pursuance of her promise to the detective,
+though convinced that there would be no outcome save a few labored compliments
+to herself. And now, by accident, as it were, the death of Adelaide Melhuish
+thrust itself into their conversation. Perhaps it was her fault.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said candidly. &ldquo;No one who has known you for seven
+years, Mr. Siddle, could possibly accuse you of spreading scandal.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seven years! Is it so long since I came to Steynholme? Sometimes, it
+appears an age, but more often I fancy the calendar must be in error. Why, it
+seems only the other day that I saw you in a short frock, bowling a
+hoop.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A tom-boy occupation,&rdquo; laughed Doris. &ldquo;But dad encouraged
+that and skipping, as the best possible means of exercise.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He was right. Look how straight and svelte you are! Few, if any, among
+our community can have watched your progress to womanhood as closely as I. You
+see, living opposite, as I do, I kept track of you more intimately than your
+other neighbors.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle was trimming his sails cleverly. The concluding sentence robbed his
+earlier comments of their sentimental import.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If we live long enough we may even see each other in the sere and yellow
+leaf,&rdquo; said Doris flippantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I would ask no greater happiness,&rdquo; came the quiet reply, and Doris
+could have bitten her tongue for according him that unguarded opening. Suddenly
+availing herself of the advice which the detective, like Hamlet, had given to
+the players, she gazed musingly at the fair panorama of The Hollies and its
+gardens, with the two young men seated on the lawn. By this time Minnie was
+staging tea, and the picture looked idyllic enough. Doris saw, out of the tail
+of her eye, that her companion was watching her furtively, though apparently
+absorbed in the scene. He moistened his thin lips with his tongue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As a study in contrasts, that would be hard to beat,&rdquo; he said,
+after a long pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Contrasts!&rdquo; she echoed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, yes. Even an uncontentious man like myself can hardly fail to
+compare Sunday afternoon with Tuesday morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not Monday night?&rdquo; she flashed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Monday night, in part, remains a mystery yet to be unveiled. I blot
+Monday night from my mind. I have no alternative, being on the jury which has
+to arrive at a just verdict. Now, if Fred Elkin were here, he would foam at the
+mouth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Happily, Fred Elkin is <i>not</i> here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, I am glad, glad, to hear you say that. You don&rsquo;t like
+him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I detest him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He makes out, to put it mildly, that you are great friends.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will oblige me by contradicting the statement. Or&mdash;no. One
+treats that sort of man with contempt.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I agree with you most heartily. I&rsquo;m sorry I ever mentioned
+him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet Doris was well aware that the chemist had dragged in Elkin by the scruff of
+the neck, probably for the sake of getting him disposed of thoroughly and for
+all time. Rather on the tiptoe of expectation, she awaited the next move. It
+was slow in coming, so again she looked wistfully at the distant tea-drinkers.
+She found slight difficulty in carrying out this portion of the stage
+directions. Truth to tell, she would gleefully have gone and joined them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle was not altogether at ease. The conversation was too spasmodic to suit
+his purpose. Though slow of speech he was nimble of brain, and, knowing Doris
+so well, he had anticipated a livelier duel of wits. In all likelihood, he
+cursed the tea-party on the lawn. He had not foreseen this drawback. But, being
+a masterful man, he tackled the situation boldly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I seized the opportunity of a friendly chat with you to-day,
+Doris,&rdquo; he went on, leaning over the fence to inhale the scent of a briar
+rose. &ldquo;The story runs through the village that you and your father dined
+at The Hollies on Friday evening. Is that true?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, Doris had it on reliable authority that Siddle himself had been the runner
+who spread that story, and the knowledge steeled her heart against him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said composedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was kind and neighborly of you to accept the invitation, but a
+mistake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She turned and faced him. His expression was baffling. She thought she saw in
+his sallow, clean-cut features the shadow of a confident smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You mean that this horrid murder should make some difference in the
+friendship between ourselves and Mr. Grant?&rdquo; she cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. To you, though to no one else would I speak so plainly, I have no
+hesitation in saying that Mr. Grant is far, very far, from being clear of
+responsibility in that matter. Three days from now you will understand what I
+mean. Evidence will be forthcoming which will put him in a most unenviable
+light. I am not alleging, or even hinting, that he may be deemed guilty of
+actual crime. That is for the law to determine. But I do tell you emphatically
+that his present heedless attitude will give place to anxiety and dejection. It
+cannot be otherwise. A somewhat sordid history will be revealed, and his
+pretense that relations between him and the dead woman ceased three years ago
+will vanish into thin air. Believe me, Doris, I am actuated by no motive in
+this matter other than a desire to further your welfare. I cannot bear even to
+think of your name being associated, in ever so small degree, with that of a
+man who must be hounded out of his own social circle, if no worse fate is in
+store for him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good gracious!&rdquo; cried Doris, genuinely amazed. &ldquo;How do you
+come to know all this?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I listen to the words of those qualified to speak with knowledge and
+authority. I have mixed in varied company this past week, wholly on your
+account. Don&rsquo;t be led away by the mere formalities of the opening day of
+the inquest. The coroner deliberately shut off all real evidence except as to
+the cause of death. On Wednesday the situation will change, and you cannot fail
+to be shocked by what you hear, because you will be there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am given to understand that, even if I am called, my testimony will be
+of no importance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Such may be the police view. Mr. Ingerman will press for a very
+different estimate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has he told you that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So, although foreman of the jury, you have not declined to hobnob with a
+man who is avowedly Mr. Grant&rsquo;s enemy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I would hobnob with worse people if, by so doing, I might serve
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, &ldquo;fed up,&rdquo; as he put it to Hart, with watching the
+<i>t&ecirc;te &agrave; t&ecirc;te</i> between Doris and the chemist, sprang to
+his feet and went through a pantomime easy enough to follow save for one or two
+signs. Doris held both hands aloft. Well knowing that anything in the nature of
+a pre-arranged code would be gall and wormwood to Siddle, she explained
+laughingly:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Grant signals that he and Mr. Hart are going for a walk; he wants me
+to accompany them. But I can&rsquo;t, unfortunately. I promised dad to help
+with the accounts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you really mean what you say, my warning would seem to have fallen on
+deaf ears.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle&rsquo;s voice was well under control, but his eyes glinted dangerously.
+His state was that of a man torn by passion who nevertheless felt that any
+display of the rage possessing him would be fatal to his cause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But, rather unexpectedly, Doris took fire. Siddle&rsquo;s innuendoes and
+protestations were sufficiently hard to bear without the added knowledge that a
+ridiculous convention denied her the companionship of a man whom she loved, and
+who, she was beginning to believe, loved her. She swept round on Siddle like a
+wrathful goddess.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have borne with you patiently because of the acquaintance of years,
+but I shall be glad if this tittle-tattle of malice and ignorance now
+ceases,&rdquo; she said proudly. &ldquo;Mr. Grant is my friend, and my
+father&rsquo;s friend. In the first horror of the crime which has besmirched
+our dear little village, we both treated Mr. Grant rather badly. We know better
+to-day. Your Ingermans and your Elkins, and the rest of the busybodies gathered
+at the inn, may defame him as they choose, or as they dare. As for me, I am his
+loyal comrade, and shall remain so after next Wednesday, or a score of
+Wednesdays. I am going in now, Mr. Siddle, and shall be engaged during the
+remainder of the evening. Your shop opens at six, and I am sure you will find
+some more profitable means of spending the time than in telling me things I
+would rather not hear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle caught her arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doris,&rdquo; he said fiercely, &ldquo;you must not leave me without, at
+least, learning my true motive. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl wrested herself free from his grip. She realized what was coming, and
+forestalled it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I care nothing for your motive,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You forget
+yourself! Please go!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She literally ran into the house. The chemist, unless he elected to behave like
+a love-sick fool, had no option but to follow, and make his way to the street
+by the side door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The only other happening of significance that Sunday was an unheralded visit by
+Winter to the policeman&rsquo;s residence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He popped in after dusk, opening the door without knocking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You in, Robinson?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir. Will you&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shan&rsquo;t detain you more than a minute. At the inquest you said that
+you personally untied the rope which bound Miss Melhuish&rsquo;s body. Here are
+a piece of string and a newspaper. Would you mind showing me what sort of knot
+was used?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robinson was nearly struck dumb, and his fingers fumbled badly, but he managed
+to exhibit two hitches.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, thanks,&rdquo; said Winter, and was off in a jiffy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+From the window of a darkened room Robinson watched the erect, burly figure of
+the detective until it was merged in the mists of night.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m&mdash;,&rdquo; he exclaimed bitterly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;John, what are you swearing about?&rdquo; demanded his wife from the
+kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Something I heard to-day,&rdquo; answered her husband. &ldquo;There was
+a chap of my name, John P. Robinson, an&rsquo; he said that down in Judee they
+didn&rsquo;t know everything. And, by gum, he was right. They knew mighty
+little about London &rsquo;tecs, I&rsquo;m thinking. But, hold on.
+Surely&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He bustled into his coat, and hastened to <i>The Hollies</i>. No, neither Mr.
+Grant nor Mr. Hart had spoken to a soul about the knot. Nor had Bates. Of
+course, Robinson did not venture to describe Winter. Finally, he put the
+incident aside as a clear case of thought-reading.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap15"></a>Chapter XV.<br />
+A Matter of Heredity</h2>
+
+<p>
+Shortly before noon on Monday occurred two events destined to assume a
+paramount importance in the affair which was wringing the withers of
+Steynholme. As in the histories of both men and nations, these first steps in
+great developments began quietly enough. For one thing, Furneaux returned to
+the village. For another, the London telegraphist, who expected the day to
+prove practically a blank, was reading a newspaper when the telegraph
+instrument clicked the local call.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was checking and distributing the stock of stamps which had arrived that
+morning; her father was counting mail-bags in a small annex to the main room,
+the Knoleworth office having acquired a habit of making up shortages by docking
+the country branches. No member of the public happened to be present. The girl
+could have heard what the Morse code was tapping forth had she chosen, but she
+had trained herself to disregard the telegraph when occupied on other work.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Suddenly, however, the telegraphist&rsquo;s pencil paused.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hello!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Theodore Siddle! That&rsquo;s the chemist
+opposite, isn&rsquo;t it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Doris, suspending her calculations at mention of the
+name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, his mother&rsquo;s dead.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dead?&rdquo; she echoed vacantly. Somehow, it had never hitherto dawned
+on her that the chemist might possess relatives in some part of the country.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what it says,&rdquo; went on the other.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<i>&ldquo;&lsquo;Regret inform you your mother died this morning.
+Superintendent, Horton Asylum.&rsquo;&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In an asylum, too,&rdquo; said the girl, speaking at random.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Horton is the place for epileptic lunatics, near Epsom, you
+know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t know. Does it mean that&mdash;that she was an epileptic
+lunatic?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I should imagine, from the wording. If a nurse, or a matron,
+they&rsquo;d surely describe her as such.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose we ought not to discuss Mr. Siddle&rsquo;s telegram,&rdquo;
+said Doris, after a pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, no. But where&rsquo;s the harm? I wouldn&rsquo;t have yelled out
+the news if we three weren&rsquo;t alone. Where&rsquo;s that boy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone to his dinner. Father will take it. By the way, say nothing to him
+as to the contents. Would you mind calling him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris hurried swiftly to the sitting-room, and thence upstairs. The
+telegraphist explained the absence of a messenger, so Mr. Martin delivered the
+telegram in person.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Crossing the street, he detected a dead bee. He picked it up, horrified at the
+thought that the Isle of Wight disease might have reached Sussex. So it was an
+absent-minded postmaster who handed the telegram over Siddle&rsquo;s counter,
+inquiring laconically:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is there any answer?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle opened the buff envelope, and read. He glanced sharply at Martin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s wrong with that bee?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know. I have my doubts. When I have a moment to spare
+I&rsquo;ll put it under the microscope.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle examined the telegram again. The handwriting was that beloved of Civil
+Service Commissioners. Unquestionably, it was not Doris&rsquo;s. No sooner had
+his friend gone off, still intent on the dead insect, than Siddle followed. He
+knew that the bee would undergo scientific scrutiny at once, so gave Martin
+just enough time to dive into the sitting-room before entering the post office.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you receive this telegram a few minutes ago!&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The young man became severely official.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Which telegram?&rdquo; he said stiffly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This one,&rdquo; and Siddle gave him the written message.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; was the answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Excuse me, but&mdash;er&mdash;are its contents known to you only?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean, sir? It would cost me my berth if I divulged a word of
+it to anyone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry. Pray don&rsquo;t take offense. I&mdash;I&rsquo;m
+anxious that my friends, Mr. and Miss Martin, should not hear of it. That is
+what I really have in mind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The telegraphist cooled down.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You may be quite sure that neither they nor any other person in
+Steynholme will ever see the duplicate,&rdquo; he said confidentially. &ldquo;I
+make up a package containing duplicates each evening, and it is sent to
+headquarters. If it will please you, I&rsquo;ll lock the copy now in my
+desk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is exceedingly good of you,&rdquo; said Siddle gratefully.
+&ldquo;You, as a Londoner, will understand that such a telegram
+from&mdash;er&mdash;Horton is not the sort of thing one would like to become
+known even in the most limited circle.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can depend on me, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle hastened back to his shop. The telegraphist looked after him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Queer!&rdquo; he mused. &ldquo;Miss Doris guessed him at once. Phi-ew, I
+must be careful! This village contains surprises.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris, watching from an upper room, saw the visitor, and timed him. She
+imagined he had dispatched an answer. Being a woman, she sought enlightenment a
+few minutes later.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Siddle came in,&rdquo; she said tentatively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the specialist, smiling. &ldquo;And I agree with you,
+Miss Martin. We mustn&rsquo;t talk about telegrams, even among ourselves,
+unless it is necessary departmentally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was silenced, but she read the riddle correctly. The chemist was
+particularly anxious that no Steynholme resident should be made aware of his
+mother&rsquo;s death. She wondered why.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was enlightened when Furneaux paid a call about tea-time. She took him into
+the garden. The lawn at <i>The Hollies</i> was empty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you entertained an acquaintance yesterday?&rdquo; he began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Am I to tell you what happened?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not a great deal, I imagine,&rdquo; he said, with a puzzling laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, but I annoyed him, as Mr.&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No names!&rdquo; broke in the detective hastily. &ldquo;Names,
+especially modern ones, destroy romance. Even the Georgian method of using
+initials, or leaving out vowels, lend an air of intrigue to the veriest
+balderdash.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But no one can overhear us,&rdquo; was the somewhat surprised comment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How true!&rdquo; said Furneaux. &ldquo;Pardon me, Miss Martin. Tell the
+story in your own way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris had a good memory. She was invariably letter-perfect in a play after a
+couple of rehearsals, and could prompt others if they faltered. The detective
+listened in silence while she repeated the conversation between Siddle and
+herself. He took no notes. In fact, he hardly ever did make any record in a
+case unless it was essential to prove the exact words of a suspected person.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good!&rdquo; he said, when she had finished. &ldquo;That sounds like the
+complete text.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think I have left out anything of importance&mdash;that
+is, if a single word of it <i>is</i> important.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, heaps,&rdquo; he assured her. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s even better than I
+dared hope. Can you tell me if Siddle&rsquo;s mother is dead yet?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The question found Doris so thoroughly unprepared that she blurted out:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you had a telegram, too, then?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. But Siddle has had one, eh? Don&rsquo;t be vexed. I&rsquo;m not
+tricking you into revealing post office secrets. I knew she was dying, and,
+when I saw your father take a message to the chemist&rsquo;s shop I simply made
+an accurate guess.... Now, I&rsquo;m going to scare you, purposely and of
+malice aforethought, because I want you to be a good little girl, and obey
+orders. Mrs. Siddle, senior, now happily deceased, was an epileptic lunatic of
+a peculiarly dangerous type. She suffered from what is classed by the doctors
+as <i>furor epilepticus</i>, a form of spasmodic insanity not inconsistent with
+a high degree of bodily vigor and long periods of apparently complete mental
+saneness. Now, if I were not speaking to one who has shared her father&rsquo;s
+studies in bee-life, I would not introduce the subject of heredity. But
+<i>you</i> know, Miss Martin, that such racial characteristics are transmitted,
+or transmissible, I should say, by sex opposites. Thus, an epileptic mother is
+more likely to give her taint to a son than to a daughter.... Yes, I mean all
+that, and more,&rdquo; he went on, seeing the look of horror, not unmixed with
+fear, in Doris&rsquo;s eyes. &ldquo;There must be no more irritating of Siddle,
+or playing on his feelings&mdash;by you, at any rate. Treat him gently. If he
+insists on making love to you, be as firm as you like in a non-committal way. I
+mean, by that, an entire absence on your part of any suggestion that you are
+repulsing him because of a real or supposed preference for any other
+man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you want me to believe that he is liable to attack me?&rdquo;
+demanded the girl, her naturally courageous spirit coming to her aid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do,&rdquo; said Furneaux, speaking with marked earnestness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yet you ask me to endure his company if he chooses to force himself on
+me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For a few days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it may be a few years?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. That is not to be thought of. Leave it to me to devise a way.
+Besides, you need not allow him so many opportunities that the strain would
+become unbearable. You are busy, owing to the certain increase of work brought
+about by this murder. Your time will be greatly occupied. But, don&rsquo;t
+render him morbidly suspicious. For instance, no more dinners at <i>The
+Hollies</i>. No more gadding about by night, if you hear weird noises on the
+other side of the river. And you must absolutely deny yourself the pleasurable
+excitement of Mr. Grant&rsquo;s company.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are carrying a warning to its extreme limit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exactly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And am I to keep this knowledge to myself?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In whom would you confide?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My father, of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know you better,&rdquo; and the detective&rsquo;s voice took on a
+profoundly serious note. &ldquo;Your father would never admit that what he
+knows to be true of bees is equally true of humanity. You can trust the police
+to keep a pretty sharp eye on Siddle, of course, but the present is a strenuous
+period, both for us and for people with maniacal tendencies, so accidents may
+happen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have distressed me immeasurably,&rdquo; said the girl, striving to
+pierce the mask of that inscrutable face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I meant to,&rdquo; answered Furneaux quietly. &ldquo;No half measures
+for me. I&rsquo;ve looked up the asylum record of Mrs. Siddle, senior, and
+it&rsquo;s not nice reading.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There was a Mrs. Siddle, junior, then?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A Mrs. Theodore Siddle, if one adopts the conventional usage. Yes. She
+died last month.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Last month!&rdquo; gasped Doris, feeling vaguely that she was moving in
+a maze of deceit and subterfuge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;On May 25th, to be precise. She lived apart from her husband. I have
+reason to believe she feared him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yet&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She hesitated, hardly able to put her jumbled thoughts into words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. That&rsquo;s so,&rdquo; said the detective instantly. &ldquo;Never
+mind. It&rsquo;s a fairly decent world, taken <i>en bloc</i>. I ought to speak
+with authority. I see enough of the seamy side of it, goodness knows. Now,
+forewarned is forearmed. Don&rsquo;t be nervous. Don&rsquo;t take risks.
+Everything will come right in time. Remember, I&rsquo;m not far away in an
+emergency. Should I chance to be absent if you need advice, send for Mr.
+Franklin. You can easily devise some official excuse, a mislaid letter, or an
+error in a telegram.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think I shall feel confident if both of you are near,&rdquo; and the
+ghost of a smile lit Doris&rsquo;s wan features.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;re a marvelous combination,&rdquo; grinned Furneaux, reverting
+at once to his normal impishness. &ldquo;I am all brain; he is all muscle. Such
+an alliance prevails against the ungodly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Mr. Grant in any danger?&rdquo; inquired Doris suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two looked into each other&rsquo;s eyes. Doris was eager to ask a question,
+which Furneaux dared her to put. The detective won. She sighed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m to behave. Am I to regard
+myself as a decoy duck?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A duck, anyhow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She laughed lightly. Furneaux would vouchsafe no further information, it would
+appear. For a girl of nineteen, Doris was uncommonly gifted with clear,
+analytical reasoning powers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective returned to the Hare and Hounds, and went upstairs. He met Peters
+on the landing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The devil!&rdquo; he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My <i>dear</i> pal!&rdquo; retorted the journalist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you living here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not, indeed? Where the eagles are there is the carcase.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your misquotation is offensive.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was so intended.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come and have a drink.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I say &lsquo;yes.&rsquo; You&rsquo;ll thank me on your bended knees
+afterwards. The South American gent is having the time of his life. I&rsquo;ve
+just been to my room for <i>Whitaker&rsquo;s Almanack</i>, wherewith a certain
+Don Walter Hart purposes flooring him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wally Hart had, indeed, succeeded in running to earth the Argentine magnate,
+and was giving Winter a most uncomfortable quarter of an hour.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; shouted Hart, when Furneaux came in with Peters.
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s the pocket marvel who&rsquo;ll answer any question straight
+off. What is the staple export of the Argentine!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How often have you been there?&rdquo; demanded the detective dryly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Six times.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you&rsquo;ve lived there?&rdquo; This to Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; glowered the big man, fearing the worst.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then the answer is &lsquo;fools,&rsquo;&rdquo; cackled Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Wally laughed. He had remembered, just in time, that he had no right to claim
+acquaintance with the representative of Scotland Yard, and there were some
+farmers present, each of whom had a &ldquo;likely animal&rdquo; to offer the
+buyer of blood stock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gad, I think you&rsquo;re right,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You wanted me to say &lsquo;sheep,&rsquo; I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Got it, at once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As though one valuable horse wasn&rsquo;t worth a thousand sheep.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just what my friend, Don Manoel Alcorta, of Los Andes ranch, Catamarca,
+always held,&rdquo; put in Winter, drawing the bow at a venture.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart cocked an eye at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I would take off my hat, if I wore one in
+Steynholme, to any man who claims the friendship of Don Manoel Alcorta, a
+sincere patriot. I suggest that we crack a bottle to his immortal
+memory.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My doctor forbids me to touch wine,&rdquo; said Winter mournfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But these bucolic breeders of browns and bays employ wiser medicos,
+I&rsquo;ll go bail. Landlord, a quart of the best, and six out, as they say in
+London.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Six glasses were duly filled with champagne. When it was consumed, Hart
+buttonholed Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A word with you, scribe,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Good-day, gentlemen. I
+leave you to your nags. Treat Mr. Franklin fairly. The friend of Don Manoel
+Alcorta must be a true man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter heaved a sigh of relief when the professional revolutionist had
+vanished.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a funny &rsquo;un,&rdquo; commented one of the farmers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A bit touched, I reckon,&rdquo; said another. &ldquo;Wot&rsquo;s
+&rsquo;e doin&rsquo; now to the other one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They looked through the window. The two were standing in the middle of the
+road, and Wally was shaking Peters violently. The argument was not so fierce as
+it appeared to be. Peters had been commanded to bring both detectives to dinner
+that evening; when he demurred, trying to hedge on the question of
+Winter&rsquo;s identity, Hart grabbed him by the shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do as I tell you,&rdquo; he hissed. &ldquo;Of course, I know now that
+the big fellow is the man Grant heard of a week ago. I was an idiot to take him
+seriously about the Argentine. Bring the pair of &rsquo;em, I tell you.
+We&rsquo;ll make a night of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll try,&rdquo; said Peters faintly, &ldquo;but if you stir up
+that wine so vigorously I won&rsquo;t answer for the consequences.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter, wishing devoutly that would-be sellers of horseflesh were not so
+numerous in the district, noted the names and addresses of the local men, and
+promised to write when he could make an appointment. Then he escaped upstairs,
+whither Furneaux soon followed. Winter had secured an extra bedroom,
+overlooking the river, which Tomlin had converted into a sitting-room. Thus, he
+held a secure observation post both in front and rear of the hotel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, how did she take it?&rdquo; inquired the Chief Inspector, when he
+and his colleague were safe behind a closed door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sensible girl,&rdquo; said Furneaux. &ldquo;By the way, Siddle&rsquo;s
+mother is dead. Telegram came this morning. Things should happen now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t quite see why.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. You&rsquo;re still muddled after floundering in the mud of South
+America. What possessed you to let that cheerful idiot, Wally Hart, put you in
+the cart?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How could I help it? I was extracting some really helpful facts about
+Siddle and Elkin from Tomlin and the others when a shock-headed whirlwind blew
+in, and nearly embraced me because I claimed acquaintance with the El Dorado
+bar in Buenos Ayres. From that instant I was lost. Like St. Augustine on the
+gridiron, no sooner was I nicely toasted on one side than I was turned on to
+the other. That grinning penny-a-liner, Peters, too, helped as assistant
+torturer. Wait till he asks me for a &lsquo;pointer&rsquo; in this or any other
+case. He sold me a pup to-day, but I&rsquo;ll land him with a full-sized
+mastiff.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, you won&rsquo;t. He&rsquo;s done you a lot of good. You were simply
+reeking with conceit when I met you this morning. It was &lsquo;Siddle
+this&rsquo; and &lsquo;Siddle that&rsquo; until you fairly sickened me. One
+would have thought I hadn&rsquo;t cleared the ground for you, left you with all
+lines open and yourself unknown to the enemy. Sometimes, you make me
+tired.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sorry, Charles,&rdquo; said Winter patronizingly. &ldquo;I had a bit of
+luck on Sunday, I admit. The chance turn taken by the conversation with Doris,
+with the result that I was able to occupy a strategic position on the cliff,
+and hear every word Siddle uttered, was really fortunate. But, isn&rsquo;t that
+just what men mean when they prate of success? Opportunity knocks once at every
+man&rsquo;s door, says the old saw. The clever man grabs hold instantly. The
+indolent one, often a mere gabbler, opens his eyes and his mouth weeks
+afterwards, and cries, &lsquo;Dear me! Was that the much-looked-for
+opportunity?&rsquo; Of course, Robinson&rsquo;s by-play with the sack and rope
+was merely thrown in by the prodigal hand of Fate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; yelped Furneaux. &ldquo;Another platitude, and I&rsquo;ll
+assault you with the tongs!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was the invariable habit of the Big &rsquo;Un and Little &rsquo;Un to
+quarrel like cat and dog when the toils were closing in around a suspect. Woe,
+then, to the malefactor! His was a parlous state.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s cool down, Charles!&rdquo; said Winter, opening a leather
+case, and selecting, with great care, one out of half a dozen precisely similar
+cigars. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re pretty sure of our man, but we haven&rsquo;t a scrap
+of evidence against him. How, or where, to begin ringing him in I haven&rsquo;t
+the faintest notion. If only he&rsquo;d kill Grant we&rsquo;d get him at
+once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he won&rsquo;t. He trusts to Ingerman playing that part of the game.
+He&rsquo;s as artful as a pet fox. I bought soap, and a pound of sal volatile,
+but he did up each parcel with sealing-wax.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sal volatile!&rdquo; smiled Winter. &ldquo;I, too, went in for soap, but
+my imagination would not soar beyond a packet of cotton-wool. It was the
+lumpiest thing I could think of.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And perfectly useless!&rdquo; sneered Furneaux. &ldquo;I must say you do
+fling the taxpayers&rsquo; money about. Now, <i>my</i> little lot will keep the
+electric bells in my flat in order for two years.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You forget that constant association with you demands that I should
+frequently plug my two ears,&rdquo; retorted Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux would surely have thrown back the jest had not a knock on the door
+interrupted him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there? I&rsquo;m busy,&rdquo; cried Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Me-ow!&rdquo; whined Peters&rsquo;s voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s you, Tom. Come in!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The journalist crept in on tiptoe.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush! We are not observed,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Wally Hart threatens
+to choke me if you two don&rsquo;t dine with him and Grant to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was silence for a little while. The detectives looked at each other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At what time?&rdquo; said Winter, at last.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Peters was astonished, and showed it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, I assured him it was absolutely imposs.,&rdquo; he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, it isn&rsquo;t. In fact, it suits our plans. I want exercise, and
+shall walk back from Knoleworth. Furneaux will make his own arrangements. Tell
+Grant that I shall drop in without knocking.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And tell him I shall arrive by parachute,&rdquo; added Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In case of accidents, and there is a shoot-up, with myself as the
+unresisting victim, my front name is James,&rdquo; said Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The only good point about you,&rdquo; scoffed Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re strong on names to-day,&rdquo; tittered the journalist.
+&ldquo;Don Manoel Alcorta was a superb effort as an authority on gee-gees.
+Wally tells me his donship is the recognized expert south of the line on
+seismic disturbances, and spends his days and nights watching a needle making
+scratches on a sensitive plate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He would be useful here in a day or two,&rdquo; said Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, thanks! Is that a tip?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not for publication. What you must say is that this affair looks like
+baffling the shrewdest wits in Scotland Yard.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My very phrase&mdash;my own ewe lamb. Pardon. I shouldn&rsquo;t have
+alluded to sheep.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The only known representative of the Yard in Steynholme is
+Furneaux,&rdquo; smiled the Chief Inspector.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux was drumming on a window-pane with his finger-tips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True,&rdquo; he cackled. &ldquo;Just to prove it, he now informs you
+that Siddle, finding trade slow, has called on Mr. John Menzies Grant!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap16"></a>Chapter XVI.<br />
+Furneaux Makes a Successful Bid</h2>
+
+<p>
+The lawn front of <i>The Hollies</i> was not visible from the upper story of
+the Hare and Hounds owing to a clump of pines which had found foothold on the
+cliff, but, through the gap formed by the end of the post office garden, the
+entrance to the house from the Knoleworth road was discernible.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux&rsquo;s dramatic announcement brought the other two to the window. By
+this time Peters, gifted with a nose for news like a well-trained
+setter&rsquo;s for partridges, had begun to associate the quiet-mannered,
+gentle-spoken chemist with the inner circle of the crime, so waited and watched
+with the detectives for Siddle&rsquo;s reappearance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At any rate the visitor must have been admitted, because a long quarter of an
+hour elapsed before he came in sight again. He walked out slowly into the
+roadway, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and glanced to right and
+left. Then, turning abruptly, he stared at the dwelling he had just quitted.
+What this slight but peculiar action signified was not hard to guess. Furneaux,
+indeed, put it into words.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Having warned Grant off Miss Doris Martin, and been cursed for his
+pains, the foreman of the jury does not trouble to await further evidence, but
+arrives at a true and lawful verdict straight off,&rdquo; announced the little
+man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We ought to hear things to-night,&rdquo; said Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We?&rdquo; inquired Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Didn&rsquo;t I make it clear that I shared in the dinner
+invitation?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, and I&rsquo;m&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t say it!&rdquo; pleaded the journalist. &ldquo;If I fell from
+grace to-day, remember my unswerving loyalty since the hour we met on the
+platform at Knoleworth! Haven&rsquo;t I kept close as an oyster? And would any
+consideration on earth move me to publish an accurate and entertaining account
+of the roasting of Chief Inspector Winter by Wally Hart? Think what I&rsquo;m
+sacrificing&mdash;a column of the best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter bent a weighing look on the speaker. There was treason in the thought,
+as King James remarked to the barber who tried to prove his loyalty by pointing
+out how easily he might cut his majesty&rsquo;s throat any morning. But Peters
+maintained the expression of a sphinx, and the big man relaxed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The conditions are that not a word about this business appears in print,
+either now or in the future until we have a criminal in the dock,&rdquo; he
+said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Accepted,&rdquo; said Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux laughed shrilly, even derisively, but him his colleague treated with
+majestic disdain. Then, the chemist having reentered the village, the group
+broke up, Peters to search his brains for &ldquo;copy&rdquo; which should be
+readable yet contain no hint of the new trail, Winter to take train to
+Knoleworth, and Furneaux to tackle Fred Elkin, who, he had ascertained earlier,
+would drive home from a neighboring hamlet about five o&rsquo;clock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin had returned when the detective reached the house, a somewhat pretentious
+place, half farm, half villa, and altogether horsey. The entrance hall bristled
+with fox masks and brushes. A useful collection of burnished bits and snaffles
+hung on a side wall. A couple of stuffed badgers held two wicker stands for
+sticks and umbrellas, and whips and hunting-crops were ranged on hooks beneath
+a 12-bore and a rook rifle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A pert maid-servant took Furneaux&rsquo;s card, blanched when she read it, and
+forgot to close the door of the dining-room. Hence, the detective heard
+Elkin&rsquo;s gruff comments:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? <i>That</i> chap? Wants to see me? Not more than I want to see
+him. Show him in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux, looking very meek and mild, entered an apartment of the carpet-bag
+upholstery period. A set of six exceedingly good and rare sporting prints
+caught his eye.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good day,&rdquo; he said, finding Elkin drinking tea, and eating a
+boiled egg. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re feeling better, I&rsquo;m glad to see.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now, no matter how ungracious a man may be, a courteous solicitude as to his
+health demands a certain note of civility in return.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Sit down. Will you join me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have a cup of tea, with pleasure,&rdquo; said Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Right-o! Just touch that bell, will you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other obeyed, and took a closer look at one of the prints. Yes, the date
+was right, 1841, and the stippling admirable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nice lot of pictures, those,&rdquo; he said cheerfully, when the
+frightened maid, much to her relief, had been told to bring another cup and a
+fresh supply of toast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are they?&rdquo; Elkin had taken them and some kitchen furniture for a
+bad debt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Will you sell them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I haven&rsquo;t thought about it. What&rsquo;ll you give?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux hesitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t resist anything in the art line that takes my
+fancy,&rdquo; he said, after a pause of indecision. &ldquo;What do you say to
+ten bob each?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin valued the lot at that figure, but Furneaux was a fool, and should be
+treated as such.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, come now!&rdquo; he cried roguishly. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re worth more
+than that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux reflected again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Three pounds is a good deal for six prints,&rdquo; he murmured,
+&ldquo;but, to get it off my mind, I&rsquo;ll spring to guineas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Make it three-ten and they&rsquo;re yours.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Three guineas is my absolute limit,&rdquo; said Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Done!&rdquo; cried Elkin. The original debt was under two pounds, so he
+had cleared more than fifty per cent. on the transaction, and was plus a number
+of chairs and a table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux counted out the money, wrote a receipt on a leaf torn from his
+pocket-book, and stamped it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sign that,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;pocket the cash, send the set to the
+Hare and Hounds for me in a dog-cart now, and the deal is through.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Leaving the table, he went and lifted down each picture carefully. Somewhat
+wonderingly, Elkin rang the bell once more, gave the necessary instructions,
+and the room was cleared of its art. He was quite sure now that Furneaux was,
+as he put it, &ldquo;dotty.&rdquo; The latter, however, sat and enjoyed his tea
+as though well pleased with his bargain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And how are things going in the murder at <i>The Hollies</i>?&rdquo;
+inquired the horse-dealer, by way of a polite leading up to the visitor&rsquo;s
+unexplained business.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fairly well,&rdquo; said the detective. &ldquo;My chief difficulty was
+to convince certain important people that you didn&rsquo;t kill Miss Melhuish.
+Once I&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Me!&rdquo; roared Elkin, his pale blue eyes assuming a fiery tint.
+&ldquo;<i>Me!</i>&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Once I established that fact,&rdquo; went on the other severely,
+&ldquo;a real stumbling-block was removed. You see, Elkin, you have behaved
+throughout like a perfect fool, and thus lent a sort of credibility to an
+otherwise absurd notion. Your furious hatred of Mr. Grant, for instance, born
+of an equally fatuous&mdash;or, shall I say? fat-headed&mdash;belief that Miss
+Martin would marry you for the mere asking, led you into deep waters. It was a
+mistake, too, when you lied to P. C.  Robinson as to the time you came home on
+that Monday night. You told him you walked straight here from the Hare and
+Hounds at ten o&rsquo;clock. You know you didn&rsquo;t&mdash;that it was nearer
+half past eleven when you reached this house. Consider what that discrepancy
+alone might have meant if Scotland Yard failed to take your measure correctly.
+Then add the fact that the murderer wore the hat, wig, and whiskers in which
+you made a guy of yourself while filling the r&ocirc;le of Svengali last
+winter. Now, I ask you, Elkin, where would you have stood with the average
+British jury when the prosecution established those three things: Motive, your
+jealousy of Grant; time, your unaccounted-for disappearance during the hour
+when the crime was committed; and disguise, a clumsy suggestion of Owd
+Ben&rsquo;s ghost? Really, I have known men brought to the scaffold on
+circumstantial evidence little stronger than that. Instead of glaring at me
+like a cornered rat you ought to drop on your knees and thank providence, as
+manifested through the intelligence of the &lsquo;Yard,&rsquo; that you are not
+now in a cell at Knoleworth, ruminating on your own stupidity, and in no small
+jeopardy of your life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Many emotions chased each other across Fred Elkin&rsquo;s somewhat mean and
+cruel face while Furneaux rated him in this extraordinary manner. Surprise,
+wrath, even fear, had their phases. But, dominating all other sensations, was
+an overpowering indignation at the implied hopelessness of his pursuit of Doris
+Martin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He literally howled an oath at his torturer. Furneaux was shocked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; he protested in a horrified tone. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
+swear at your best friend.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Friend! By&mdash;, I&rsquo;ll make you pay for what you&rsquo;ve said.
+There&rsquo;s a law to stop that sort of thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But the law requires witnesses. A slander isn&rsquo;t a slander unless
+it&rsquo;s uttered to your detriment before a third party. How different would
+be Mr. Grant&rsquo;s action against you! Your well-wishers simply
+couldn&rsquo;t muzzle you. Whether before your pot-house cronies or mere
+strangers, you charged him openly with being a murderer. I&rsquo;m sorry for
+you, Elkin, if ever you come before a judge. He&rsquo;ll rattle more than my
+three guineas out of you. Even now, you don&rsquo;t grasp the extent of your
+folly. Instead of telling me how you spent that hour and a half on the night of
+the crime you have the incredible audacity to threaten me, <i>me</i>, the man
+who has saved you from jail. One more word, you miserable swab, and I&rsquo;ll
+let Robinson arrest you. You&rsquo;ll be set free, of course, when I stage the
+actual villain, but a few remands of a week each in custody will thin your hot
+blood. You were with Peggy Smith after leaving the Hare and Hounds, making a
+fool of an honest girl who thinks you mean to wed her. Yet you blather about
+being &lsquo;practically engaged&rsquo; to Doris Martin, a girl who
+wouldn&rsquo;t let you tie her shoe-lace. You&rsquo;re an impudent pup, Fred,
+and you know it. But you stock decent tea, so I&rsquo;ll take another cup. If
+you&rsquo;re wise, you&rsquo;ll take a second one yourself. It&rsquo;s better
+for you than whiskey.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin, despite all his faults, was endowed with the shrewdness inseparable from
+his business, because no man devoid of brains ever yet throve as a
+horse-dealer. He smothered his rage, thinking he might learn more from this
+strange-mannered detective by seeming complaisance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a bit rough on a fellow,&rdquo; he growled sulkily, pouring
+out the tea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For your good, my boy, solely for your good. Now, own up about
+Peggy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. That&rsquo;s right. She&rsquo;d prove an alibi, so your tom-fool
+case breaks down when the flag falls.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does it? A girl may say anything to save her supposed lover. How will
+the twelve good men and true view Doris Martin&rsquo;s evidence on Wednesday?
+What did <i>you</i> mean, for instance, by your question to the coroner at the
+first hearing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought Grant was guilty, and I think so still,&rdquo; came the savage
+retort.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A nice juryman you are, I must say! May I trouble you to pass the
+sugar?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here! What are you gettin&rsquo; at? Damme if I can see through
+your game. What is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t want to worry poor Peggy. And her father might set about
+you if he knew the facts, so I&rsquo;m probably saving you a hiding as well as
+a period in jail. The only reliable witness we had as to events in
+Tomlin&rsquo;s place was a commercial traveler, and he is positive that the
+house closed at ten o&rsquo;clock. However, that&rsquo;s all right. How do you
+account for the marvelous improvement in your health? Dr. Foxton cannot
+understand your illness. He says you are wiry, and have a strong
+constitution.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dr. Foxton jolly near knocked me up,&rdquo; said Elkin. &ldquo;I took
+his medicine till I was sick as a cat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you took spirits, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s nothing fresh. Anyhow, I&rsquo;ve dropped both, and am
+picking up every hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Since when?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Since yesterday morning, if you want to know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do. I&rsquo;m most interested. Dr. Foxton doesn&rsquo;t compound his
+own prescriptions, does he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I get &rsquo;em made up at Siddle&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah. These country chemists often keep drugs in stock till they
+deteriorate, or even set up chemical changes. Have you the bottles?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. But what the&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything left in them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The last two are half full. Still&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a cross-grained chap you are? I buy your pictures, drink your tea,
+rescue you from a positively dangerous position, warn you against carrying any
+farther a most serious libel, yet you won&rsquo;t let me help you in a matter
+affecting your health!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Help me? How?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Even you, I suppose, realize that Scotland Yard employs skilled
+analysts. Give me your bottles, in strict confidence, of course, and I&rsquo;ll
+tell you what they really contain. Then you can compare the analyses with the
+doctor&rsquo;s prescriptions. The knowledge should be useful, to say the least.
+Siddle&rsquo;s reputation needn&rsquo;t suffer, but, unless I am greatly
+mistaken, you will have the whip hand of him in future.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The prospect was alluring. Elkin would enjoy showing up the chemist, who had
+treated him rather as a precocious infant of late.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By jing!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m on that. Bet you a
+quid&mdash;But, no. You&rsquo;d hardly lay against your own opinion. Just wait
+a tick. I&rsquo;ll bring &rsquo;em.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux stared fixedly at the table while his host was absent. His conscience
+was not pricking him with regard to an unmerited slur on the country chemists
+of Great Britain. All is fair in love and the detection of crime, and he simply
+had to get hold of those bottles by some daring yet plausible ruse.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now&mdash;I wonder!&rdquo; he muttered, as Elkin&rsquo;s step sounded on
+the stairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There you are!&rdquo; grinned the horse-dealer. &ldquo;Take a dose of
+the last one. It&rsquo;ll stir your liver to some tune.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux drew the corks out of both bottles, and sniffed the contents. Then he
+tasted, with much tongue-smacking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Um!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Stale laudanum, for a start. I expected as
+much. Bought by the gallon and sold by the drop. Is that the dogcart with my
+pictures?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hail your man. He can give me a lift.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But there&rsquo;s lots of things I want to ask you&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Probably. I&rsquo;m here to put questions, not to give information.
+I&rsquo;ve gone a long way beyond the official tether already. If you&rsquo;ve
+a grain of sense, and I think you&rsquo;re not altogether lacking in that
+respect, you&rsquo;ll keep a close tongue, and act on the tips thrown out.
+You&rsquo;ll find pearls of price among the rubbish-heap of my remarks
+generally. Good-by. See you on Wednesday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And Furneaux climbed into the cart, holding the pictures so that they would not
+rattle, and perhaps loosen the old gilded frames.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Drive me to the chemist&rsquo;s&rdquo; he said to the groom; within five
+minutes, he was explaining his purchase to Siddle, and requesting, as a favor,
+that the latter should wrap the set of prints in brown paper, making two
+parcels, and tying each securely, so that they might be dispatched by train.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Siddle examined one, the first of the series, which depicted the Aylesbury
+Steeplechase.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rather good,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Where did you pick them up?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At Elkin&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed. What an unexpected place!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the only way a poor man can get hold of a decent thing
+nowadays. The dealers grab everything, and sell them as collections.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Art is not in my line, though anyone can see that these are
+excellent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. But you&rsquo;re looking at &lsquo;The Start.&rsquo; Have a peep at
+this one, &lsquo;The Finish.&rsquo; The artist <i>would</i> have his joke. You
+see that the dark horse wins.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How did you persuade Elkin to part with them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By paying him a tempting price, of course. I&rsquo;m a weak-minded ass
+in such matters.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The chemist busied himself to oblige the detective, wrapping and tying the
+packages neatly. Furneaux insisted on paying sixpence for the paper, string,
+and labor. There was quite a friendly argument, but he carried his point.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The dog-cart then brought him to the station, where he tipped and dismissed the
+man; a little later, he caught a London-bound train.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At half past seven precisely, Winter turned in through the Knoleworth-side gate
+of <i>The Hollies</i> (there were two, the approach to the house being
+semi-circular) and pushed the door open, as it was standing ajar.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant was waiting in the hall, and greeted him pleasantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s a telegram which is meant for you, I fancy,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter read:
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>
+<i>&ldquo;Sorry to spoil your party. Compelled to travel to London. Returning
+early to-morrow. F.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s pretty Fanny&rsquo;s way,&rdquo; smiled the Chief
+Inspector. &ldquo;But there&rsquo;s something in the wind, or he would never
+have hurried off in this fashion. He tells me that the only pleasant evening he
+spent in Steynholme was under your roof, Mr. Grant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come along in, Don Jaime!&rdquo; drawled Hart&rsquo;s voice from the
+&ldquo;den,&rdquo; which had been cleared of its litter, the lawn being deemed
+somewhat unsuitable for the purposes of a drawing-room on that occasion. It was
+overlooked from too many quarters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, we meet now under less uneven conditions, Mr. Hart,&rdquo; said
+Winter. &ldquo;Do you know that Enrico Suarez is in London?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart, startled for once in his life, gazed at the detective fixedly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Since when?&rdquo; he cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He crossed from Lisbon last week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart took a revolver from his hip pocket, and opened it, apparently making sure
+that it was properly loaded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the law in England?&rdquo; he inquired. &ldquo;Can I shoot
+first, or must I wait till the other fellow has had a pop?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Suarez is in Holloway,
+awaiting extradition. But I owed you one for the rise you took out of me
+to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A bell sounded, and Peters came in. He glanced around.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s Furneaux?&rdquo; he demanded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone to London. Why this keen interest?&rdquo; said Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s something up. Elkin dropped in at the Hare and Hounds. He
+was simply bursting with curiosity, and had to talk to somebody. So he chose
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He would,&rdquo; was the dry comment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fact, &rsquo;pon me honor. I didn&rsquo;t lead him on an inch. It seems
+that Furneaux bought some prints which caught his eye in Elkin&rsquo;s house,
+and Tomlin says that that hexplains hit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Explains what?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Furneaux&rsquo;s visit to Siddle, and certain bulky parcels brought in
+and brought out again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Queer little duck, Furneaux,&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;Now that my mind
+is at ease about the immediate future of the biggest rascal in Venezuela I can
+take an active part in Steynholme affairs once more. When it&rsquo;s all
+through I&rsquo;ll make a novel of it, dashed if I don&rsquo;t, with the
+postmaster&rsquo;s daughter in the three-color process as a
+frontispiece.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But who will be the villain?&rdquo; said Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hart waved the negro-head pipe at the other three.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Draw lots. I am indifferent,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap17"></a>Chapter XVII.<br />
+An Official Housebreaker</h2>
+
+<p>
+No word bearing on the main topic in these men&rsquo;s minds was said during
+dinner. Grant was attentive to his guests, but markedly silent, almost
+distrait. Two such talkers as Hart and Peters, however, covered any gaps in
+this respect. Cigars and pipes were in evidence, and, horrible though it may
+sound in the ears of a <i>gourmet</i>, the port was circulating, when Winter
+turned and gazed at the small window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that where the ghost appears!&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Grant. &ldquo;You know the whole story, of
+course?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Furneaux misses nothing, I assure you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He missed a daylight apparition this afternoon, at any rate. I have no
+secrets from my friends, so I may as well tell you&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That Siddle called, and implored you to consider Doris Martin&rsquo;s
+future by avoiding her at present,&rdquo; put in the Chief Inspector.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Such shocks were losing some of their effect, on the principle that a man hears
+the burst of the thousandth high-explosive shell with a good deal less
+trepidation than attended the efforts of the first dozen. Still, Grant gazed at
+the speaker in profound astonishment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You Scotland Yard men seem to know everything,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A mere pretense. Try him on sheep-raising in the Argentine, Jack,&rdquo;
+murmured Hart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wally, this business is developing a very serious side,&rdquo; protested
+Grant. Hart stretched a long arm for the port decanter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, friend!&rdquo; he addressed it gravely. &ldquo;Let us commune! You
+and I together shall mingle joyous memories of
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>
+<i>&ldquo;A draught of the Warm South,<br />
+The true, the blushful Hippocrene.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We read Siddle&rsquo;s visit aright, it would appear,&rdquo; said Winter
+quietly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. That was his mission, put in a nutshell.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what did you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I told him that, after Wednesday, I would ask Doris Martin to marry me,
+which is the best answer I can give him and all the world.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why &lsquo;after Wednesday&rsquo;?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because I shall know then the full extent of the annoyance which
+Ingerman can inflict.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you give Siddle that reason?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter frowned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You literary gentlemen are all alike,&rdquo; he said vexedly. &ldquo;You
+become such adepts in analyzing human duplicity in your books that you never
+dream of trying to be wise as a serpent in your own affairs. The author who
+will split legal hairs by way of brightening his work will sign a contract with
+a publisher that draws tears from his lawyer when a dispute arises. Why be so
+candid with a rank outsider, like Siddle?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I distrust the man. Doris distrusts him, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So you take him into your confidence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I merely give him chapter and verse to prove that his interference
+is useless.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you engaged a lawyer for Wednesday?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. Why should I? My hands are clean.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But your clothes may suffer if enough mud is slung at you. Wire to this
+man in the morning, and mention my name&mdash;Winter, of course, not
+Franklin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Codlin&rsquo;s your friend, not Short,&rdquo; said Hart. &ldquo;Sorry.
+It&rsquo;s a time-worn jape, but it fitted in admirably.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The detective scribbled a name and address on a card.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think you need worry about Ingerman,&rdquo; he went on,
+&ldquo;though it&rsquo;s well to be prepared. A smart solicitor can stop
+irrelevant statements, especially if ready for them. But there must be no more
+of this heart-opening to all and sundry, Mr. Grant. Siddle is your rival. He,
+too, wants to marry Miss Martin, and regards you now as the only
+stumbling-block.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle! That stick!&rdquo; gasped Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ridiculous, indeed monstrous,&rdquo; agreed Winter, rather heatedly,
+&ldquo;but nevertheless a candidate for the lady&rsquo;s hand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he laughed. Peters&rsquo;s keen eyes were watching him, and Wally Hart was
+giving more heed to the conversation than was revealed by a fixed stare at the
+negro&rsquo;s head in meerschaum.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve bothered me,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;I thought you had
+more sense. Don&rsquo;t you understand that all these bits of gossip reach
+Ingerman through the filter of the snug at the Hare and Hounds?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The man&rsquo;s visit was unexpected, and his mission even more so. I
+just blurted out the facts.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;ve rendered the services of a solicitor absolutely
+indispensable now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant, by no means so clear-headed these days as was his wont, followed the
+scent of Winter&rsquo;s red herring like the youngest hound in a pack; but
+Wally Hart and Peters, lookers-on in this chase, harked back to the right line.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I&mdash;&rdquo; they both broke in simultaneously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Place to the fourth estate,&rdquo; bowed Hart solemnly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; said the journalist. &ldquo;May I put a question,
+Winter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A score, if you like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Totting up the average of the murder cases in which Furneaux and you
+have been engaged, in how many days do you count on spotting your man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sometimes we never get him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, come a bit closer than that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Generally, given a clear run, with an established motive, we know who he
+is within eight days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wednesday, in effect?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t say, this time?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Suppose, as a hypothesis, you are convinced of a man&rsquo;s guilt, but
+can obtain little or no evidence?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He goes through life a free and independent citizen of this or any other
+country. Arrests on suspicion are not my long suit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How does one get evidence?&rdquo; purred Hart. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t
+scattered broadcast by a clever criminal. And you fellows seem to object to my
+method, which has been the only effectual one so far in this affair.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you had shot that specter the other night there would have been the
+deuce to pay.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you would now be sure of the murderer?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do you assume that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Like Eugene Aram, he can&rsquo;t keep away from the scene of his
+crime.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter felt he was skating on thin ice, so hastened to escape.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Detective work is nearly all guessing,&rdquo; he said sententiously,
+&ldquo;yet one must beware of what I may term obvious guessing. If cause and
+effect were so closely allied in certain classes of crime my department would
+cease to exist, and the protection of life and property might be left safely to
+the ordinary police. By the way, P. C. Robinson has been rather inactive during
+two whole days. That makes me suspicious. What&rsquo;s he up to? Can you throw
+a light on him, Peters?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The journalist knew that he was being told peremptorily to cease prying. He
+kicked Hart under the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hi!&rdquo; yelled Wally. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter? Strike your
+matches on your own shin, not mine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Peters is announcing that the discussion is now closed,&rdquo; said
+Winter firmly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. He needn&rsquo;t emphasize the warning by a hob-nailed boot.
+When my injured feelings have recovered I&rsquo;ll discourse to you of strange
+folk and stranger doings on the banks of the Rio de la Plata, and your stock as
+an Argentine plutocrat will rise one hundred per cent, next time you&rsquo;re
+badgered by a man who knows the country.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Meanwhile, Robinson is hot-foot on the Elkin trail,&rdquo; laughed
+Peters. &ldquo;His face was a study to-day when the groom supplied details of
+the picture-buying.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Furneaux wanted that transaction to be widely known,&rdquo; said Winter.
+&ldquo;He gave every publicity to it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did he secure a bargain, I wonder?&rdquo; said Grant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I expect so. He doesn&rsquo;t waste his hard-earned money, even for
+official purposes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Winter was well aware of, and kept to himself one phase of the art deal, at
+any rate. Furneaux had persuaded Siddle to fasten two bulky packages with
+string!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was shaving next morning when his colleague entered, spruce as ever in
+attire, but looking rather weary. The little man flung himself at full length
+on Winter&rsquo;s bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Been up all night,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;Chemical analysis is
+fascinating but slow work&mdash;like watching a moth evolve from a grub. Had a
+fearful job, too, to get an analyst to chuck a theater and attend to business.
+The blighter talked of office hours. <i>Cré nom</i>! Ten till four, and an hour
+and a half for lunch! Why can&rsquo;t we run <i>our</i> show on those lines,
+James!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter finished carefully the left side of his broad expanse of face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You came down by the mail, I suppose?&rdquo; he said casually.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a genius you are!&rdquo; sighed Furneaux. &ldquo;If <i>I</i> were
+trembling with expectation I could no more put a banal question like that than
+swallow the razor after I was done with it. You might at least have the common
+decency to thank me for leaving you to gorge on rare meats and vintage wines
+while I dallied with the deadly railway sandwich.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter scraped the other cheek, his chin, and upper lip.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I go to the bathroom first, or listen?&rdquo; he inquired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, well, I&rsquo;m tired, and hiking these frail bones to bed till
+twelve, so I&rsquo;ll give you a condensed version,&rdquo; snapped Furneaux.
+&ldquo;Elkin&rsquo;s illness, begun by whiskey and over-excitement, developed
+into steady poisoning by Siddle. The chemist used a rare agent, too&mdash;pure
+nicotine&mdash;easy, in a sense, to detect, but capable of a dozen reasonable
+explanations when revealed by the post-mortem. But Elkin wasn&rsquo;t to be
+killed outright, I gather. The idea was to upset stomach and brain till he was
+half crazy. As you can read print when it&rsquo;s before your eyes, I
+needn&rsquo;t go into the matter of motive; Elkin&rsquo;s behavior supplies all
+details.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How about the knots? Hurry! I hate the feeling of soap drying on my
+skin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One running noose and twice two half hitches on each package.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good! Charles, we&rsquo;re going to pull off a real twister.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>We!</i> Well, that tikes it, as the girl said when her hat blew off
+with the fluffy transformation pinned to it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter rushed to the bathroom, and Furneaux crept languidly to bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Before going to Knoleworth, Mr. Franklin consulted with Tomlin as to a suitable
+dinner, to which the other guests staying in the inn, namely, Mr. Peters and
+the Scotland Yard gentleman&mdash;the little man with the French
+name&mdash;might be invited. This important point settled, Mr. Franklin caught
+an early train, and was absent all day, being, in fact, closeted with
+Superintendent Fowler and a Treasury solicitor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux was sound asleep long after twelve o&rsquo;clock, and swore at Tomlin
+in French when the landlord ventured to arouse him. Tomlin went downstairs
+scratching his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Least said soonest mended,&rdquo; he communed, &ldquo;but we may all be
+murdered in our beds if them&rsquo;s the sort of &rsquo;tecs we &rsquo;ave to
+look arter us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+However, he cheered up towards night. Ingerman, a lawyer, and some pressmen,
+arriving for the inquest, filled every available room, and the kitchen was
+redolent of good fare. All parties gathered in the dining-room, of course, and
+Ingerman had an eye for Mr. Franklin&rsquo;s party. The scraps of talk he
+overheard were nothing more exciting than the prospects of a certain horse for
+the Stewards&rsquo; Cup. Peters had the tip straight from the stables. A racing
+certainty, with a stone in hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After dinner the financier was surprised when Furneaux approached, and tapped
+him professionally on the shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A word with you outside,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman was irritated&mdash;perhaps slightly alarmed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t we talk here?&rdquo; he said, in that singularly melodious
+voice of his.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better not, but I shan&rsquo;t detain you more than five minutes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything my legal adviser might wish to hear?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not from me. Tell him yourself afterwards, if you like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the quiet street the detective suddenly linked arms with his companion.
+Probably he smiled sardonically when he felt a telltale quiver run through
+Ingerman&rsquo;s lanky frame.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve brought down Norris, I see?&rdquo; he began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Meaning to make things hot for Grant tomorrow?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Meaning to give justice the materials&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cut the cackle, Isidor. I know you, and it&rsquo;s high time you knew
+me. Grant has retained Belcher. Ah! that gets you, does it? You haven&rsquo;t
+forgotten Belcher. Now, be reasonable! Or, rather, don&rsquo;t run your head
+into a noose. Grant had no more to do with the murder of your wife than you
+had. Call off Norris, and Grant withdraws Belcher. Twig? It&rsquo;s dead easy,
+because the Treasury solicitor will simply ask for another week&rsquo;s
+adjournment, as the police are not ready to go on. In the meantime, you pay off
+Norris, and save your face. Is it a deal?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I to understand&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t wriggle! The key of the situation is held by Belcher. Name
+of a pipe! What prompting does Belcher need from me or anybody else after the
+Bokfontein Lands case?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Isidor, this is the last word. I was at the funeral on Saturday, and met
+your wife&rsquo;s mother and sister. They do love you, don&rsquo;t they?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Ingerman died game.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I have your assurance that Mr. Grant is really innocent of
+Adelaide&rsquo;s death, that is sufficient,&rdquo; he said slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, if it pleases you to put it that way, I&rsquo;m agreeable. Which
+is your road? Back to the hotel? I&rsquo;m for a short stroll. Mind you, no
+wobbling! Go straight, and I&rsquo;ll attend to Belcher. But, good Lord! How
+his eyes will sparkle when they light on you to-morrow!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Neither the redoubtable Belcher, nor the Bokfontein Lands, nor poor Adelaide
+Melhuish&rsquo;s mother and sister may figure further in this chronicle. The
+inquest opened at the appointed hour next day, and was closed down again for a
+week with a celerity that was most disappointing both to the jury and the
+general public. Of three legal luminaries present only one, the Treasury man,
+uttered a few bald words. Belcher and Norris did not even announce the names of
+their clients. Norris noticed that Belcher surveyed Ingerman with a grim smile,
+but thought nothing of it until he received a check later in the week. Then he
+made some inquiries, and smiled himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The foreman of the jury looked a trifle pinched, though his cheeks bore two
+spots of hectic color. Mr. Franklin, drawn to the court by curiosity, happened
+to glance at him once, and found him gazing at Furneaux in a peculiarly
+thoughtful manner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin, thriving on a diet of tea and eggs, was also interested in the
+representative of Scotland Yard. He seemed to ignore Grant entirely. Doris
+Martin was not in court. Superintendent Fowler had called about half past nine
+to tell her she would not be asked to attend that day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Near Mr. Franklin sat a few village notabilities, who, since they had not the
+remotest connection with anyone concerned in the tragedy, have been left
+hitherto in their Olympian solitude. He listened to their comments.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As usual, the police are utterly at sea,&rdquo; said one.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, &lsquo;following up important clews,&rsquo; the newspapers
+say,&rdquo; scoffed another.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a disgraceful thing if a crime like this goes undetected and
+unpunished.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Which is the Scotland Yard man!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The small chap, in the blue suit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? <i>That</i> little rat!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, he&rsquo;s sharp. I met a man in the train and he told
+me&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Franklin grinned amiably; Hobbs, the butcher, intercepting his eye, grinned
+back. It is not difficult to imagine what portion of the foregoing small talk
+reached Furneaux subsequently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Oddly enough, both detectives had missed a brief but illuminating incident
+which took place in the Hare and Hounds the previous night, while Winter was
+finishing a cigar with Peters, and Furneaux was bludgeoning Ingerman into
+compliance with his wishes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin&rsquo;s remarkable improvement in health was commented on by Hobbs, and
+Siddle took the credit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That last mixture has proved beneficial, then?&rdquo; he said, eying the
+horse-dealer closely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Top-hole,&rdquo; smirked Elkin. &ldquo;But it&rsquo;s only fair to say
+that I&rsquo;ve chucked whiskey, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you finish the bottle?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Which bottle?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mine, of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nearly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t take any more. It was decidedly strong. I&rsquo;ll send a
+boy early to-morrow morning with a first-rate tonic, and you might give him any
+old medicine bottles you possess. I&rsquo;m running short.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin hesitated a second or two.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell my housekeeper to look &rsquo;em up,&rdquo; he said.
+After the inquest he communicated this episode to Furneaux as a great joke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Queer, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; he guffawed. &ldquo;A couple of dozen
+bottles went back, as I&rsquo;m always getting stuff for the gees, but those
+two weren&rsquo;t among &rsquo;em. You took care of that, eh? When will you
+have the analysis?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll be fully a week yet,&rdquo; said the detective.
+&ldquo;Government offices are not run like express trains, and this is a free
+job, you know. But, be advised by me. Stick to plain food, and throw physic to
+the dogs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another singular fact, unobserved by the public at large, was that a policeman,
+either Robinson or a stranger, patrolled the high-street all day and all night,
+while no one outside official circles was aware that other members of the force
+watched <i>The Hollies</i>, or were secreted among the trees on the cliffside,
+from dusk to dawn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Next morning, however, there was real cause for talk. Siddle&rsquo;s shop was
+closed. Over the letter-box, neatly printed, was gummed a notice:
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>
+<i>&ldquo;Called away on business. Will open for one hour after arrival of 7 p.
+m. train. T. S.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+Everyone who passed stopped to read. Even Mr. Franklin joined Furneaux and
+Peters in a stroll across the road to have a look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want you a minute,&rdquo; said the big man suddenly to Furneaux. There
+was that in his tone which forbade questioning, so Peters sheered off, well
+content with the share permitted him in the inquiry thus far.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That fellow, Hart, is no fool,&rdquo; went on Winter rapidly. &ldquo;He
+said last night &lsquo;How does one get evidence?&rsquo; It was not easy to
+answer. Siddle has gone to his mother&rsquo;s funeral. What do you
+think!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;d turn me into a housebreaker, would you?&rdquo; whined
+Furneaux bitterly. &ldquo;I must do the job, of course, just because I&rsquo;m
+a little one. Well, well! After a long and honorable career I have to become a
+sneak thief. It may cost me my pension.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no real difficulty. An orchard&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bet you a new hat I went over the ground before you did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get over it quickly now, and get something out of it, and I&rsquo;ll
+<i>give</i> you a new hat. Got any tools?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I fetched &rsquo;em from town Tuesday morning,&rdquo; chortled Furneaux.
+&ldquo;So now who&rsquo;s the brainy one?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He skipped into the hotel, while Winter went to the station to make sure of
+Siddle&rsquo;s departure and destination. Yes, the chemist had taken a return
+ticket to Epsom, where a strip of dank meadow-land on the road to Esher marks
+the last resting-place of many of London&rsquo;s epileptics. On returning to
+the high-street, Winter lighted a cigar, a somewhat common occurrence in his
+everyday life, where-upon Furneaux walked swiftly up the hill. A farmer, living
+near the center of the village, owned a rather showy cob. Winter found the man,
+and persuaded him to trot the animal to and fro in front of the hotel. There
+was a good deal of noise and hoof-clattering, and people came to their doors to
+see what was going on. Obviously, if they were watching the antics of a
+skittish two-year-old in the high-street, their eyes were blind to proceedings
+in the back premises. Even the postmaster and his daughter were interested
+onlookers, and a policeman, who might have put a summary end to the display,
+vanished as though by magic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Luckily, Winter was a good judge of a horse. When the cob was stabled, and the
+farmer came to the inn to have a drink, he was forced to admit a tendency to
+cow hocks, which, it would seem, is held a fatal blemish in the Argentine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had dodged into a lane and thence to a bridle-path which
+emerged near Bob Smith&rsquo;s forge. When he had traversed, roughly speaking,
+one-half of a rectangle in which the Hare and Hounds occupied the center of one
+of the longer sides, he climbed a gate and followed a hedge. Though not losing
+a second, he took every precaution to remain unseen, and, to the best of his
+belief, gained an inclosed yard at the back of Siddle&rsquo;s premises without
+having attracted attention. He slipped the catch of a kitchen window only to
+discover that the sash was fastened by screws also. The lock of the kitchen
+door yielded to persuasion, but there were bolts above and below. A wire screen
+in a larder window was impregnable. Short of cutting out a pane of glass, he
+could not effect an entry on the ground floor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nimble as a squirrel, and risking everything, he climbed to the roof of an
+outhouse, and tried a bedroom window. Here he succeeded. When the catch was
+forced, there were no further obstacles. In he went, pausing only to look
+around and see if any curious or alarmed eye was watching him. He wondered why
+every back yard on that side of the high-street was empty, not even a
+maid-servant or woman washing clothes being in sight, but understood and
+grinned when the commotion Winter was creating came in view from a front room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he undertook a methodical search, working with a rapid yet painstaking
+thoroughness which missed nothing. From a wardrobe he selected an overcoat and
+pair of trousers which reeked with turpentine. They were old and soiled
+garments, very different from the well-cut black coat and waistcoat, with
+striped cloth trousers, worn daily by the chemist. He drew a blank in the
+remainder of the upstairs rooms, which included a sitting-room, though he
+devoted fully quarter of an hour to reading the titles of Siddle&rsquo;s books.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A safe in the little dispensing closet at the back of the shop promised sheer
+defiance until Furneaux saw a bunch of keys resting beside a methylated spirit
+lamp.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&rsquo;Twas ever thus!&rdquo; he cackled, lighting the lamp.
+&ldquo;Heaven help us poor detectives if it wasn&rsquo;t!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In a word, since murder will out, Siddle had forgotten his keys! Probably, he
+had gone to the safe for money, and, while writing the notice as to his
+absence, had laid down the keys and omitted to pick them up again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux disregarded ledgers and account books. He examined a bank pass-book
+and a check-book. In a drawer which contained these and a quantity of gold he
+found a small, leather-bound book with a lock, which no key on the bunch was
+tiny enough to fit. A bit of twisted wire soon overcame this difficulty, and
+Furneaux began to read.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There were quaint diagrams, and surveyor&rsquo;s sketches, both in plan and
+section, with curious notes, and occasional records of what appeared to be
+passages from letters or conversations. The detective read, and read, referring
+back and forth, absorbed in his task, no doubt, but evidently puzzled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last, he stuffed the book into a pocket, completed his scrutiny of the safe,
+examined the bottles on the shelf labeled &ldquo;poisons,&rdquo; and took a
+sample of the colorless contents of one bottle marked
+&ldquo;C<sub>10</sub>H<sub>14</sub>N<sub>2</sub>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he went to the kitchen, replaced all catches and the lock of the door, and
+let himself out by the way he had come.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter saw him from afar, and hastened upstairs to the private sitting-room.
+Furneaux appeared there soon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said the Chief Inspector eagerly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Got him, I think,&rdquo; said Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not much might be gathered from that monosyllabic question and its answer, but
+its significance in Siddle&rsquo;s ears, could he have heard, would have been
+that of the passing bell tolling for the dead.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap18"></a>Chapter XVIII.<br />
+The Truth at Last</h2>
+
+<p>
+Not often did Furneaux qualify an opinion by that dubious phrase, &ldquo;I
+think,&rdquo; which, in its colloquial sense, implies that the thought contains
+a reservation as to possible error.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter looked anxious. Both he and his colleague knew well when to drop the
+good-natured banter they delighted in. They were face to face now with issues
+of life and death, dark and sinister conditions which had already destroyed one
+life, threatened another, and might envisage further horrors. Small wonder,
+then, if the Chief Inspector&rsquo;s usually cheerful face was clouded, or that
+his hopes should be somewhat dashed when Furneaux seemed to lack the abounding
+confidence which was his most marked characteristic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got something, I see,&rdquo; he said, trying to speak
+encouragingly, and glancing at the bundle of clothing which Furneaux had
+wrapped in a newspaper before dropping from the bedroom window of
+Siddle&rsquo;s house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, a lot. What to make of it is the puzzle. We either go ahead on the
+flimsiest of evidence or I carry out another housebreaking job this afternoon
+and restore things in status quo. First, the bundle&mdash;an old covert-coating
+overcoat and a pair of frayed trousers which probably draped Owd Ben&rsquo;s
+ghost. They&rsquo;ve been soaked in turpentine, which, chemist or no chemist,
+is still the best agent for removing stains. We&rsquo;ll put &rsquo;em under
+the glass after we&rsquo;ve examined the book. Siddle keeps a sort of diary, a
+series of jumbled memoranda. If we can extract nutriment out of that we may
+have something tangible to go upon. Let&rsquo;s begin at the end.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Opening the leather-bound note-book, Furneaux stood with his back to the
+window. Winter, owing to his superior height, could look over the lesser
+man&rsquo;s shoulder. Many an occult document affecting the famous crimes and
+social or dynastic intrigues of the previous decade had these two examined in
+that way, the main advantage of scrutiny in common being that they could
+compare readings or suggested readings without loss of time, and with the
+original manuscript before both pairs of eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the first instance, there were no dates&mdash;only scraps of sentences, or
+comments. The concluding entry in the book was:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<i>&ldquo;A tactical error? Perhaps. Immovable.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then, taking the order backward:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<i>&ldquo;Scout the very notion of such an infamy. You and every scandal-monger
+in S. may do your worst.&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;Free to confess that events have opened my eyes to the truth, so, not
+for the first time, out of evil comes good.&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;A prig.&rdquo;<br />
+&ldquo;Visit for such a purpose a piece of unheard-of impudence.&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+
+<p>
+These were all on one page.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite clearly a <i>précis</i> of Grant&rsquo;s remarks when Siddle
+called on Monday,&rdquo; said Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At any other time, Furneaux would have waxed sarcastic. Now he merely nodded.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stops in a queer way,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;Not a word about the
+inquest or the missing bottles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The preceding page held even more disjointed entries, which, nevertheless,
+provided a fair synopsis of Doris&rsquo;s spirited words on the Sunday
+afternoon.
+</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>
+<i>&ldquo;Malice and ignorance.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Patient because of years.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Loyal comrade. Shall remain.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Code.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;No difference in friendship.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;E. hopeless. Contempt.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Skipping&mdash;good.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+On the next page:<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Isidor G. Ingerman. Useful. Inquire.&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;E.&rsquo;s boasts? Nonsensical, surely!&rdquo;<br />
+<br />
+&ldquo;Why has D. gone?&rdquo;</i>
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>
+Both men paused at that line.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Detective?&rdquo; suggested Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s how I take it,&rdquo; agreed Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then came a sign: &ldquo;+10%.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Elkin&rsquo;s mixture was not &lsquo;as before.&rsquo; It was
+fortified,&rdquo; grinned Furneaux. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the exact increase of
+nicotine. By the way, I have a sample. We can take care of him on that charge,
+without a shadow of doubt.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter blew softly on the back of his friend&rsquo;s head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;re thorough, Charles, thorough!&rdquo; he murmured.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a treat to work with you when you get really busy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux ran his thumb across the end of several leaves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can tell you now,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that there&rsquo;s nothing of
+real value in the earlier notes. So far as I can judge, they refer either to a
+sort of settlement with his wife or chance phrases used by Doris Martin which
+might imply that she was heart whole and fancy free. There&rsquo;s not a bally
+word dealing with the murder, or that can be twisted into the vaguest allusion
+to it. But here&rsquo;s a plan and section which have a sort of significance.
+I&rsquo;ve seen the place, so recognized it, or thought I did. We must check
+it, of course. Here you are! You know the footbridge across the river from Bush
+Walk?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The eastern end is supported on a hollow pier of masonry, in which one
+might tog up unseen. These drawings would be useful as an <i>Aide Memoire</i>
+on a dark night. A false step, with the river in flood, might be
+awkward.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that on the opposite page?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I give it up&mdash;at present.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This somewhat rare display of modesty on Furneaux&rsquo;s part was readily
+understandable. A series of straight lines and angles conveyed very little hint
+of their purport; but Winter smiled behind his friend&rsquo;s back.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been prowling about this wretched inn longer than you,&rdquo;
+he said. &ldquo;Look outside, to the left.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t need to, now,&rdquo; cackled Furneaux. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the
+profile of a wall, gate, and outhouse along which one could reach the window of
+the club-room. Would you mind stopping grinning like a Cheshire cat?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything else?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. This one:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&lsquo;<i>S. M.? 1820</i>.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That beats you, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dished completely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doris Martin, as usual, supplies the answer. An old volume of the
+<i>Sussex Miscellany</i>, probably that for 1820, contains the full story of
+Owd Ben. I might have mentioned it to you, but focussed on current events.
+Siddle has it among his books, which, by the way, are made up largely of
+scientific and popular criminal records.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that the lot?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid so. Have a look.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just a minute. I want to think.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Winter turned and gazed through the open window. Seldom had a more gracious
+June decked England with garlands. The hour was then high noon, and a pastoral
+landscape was drowned in sunshine. The Chief Inspector cut the end off a cigar
+dreamily but with care.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Broadmoor&mdash;perhaps,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;But we can&rsquo;t
+hang him yet, Charles. A couple of knots and a theory won&rsquo;t do for the
+Assizes. We haven&rsquo;t a solitary witness. Hardly a night but he goes home
+at 9.30. If only he had killed Grant! But&mdash;Adelaide Melhuish!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In sheer despair he struck a match.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, let&rsquo;s overhaul these duds,&rdquo; said Furneaux savagely.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll chance the dinner hour for the return visit. Steynholme folk
+eat at half past twelve to the tick, and you can hardly get up another horse
+show.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a knock at the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me in, quick!&rdquo; came Peters&rsquo;s voice, and the handle was
+tried forcibly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go away! I&rsquo;m busy!&rdquo; cried Winter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is urgent, devilish urgent,&rdquo; said Peters.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux snatched up the note-book, and Winter tore off his coat, throwing it
+over the package which reposed in an armchair. Then the Chief Inspector
+unlocked the door, blocking the way aggressively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, I must say&mdash;&rdquo; he began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Peters clutched his shoulder with a nervous hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Siddle has just hurried up the street and entered his shop,&rdquo; he
+hissed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The journalist had not only kept his eyes open, but excelled in the art of
+putting two and two together, an arithmetical calculation which, as applied to
+the affairs of life, is not so readily arrived at as many people imagine.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Buncoed! He&rsquo;s missed his keys!&rdquo; shrilled Furneaux.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Confound the man! He might at least have attended his mother&rsquo;s
+funeral!&rdquo; stormed Winter, retrieving his coat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thus it happened that Furneaux was the first down the stairs, though the three
+emerged from the door of the inn on each other&rsquo;s heels. A stout man, in
+all likelihood a farmer with horses for sale, was mounting the two steps which
+led to the entrance. His head was down, and his weight forward, so he
+successfully resisted Furneaux&rsquo;s impact, but Peters and Winter were
+irresistible, and he tumbled over with a muffled yell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that instant Siddle quitted his shop, and headed straight for the post
+office. In his right hand he carried an automatic pistol. The street was wide.
+Furneaux, absolutely fearless in the performance of his duty, ran in a curve so
+as to bar the chemist&rsquo;s path, and it was then that Siddle saw him. The
+man&rsquo;s face was terrible to behold. His eyes were rolling, his teeth
+gnashing; he had bitten his tongue and cheeks, and his stertorous breathing
+ejected from his mouth foam tinged with blood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; he screamed in a falsetto of fury, &ldquo;not yet, little
+man, not yet!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With that he raised the pistol, and fired point-blank at the detective.
+Furneaux ducked, and seized a small stone, being otherwise quite unarmed. He
+threw it with unerring aim, and, as was determined subsequently, struck the
+hand holding the weapon. Possibly, almost by a miracle, the blow caused a
+faulty pressure, because the action jammed, though the pistol itself was most
+accurate and deadly in its properties.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time Winter, sweeping Peters aside, was within ten feet of the maniac,
+who turned and ran into the shop. The door, a solid one, fitted with a spring
+lock, slammed in the Chief Inspector&rsquo;s face, and resisted a mighty effort
+to burst it open. A few yards away stood an empty, two-wheeled cart, uptilted,
+and Winter demanded the help of a few men who had gathered on seeing or hearing
+the hubbub.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I call on you in the King&rsquo;s name!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;We
+must force that door! Then stand clear, all of you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He raced to the cart, and, when his object was perceived, willing hands
+assisted in converting the heavy vehicle into a battering-ram. The gradient of
+the hill favored the attack, which was made at an acute angle, and the first
+assault smashed the lock. There were a couple of seconds&rsquo; delay while the
+cart was backed out, and the detectives rushed in, Furneaux leading, because
+Winter gave his great physical strength to the shafts. But the Chief Inspector
+grabbed his tiny friend by the collar as the latter darted around the counter
+and into the dispensary in the rear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two of us can&rsquo;t go abreast, and you&rsquo;ll only get hurt,&rdquo;
+he said, speaking with a calmness that was majestic in the circumstances.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The nicotine is gone!&rdquo; yelped Furneaux; both saw that the safe
+stood open.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Behind the dispensary was a small passage, whence the stairs mounted, and a
+door led to the kitchen. That door was closed now, though it was open when
+Furneaux ransacked the house. Therefore, they made that way at once. No
+ordinary lock could resist Winter&rsquo;s shoulder, and he soon mastered this
+barrier. But the kitchen was empty&mdash;the outer door locked but unbolted.
+Since it is practically impossible for the strongest man to pull a door open,
+the two made for the window, and tore at screws and catch with eager fingers.
+Furneaux, light and nimble-footed, scrambled through first, so it was he who
+found Siddle lying in the orchard beyond the wall of the yard. The unhappy
+wretch had swallowed nearly the whole remaining contents of the bottle of
+nicotine, or enough to poison a score of robust men. He presented a lamentable
+and distressing spectacle. Some of the more venturesome passers-by, who had
+crowded after the detectives and Peters, could not bear to look on, and slunk
+away in horror.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux soon brought an emetic, which failed to act. Siddle breathed his last
+while the glass was at his lips.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In that moment of crisis only three men did not lose their heads. Winter
+cleared away the gapers, while Furneaux remained with the body. P. C. Robinson
+came up the hill at a run, and was sent for a stretcher, bringing from
+Hobbs&rsquo;s shop the very one on which the ill-fated Adelaide Melhuish was
+carried from the river bank.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But where was Peters? In the post office, writing the first of a series of
+thrilling dispatches to a London evening newspaper. What journalist ever had a
+more sensational murder-case to supply &ldquo;copy&rdquo;? And when was
+&ldquo;special correspondent&rdquo; ever better primed for the task? He wrote
+on, and on, till the telegraphist cried halt. Then he hied him to London by
+train, and began the more ambitious &ldquo;story&rdquo; for next morning. What
+he did not know he guessed correctly. A fagged but triumphant man was Jimmie
+Peters when he &ldquo;blew in&rdquo; to the Savage Club at 1 A.M. to seek
+sustenance and a whiskey and soda before going home.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Furneaux was white and shaken when Winter escorted the stretcher-bearers to the
+orchard.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Poor devil!&rdquo; he said, as the men lifted the body.
+&ldquo;Foredoomed from birth! We can eradicate these diseases from cattle. Why
+not from men!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The villagers could not understand him. Already, in some mysterious way, the
+word had gone around that Siddle had murdered the actress, and taken his own
+life to avoid arrest, after shooting at the detective who was hot on his trail.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Not until Peters&rsquo;s articles came back to Steynholme did the public at
+large realize that the chemist undoubtedly meant to kill Doris Martin. He was
+going straight to the post office when the way was barred by Furneaux. The
+bullet which missed the latter actually pierced the zinc plate of the
+letter-box, and scored a furrow, inches long, in an oak counter which it struck
+laterally.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The village did not recover its poise for hours. Grant and Hart, to whom Bates
+brought the news about one o&rsquo;clock, rose from an untasted luncheon and
+hurried to the high-street. Knots of people stared at Grant, some sheepishly,
+others with frank relief, because all who knew him liked him. One man, a
+retired ironmonger and an impulsive fellow, came forward and wrung his hand
+heartily. A few prominent residents followed suit. Grant was greatly
+embarrassed, but managed to endure these awkward if well-meant congratulations.
+There could be no mistaking their intent. He had been tried for murder at the
+bar of public opinion, and was now formally acquitted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even Fred Elkin, ignorant as yet of his own peril, yielded to the influences of
+the moment and bustled through the crowd.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Grant,&rdquo; he cried outspokenly, &ldquo;I ask your pardon. I seem
+to have made a d&mdash;d fool of myself!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Easier done than said,&rdquo; chimed in Hart. &ldquo;But, among all this
+bell-ringing, can anyone tell what has actually happened? Where&rsquo;s
+Peters?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In the post office.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two went in, and found the journalist scribbling against time. Hart coolly
+grabbed a few slips of manuscript, and commenced reading. Grant looked about
+for Doris. She was not visible, but Mr. Martin, pallid and nervous, nodded
+toward the sitting-room. The younger man, taking the gesture as a tacit
+invitation, entered the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doris was sitting there, crying bitterly. Poor girl! She had seen that portion
+of the drama which was enacted in the street, and the shock of it was still
+poignant. She looked up and met her lover&rsquo;s eyes. Neither uttered a word,
+but Grant did a very wise thing. He caught her by the shoulders, raised her to
+her feet, and, after kissing her squarely on the lips, gave her a comforting
+hug.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It will be all right now, Doris,&rdquo; he whispered tenderly.
+&ldquo;Such thunderstorms clear the air.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+An eminent novelist might have found many more ornate ways of avowing his
+sentiments, but never a more satisfactory one. At any rate, it served, so what
+more need be said?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Certain rills of evidence accumulated into a fair-sized stream before night
+fell. P. C.  Robinson, for instance, scored a point by ascertaining that Peggy
+Smith had seen Furneaux dropping from the bedroom window of the chemist&rsquo;s
+shop. She was some hundreds of yards away, and could not be positive that some
+man, perhaps a glazier, had not been there legitimately effecting repairs.
+Still, when she met Siddle hurrying from the station, she told him of the
+incident.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He never even thanked me,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;but broke into a run.
+The look in his eyes was awful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The girl had, in fact, confirmed his worst fears, and her neighborly solicitude
+had merely hastened the end.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Again, the railway officials showed that Siddle had returned from Victoria
+instead of taking train to the asylum. Furneaux had guessed aright. The
+discovery that his keys had been left behind drove the man into a panic of
+fright.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It took nearly three weeks before the unhappy business was finally disposed of.
+A Treasury solicitor was given the chance of his career by the medico-legal
+disquisition which cleared up an extraordinary record. The annals of the
+disease which predisposed Theodore Siddle to crime went back many years. He was
+a fairly wealthy man by inheritance, and adopted the profession of chemistry as
+a hobby. One fact stood out boldly. He was aware of his hereditary taint, and
+had settled down in Steynholme believing that a quiet life, free from care or
+the distractions of a town, would enable him to overcome it. Probably, the
+lawyer held, the man owned two distinct individualities, and the baser
+instincts gradually overpowered the humane ones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of course, the whole history of those trying days had to come out in open
+court, and the postmaster&rsquo;s daughter was given a descriptive and
+pictorial boom which many an actress envied. Peters was restored to grace when
+he showed plainly that his articles had kept the fickle barometer of public
+opinion at &ldquo;set fair,&rdquo; in so far as Grant and Doris were concerned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But,&rdquo; as Hart drawled during a dinner of reconciliation,
+&ldquo;you needn&rsquo;t have been so infernally personal about my hat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Grant and Doris were married before the year was out. Mr. Martin retired on a
+pension, and the young couple decided that they could never dissociate <i>The
+Hollies</i> from the tragic memories bound up with its ghost-window and lawn.
+So the place was sold, and Steynholme knows &ldquo;the postmaster&rsquo;s
+daughter&rdquo; no more. Winter and Furneaux week-ended with them recently at a
+pretty little nook in Dorset. Hart, just home from the Balkans, traveled from
+town with the detectives, and Doris, a radiant young matron, was as flippant as
+the best of them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One evening, when the men were sitting late in the smoking-room, the talk
+turned on the now half-forgotten drama in which the hapless Adelaide Melhuish
+played her last r&ocirc;le.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I met Peters in the Savage Club the other night,&rdquo; said Hart,
+filling the negro-head pipe with care while he talked, &ldquo;and he was
+chortling about his &lsquo;psychological study,&rsquo; as he called it, of that
+unfortunate chemist. He still clings to the theory that your wife was the
+intended victim, Grant. Do you agree with him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rubbish!&rdquo; cried Furneaux, before his host could answer. &ldquo;At
+best, Peters is only a clever ass. Siddle never had the remotest notion of
+killing Miss Doris Martin, as Mrs. Grant was then. We shall never know for
+certain just what happened, but there are elements in the affair which give
+ground for reasonable guesswork. The first thing that impressed Winter and
+me&mdash;at least, I suppose I really evolved the idea, though my bulky friend
+elaborated it&rdquo; (whereat Winter smiled forgivingly, and beheaded a fresh
+Havana) &ldquo;was the complete noiselessness of the crime. Here we had Mr.
+Grant startled by the face at the window, and actually searching outside the
+house for the ghostly visitant, while Miss Doris was gazing at <i>The
+Hollies</i> from the other side of the river, and not a sound was heard, though
+it was a summer&rsquo;s night, without a breath of wind, and at an hour when
+the splash of a fish leaping in the stream would have created a commotion. Now,
+Miss Melhuish was an active and well-built young woman, an actress, too, and
+therefore likely to meet an emergency without instant collapse. Yet she allows
+herself to be struck dead or insensible without cry or struggle! How do you
+account for it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go on, Charles; don&rsquo;t be theatrical,&rdquo; jeered Winter.
+&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got the story pat. Even that simile of the jumping fish is
+mine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True,&rdquo; agreed Furneaux. &ldquo;I only brought it in as a sop. But,
+to continue, as the tub-thumper says. Isn&rsquo;t it permissible to assume that
+Siddle accompanied the lady, either by prior arrangement or by contriving a
+meeting which looked like mere chance? We know that she went to his shop. We
+know, too, that he was clever and unscrupulous, and any allusion to Grant would
+stir his wits to the uttermost. He would see instantly how interested Miss
+Melhuish was in the owner of <i>The Hollies</i>, while she, a smart Londoner,
+would recognize in Siddle an informant worth all the rest of the babblers in
+Steynholme. At any rate, no matter how the thing was brought about, it is
+self-evident that Siddle brought his intended victim into the grounds, and told
+her of the small uncovered window through which she could peer at Grant after
+Miss Doris had gone. He showed her which path to use, and undoubtedly waited
+for her, and stayed her flight when Grant rose from his chair. She was close to
+him, and wholly unafraid, finding in him an ally. They were purposely hidden,
+in the gloom of dense foliage, and remained there until Grant had closed the
+window again. Then, and not till then, did the murderer strike, probably
+stifling her with his free hand. He had the implement in his pocket. The rope
+was secreted among the bushes. He could carry through the whole wretched crime
+in little more than a minute. And his psychology went far deeper than Peters
+gave him credit for. He had weighed up the situation to a nicety. No matter who
+found the body, Mr. Grant was saddled with a responsibility which might well
+prove disastrous, and was almost sure to affect his relations with the Martin
+household. For instance, nothing short of a miracle could have stopped Robinson
+from arresting him on a charge of murder.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You, then, are a miracle?&rdquo; put in Hart, pointing the pipe at the
+little man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To the person of ordinary intelligence&mdash;yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;After that,&rdquo; said Winter, &ldquo;there is nothing more to be said.
+Let&rsquo;s see who secures the pocket marvel as a partner at auction.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>
+As a fitting end to the strange story of wayward love and maniacal frenzy which
+found an unusual habitat in a secluded hamlet like Steynholme, a small vignette
+of its normal life may be etched in. The trope is germane to the scene.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On a wet afternoon in October Hobbs and Elkin had adjourned to the Hare and
+Hounds. Tomlin was reading a newspaper spread on the bar counter. He was alone.
+The day was Friday, and the last &ldquo;commercial&rdquo; of the week had
+departed by the mid-day train.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wot&rsquo;s yer tonic?&rdquo; demanded the butcher.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A glass of beer,&rdquo; threw Elkin over his shoulder. He had walked to
+the window, and was gazing moodily at the sign of the &ldquo;plumber and
+decorator&rdquo; who had taken Siddle&rsquo;s shop. The village could not
+really support an out-and-out chemist, so a local grocer had elected to stock
+patent medicines as a side line.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tomlin made play with a beer-pump.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s yer own?&rdquo; inquired Hobbs hospitably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin came and drank. After an interlude, Tomlin ran a finger down a column of
+the newspaper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By the way, Fred, didn&rsquo;t you tell me about that funny little chap,
+Furno, the &rsquo;tec, buyin&rsquo; some pictures of yours?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did. Had him there, anyhow,&rdquo; chuckled Elkin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How much did you stick &rsquo;im for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Three guineas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They can&rsquo;t ha&rsquo; bin this lot, then, though I&rsquo;ve a
+notion it wur the same name, &lsquo;Aylesbury Steeplechase.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What are you talking about?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Tomlin turned the paper, and Elkin read:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At their monthly art sale on Wednesday Messrs. Brown, Jenkins and Brown
+disposed of an almost unique set of colored prints, by F. Smyth, dated 1841.
+The series of six represented various phases of the long defunct Aylesbury
+Steeplechase, &ldquo;The Start,&rdquo; &ldquo;The Brook,&rdquo; &ldquo;The
+In-and-Out,&rdquo; and so on to &ldquo;The Finish.&rdquo; It is understood that
+this notable series, produced during the best period of the art, and at the
+very zenith of Smyth&rsquo;s fame, were acquired recently by a Sussex amateur
+at a low price. Bidding began at fifty guineas, and rose quickly to one hundred
+and twenty, at which figure Messrs. Carnioli and Bruschi became the owners.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elkin read the paragraph twice, until the words burnt into his brain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said thickly. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re not mine. No such
+luck!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Postmaster's Daughter, by Louis Tracy
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Postmaster's Daughter , by Louis Tracy
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
+
+Title: The Postmaster's Daughter
+
+Author: Louis Tracy
+
+Release Date: November 17, 2003  [eBook #10110]
+
+Language: English
+
+Chatacter set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER ***
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+
+
+THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER
+
+by Louis Tracy
+
+Author of "The Terms of Surrender," "The Wings of the Morning,"
+etc., etc.
+
+1916
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER
+
+       I. THE FACE AT THE WINDOW
+
+      II. P. C ROBINSON "TAKES A LINE"
+
+     III. THE GATHERING CLOUDS
+
+      IV. A CABAL
+
+       V. THE SEEDS OF MISCHIEF
+
+      VI. SCOTLAND YARD TAKES A HAND
+
+     VII. "ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS"
+
+    VIII. AN INTERRUPTED SYMPOSIUM
+
+      IX. HE WHOM THE CAP FITS--
+
+       X. THE CASE AGAINST GRANT
+
+      XI. P. C. ROBINSON TAKES ANOTHER LINE
+
+     XII. WHEREIN WINTER GETS TO WORK
+
+    XIII. CONCERNING THEODORE SIDDLE
+
+     XIV. ON BOTH SIDES OF THE RIVER
+
+      XV. A MATTER OF HEREDITY
+
+     XVI. FURNEAUX MAKES A SUCCESSFUL BID
+
+    XVII. AN OFFICIAL HOUSEBREAKER
+
+   XVIII. THE TRUTH AT LAST
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE FACE AT THE WINDOW
+
+
+John Menzies Grant, having breakfasted, filled his pipe, lit it, and
+strolled out bare-headed into the garden. The month was June, that
+glorious rose-month which gladdened England before war-clouds darkened
+the summer sky. As the hour was nine o'clock, it is highly probable that
+many thousands of men were then strolling out into many thousands of
+gardens in precisely similar conditions; but, given youth, good health,
+leisure, and a fair amount of money, it is even more probable that few
+among the smaller number thus roundly favored by fortune looked so
+perplexed as Grant.
+
+Moreover, his actions were eloquent as words. A spacious French window
+had been cut bodily out of the wall of an old-fashioned room, and was now
+thrown wide to admit the flower-scented breeze. Between this window and
+the right-hand angle of the room was a smaller window, square-paned, high
+above the ground level, and deeply recessed--in fact just the sort of
+window which one might expect to find in a farm-house built two centuries
+ago, when light and air were rigorously excluded from interiors. The two
+windows told the history of The Hollies at a glance. The little one had
+served the needs of a "best" room for several generations of Sussex
+yeomen. Then had come some iconoclast who hewed a big rectangle through
+the solid stone-work, converted the oak-panelled apartment into a most
+comfortable dining-room, built a new wing with a gable, changed a
+farm-yard into a flower-bordered lawn, and generally played havoc with
+Georgian utility while carrying out a determined scheme of landscape
+gardening.
+
+Happily, the wrecker was content to let well enough alone after enlarging
+the house, laying turf, and planting shrubs and flowers. He found The
+Hollies a ramshackle place, and left it even more so, but with a new note
+of artistry and several unexpectedly charming vistas. Thus, the big
+double window opened straight into an irregular garden which merged
+insensibly into a sloping lawn bounded by a river-pool. The bank on the
+other side of the stream rose sharply and was well wooded. Above the
+crest showed the thatched roofs or red tiles of Steynholme, which was a
+village in the time of William the Conqueror, and has remained a village
+ever since. Frame this picture in flowering shrubs, evergreens, a few
+choice firs, a copper beech, and some sturdy oaks shadowing the lawn, and
+the prospect on a June morning might well have led out into the open any
+young man with a pipe.
+
+But John Menzies Grant seemed to have no eye for a scene that would have
+delighted a painter. He turned to the light, scrutinized so closely a
+strip of turf which ran close to the wall that he might have been
+searching for a lost diamond, and then peered through the lowermost
+left-hand pane of the small window into the room he had just quitted.
+
+The result of this peeping was remarkable in more ways than one.
+
+A stout, elderly, red-faced woman, who had entered the room soon after
+she heard Grant's chair being moved, caught sight of the intent face. She
+screamed loudly, and dropped a cup and saucer with a clatter on to a
+Japanese tray.
+
+Grant hurried back to the French window. In his haste he did not notice a
+long shoot of a Dorothy Perkins rose which trailed across his path, and
+it struck him smartly on the cheek.
+
+"I'm afraid I startled you, Mrs. Bates," he said, smiling so pleasantly
+that no woman or child could fail to put trust in him.
+
+"You did that, sir," agreed Mrs. Bates, collapsing into the chair Grant
+had just vacated.
+
+Like most red-faced people, Mrs. Bates turned a bluish purple when
+alarmed, and her aspect was so distressing now that Grant's smile was
+banished by a look of real concern.
+
+"I'm very sorry," he said contritely. "I had no notion you were in the
+room. Shall I call Minnie?"
+
+Minnie, it may be explained, was Mrs. Bates's daughter and assistant,
+the two, plus a whiskered Bates, gardener and groom, forming the domestic
+establishment presided over by Grant.
+
+"Nun-no, sir," stuttered the housekeeper. "It's stupid of me. But I'm not
+so young as I was, an' me heart jumps at little things."
+
+Grant saw that she was recovering, though slowly. He thought it best not
+to make too much of the incident; but asked solicitously if he might give
+her some brandy.
+
+Mrs. Bates remarked that she was "not so bad as that," rose valiantly,
+and went on with her work. Her employer, who had gone into the garden
+again, saw out of the tail of his eye that she vanished with a half-laden
+tray. In a couple of minutes the daughter appeared, and finished the
+slight task of clearing the table; meanwhile, Grant kept away from the
+small window. Being a young man who cultivated the habit of observation,
+he noticed that Minnie, too, cast scared glances at the window. When the
+girl had finally quitted the room, he laughed in a puzzled way.
+
+"Am I dreaming, or are there visions about?" he murmured.
+
+Urged, seemingly, by a sort of curiosity, he surveyed the room a second
+time through the same pane of glass. Being tall, he had to stoop
+slightly. Within, on the opposite side of the ledge, he saw the tiny
+brass candlestick with its inch of candle which he had used over-night
+while searching for a volume of Scott in the book-case lining the
+neighboring wall. Somehow, this simplest of domestic objects brought a
+thrill of recollection.
+
+"Oh, dash it all!" he growled good-humoredly, "I'm getting nervy. I must
+chuck this bad habit of working late, and use the blessed hours of
+daylight."
+
+Yet, as he sauntered down the lawn toward the stream, he knew well that
+he would do nothing of the sort. He loved that time of peace between
+ten at night and one in the morning. His thoughts ran vagrom then.
+Fantasies took shape under his pen which, in the cold light of morning,
+looked unreal and nebulous, though he had the good sense to restrain
+criticism within strict limits, and corrected style rather than matter.
+He was a writer, an essayist with no slight leaven of the poet, and had
+learnt early that the everyday world held naught in common with the
+brooding of the soul.
+
+But he was no long-haired dreamer of impossible things. Erect and
+square-shouldered, he had passed through Sandhurst into the army, a
+profession abandoned because of its humdrum nature, when an unexpectedly
+"fat" legacy rendered him independent. He looked exactly what he was, a
+healthy, clean-minded young Englishman, with a physique that led to
+occasional bouts of fox-hunting and Alpine climbing, and a taste in
+literature that brought about the consumption of midnight oil. This
+latter is not a mere trope. Steynholme is far removed from such modern
+"conveniences" as gas and electricity.
+
+At present he had no more definite object in life than to watch the trout
+rising in the pool. He held the fishing rights over half a mile of a
+noted river, but, by force of the law of hospitality, as it were, the
+stretch of water bordering the lawn was a finny sanctuary. Once, he
+halted, and looked fixedly at a dormer window in a cottage just visible
+above the trees on the opposite slope. Such a highly presentable young
+man might well expect to find a dainty feminine form appearing just in
+that place, and eke return the greeting of a waved hand. But the window
+remained blank--windows refused to yield any information that
+morning--and he passed on.
+
+The lawn dipped gently to the water's edge, until the close-clipped turf
+gave way to pebbles and sand. In that spot the river widened and
+deepened until its current was hardly perceptible in fine weather. When
+the sun was in the west the trees and roofs of Steynholme were so
+clearly reflected in the mirror of the pool that a photograph of the
+scene needed close scrutiny ere one could determine whether or not it
+was being held upside down. But the sun shone directly on the water now,
+so the shelving bottom was visible, and Grant's quick eye was drawn to a
+rope trailing into the depths, and fastened to an iron staple driven
+firmly into the shingle.
+
+He was so surprised that he spoke aloud.
+
+"What in the world is that?" he almost gasped; a premonition of evil was
+so strong in him that he actually gazed in stupefaction at a blob of
+water and a quick-spreading ring where a fat trout rose lazily in
+midstream.
+
+Somehow, too, he resisted the first impulse of the active side of his
+temperament, and did not instantly tug at the rope.
+
+Instead, he shouted:--
+
+"Hi, Bates!"
+
+An answering hail came from behind a screen of laurels on the right of
+the house. There lay the stables, and Bates would surely be grooming the
+cob which supplied a connecting link between The Hollies and the railway
+for the neighboring market-town.
+
+Bates came, a sturdy block of a man who might have been hewn out of a
+Sussex oak. His face, hands, and arms were the color of oak, and he moved
+with a stiffness that suggested wooden joints.
+
+Evidently, he expected an order for the dogcart, and stood stock still
+when he reached the lawn. But Grant, who had gathered his wits, summoned
+him with crooked forefinger, and Bates jerked slowly on.
+
+"What hev' ye done to yer face, sir?" he inquired.
+
+Grant was surprised. He expected no such question.
+
+"So far as I know, I've not been making any great alteration in
+it," he said.
+
+"But it's all covered wi' blood," came the disturbing statement.
+
+A handkerchief soon gave evidence that Bates was not exaggerating.
+Miss--or is it Madam?--Dorothy Perkins can scratch as well as look sweet,
+and a thorn had opened a small vein in Grant's cheek which bled to a
+surprising extent.
+
+"Oh, it is nothing," he said. "I remember now--a rose shoot caught me as
+I went back into the dining-room a moment ago. I shouted for you to come
+and see _this_."
+
+Soon the two were examining the rope and the staple.
+
+"Now who put _that_ there?" said Bates, not asking a question but rather
+stating a thesis.
+
+"It was not here yesterday," commented his master, accepting all that
+Bates's words implied.
+
+"No, sir, that it wasn't. I was a-cuttin' the lawn till nigh bed-time,
+an' it wasn't there then."
+
+Grant was himself again. He stooped and grabbed the rope.
+
+"Suppose we solve the mystery," he said.
+
+"No need to dirty your hands, sir," put in Bates. "Let I haul 'un in."
+
+In a few seconds the oaken tint in his face grew many shades lighter.
+
+"Good Gawd!" he wheezed. At the end of the rope was the body of a woman.
+
+There are few more distressing objects than a drowned corpse. On
+that bright June morning a dreadful apparition lost little of its
+grim repulsiveness because the body was that of a young and
+good-looking woman.
+
+If one searched England it would be difficult to find two men of
+differing temperaments less likely to yield to the stress of even the
+most trying circumstance than Grant and Bates, yet, during some agonized
+moments the one, of tried courage and fine mettle, was equally horrified
+and shaken as the other, a gnarled and hard-grained rustic. It was he
+from whom speech might least be expected who first found his tongue.
+Bates, who had stooped, straightened himself slowly.
+
+"By gum!" he said, "this be a bad business, Mr. Grant. Who is she? She's
+none of our Steynholme lasses."
+
+Still Grant uttered no word. He just looked in horror at the poor husk
+of a woman who in life had undoubtedly been beautiful. She was well but
+quietly dressed, and her clothing showed no signs of violence. The
+all-night soaking in the river revealed some pitiful little feminine
+secrets, such as a touch of make-up on lips and cheeks, and the dark
+roots of abundant hair which had been treated chemically to lighten its
+color. The eyes were closed, and for that Grant was conscious of a deep
+thankfulness. Had those sightless eyes stared at him he felt he would
+have cried aloud in terror. The firm, well-molded lips were open, as
+though uttering a last protest against an untimely fate. Of course, both
+men were convinced that murder had been done. Not only were arms and
+body bound in a manner that was impossible of accomplishment by the dead
+woman herself, but an ugly wound on the smooth forehead seemed to
+indicate that she had been stunned or killed outright before being flung
+into the river.
+
+And then, the rope and the staple suggested an outlandish, maniacal
+disposal of the victim. Here was no effort at concealment, but rather a
+making sure, in most brutal and callous fashion, that early discovery
+must be unavoidable.
+
+The bucolic mind works in well-scored grooves. Receiving no assistance
+from his master, Bates pulled the body a little farther up on the strip
+of gravel so that it lay clear of the water.
+
+"I mum fetch t' polis," he said.
+
+The phrase, with its vivid significance, seemed to galvanize Grant into a
+species of comprehension.
+
+"Yes," he agreed, speaking slowly, as though striving to measure the
+effect of each word. "Yes, go for the police, Bates. This foul crime must
+be inquired into, no matter who suffers. Go now. But first bring a rug
+from the stable. You understand? Your wife, or Minnie, must not be told
+till later. They must not see. Mrs. Bates is not so well to-day."
+
+"Not so well! Her ate a rare good breakfast for a sick 'un!"
+
+Bates was recovering from the shock, and prepared once more to take an
+interest in the minor features of existence. Among these he counted
+ability to eat as a sure sign of continued well-being in man or beast.
+
+Grant, too, was slowly regaining poise.
+
+"I hardly know what I am saying," he muttered. "At any rate, bring a rug.
+I'll mount guard till you return with the policeman. There can be no
+doubt, I suppose, that this poor creature is dead."
+
+"Dead as a stone," said Bates with conviction. "Why, her's bin in there
+hours," and he nodded toward the water. "Besides, if I knows anythink of
+a crack on t'head, her wur outed before she went into t'river.... But who
+i' t'world can she be?"
+
+"If you don't fetch that rug I'll go for it myself," said Grant,
+whereupon Bates made off.
+
+He was soon back again with a carriage rug, which Grant helped him to
+spread over the dripping body. Then he hastened to the village, taking a
+path that avoided the house.
+
+The lawn and river bank of The Hollies could only be overlooked from the
+steep wooded cliff opposite, and none but an adventurous boy would ever
+think of climbing down that almost impassable rampart of rock,
+brushwood, and tree-roots. At any rate, when left alone with the ghastly
+evidence of a tragedy, Grant troubled only to satisfy himself that no one
+was watching from the house. Assured on that point, he lifted a corner of
+the rug, and, apparently, forced himself to scrutinize the dead woman's
+face. He seemed to search therein for some reassuring token, but found
+none, because he shook his head, dropped the rug, and walked a few paces
+dejectedly.
+
+Then, hardly knowing what he was about, he relighted his pipe, but had
+hardly put it in his mouth before he knocked out the tobacco.
+
+Clearly, he was thinking hard, mapping out some line of conduct, and
+the outlook must have been dark indeed, judging by his somber and
+undecided aspect.
+
+More than once he looked up at the attic window of the cottage which had
+drawn his eyes before tragedy had come so swiftly to his very feet. But,
+if he hoped to see anyone, he was disappointed, though, in the event, it
+proved that his real fear was lest the person he half expected to see
+should look out.
+
+He was not disturbed in that way, however. Fish rose in the river; birds
+sang in the trees; a water-wagtail skipped nimbly from rock to rock in
+the shallows; honey-laden bees hummed past to the many hives in the
+postmaster's garden. These were the normal sights and sounds of a June
+morning--that which was abnormal and almost grotesque in its horror lay
+hidden beneath the carriage rug.
+
+To and fro he walked in that trying vigil, carrying the empty pipe in one
+hand while, with the other, he dabbed the handkerchief at the cut on his
+face. He was aware of some singular change in the quality of the sunlight
+pouring down on lawn and river and trees. Five minutes earlier it had
+spread over the landscape a golden bloom of the tint of champagne; now it
+was sharp and cold, a clear, penetrating radiance in which colors were
+vivid and shadows black. He was in no mood to analyze emotions, or he
+might have understood that the fierce throbbing of his heart had
+literally thinned the blood in his veins and thus affected even his
+sight. He only knew that in this crystal atmosphere the major issues of
+life presented themselves with a new and crude force. At any rate, he
+made up his mind that the course suggested by truth and honor was the
+only one to follow, and that, in itself, was something gained.
+
+By the time Bates returned, accompanied by the village policeman, and two
+other men carrying a stretcher, Grant was calmer, more self-contained,
+than he had been since that hapless body was dragged from the depths. He
+was not irresponsive, therefore, to the aura of official importance which
+enveloped the policeman; he sensed a certain uneasiness in Bates; he even
+noted that the stretcher was part of the stock in trade of Hobbs, the
+local butcher, and ordinarily bore the carcase of a well-fed pig.
+
+These details were helpful. Naturally, Bates had explained his errand,
+and the law, in the person of the policeman, was prepared for all
+eventualities.
+
+"This is a bad business, Mr. Grant," began the policeman, producing a
+note-book, and moistening the tip of a lead pencil with his tongue. Being
+a Sussex man, he used the same phrase as Bates. In fact, Grant was
+greeted by it a score of times that day.
+
+"Yes," agreed Grant. "I had better tell you that I have recognized the
+poor lady. Her name is Adelaide Melhuish. Her residence is in the
+Regent's Park district of London."
+
+Robinson, the policeman, permitted himself to look surprised. He was, in
+fact, rather annoyed. Bates's story had prepared him for a first-rate
+detective mystery. It was irritating to have one of its leading features
+cleared up so promptly.
+
+"Oh," he said, drawing a line under the last entry in the note-book,
+and writing the date and hour in heavy characters beneath. "Married
+or single?"
+
+"Married, but separated from her husband when last I had news of her."
+
+"And when was that, sir?"
+
+"Nearly three years ago."
+
+"And you have not seen her since?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You didn't see her last night?"
+
+Grant positively started, but he looked at the policeman squarely.
+
+"It is strange you should ask me that," he said. "Last night, while
+searching for a book, I saw a face at the window. It was that window,"
+and four pairs of eyes followed his pointing finger. "The face, I now
+believe, was that of the dead woman. At the moment, as it vanished
+instantly, I persuaded myself that I was the victim of some trick of the
+imagination. Still, I opened the other window, looked out and listened,
+but heard or saw nothing or no one. As I say, I fancied I had imagined
+that which was not. Now I know I was wrong."
+
+"About what o'clock would this be, Mr. Grant?"
+
+"Shortly before eleven. I came in at a quarter past ten, and began to
+work. After writing steadily for a little more than half an hour, I
+wanted to consult a book, and lighted a candle which I keep for that
+purpose. I found the book, and was about to blow out the candle when I
+saw the face."
+
+Robinson wrote in his note-book:--
+
+"Called to The Hollies to investigate case of supposed murder. Body of
+woman found in river. Mr. Grant, occupying The Hollies, says that woman's
+name is Adelaide Melhuish"--at this point he paused to ascertain the
+spelling--"and he saw her face at a window of the house at 10.45 P.M.,
+last night."
+
+"Well, sir, and what next?" he went on.
+
+"It seems to me that the next thing is to have the unfortunate lady
+removed to some more suitable place than the river bank," said Grant,
+rather impatiently. "My story can wait, and so can Bates's. He knows all
+that I know, and has probably told you already how we came to discover
+the body. You can see for yourself that she must have been murdered. It
+is an extraordinary, I may even say a phenomenal crime, which certainly
+cannot be investigated here and now. I advise you to have the body taken
+to the village mortuary, or such other place as serves local needs in
+that respect, and summon a doctor. Then, if you and an inspector will
+call here, I'll give you all the information I possess, which is very
+little, I may add."
+
+Robinson began solemnly to jot down a summary of Grant's words, and
+thereby stirred the owner of The Hollies to a fury which was repressed
+with difficulty. Realizing, however, the absolute folly of expressing any
+resentment, Grant turned, and, without meaning it, looked again in the
+direction of the cottage on the crest of the opposite bank. This time a
+girl was leaning out of the dormer window. She had shaded her eyes with a
+hand, because the sun was streaming into her face, but when she saw that
+Grant was looking her way she waved a handkerchief.
+
+He fluttered his own blood-stained handkerchief in brief acknowledgment,
+and wheeled about, only to find P. C. Robinson watching him furtively,
+having suspended his note-taking for the purpose.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+P.C. ROBINSON "TAKES A LINE"
+
+
+"It will help me a lot, sir," he said, "if you tell me now what you know
+about this matter. If, as seems more than likely, murder has been done, I
+don't want to lose a minute in starting my inquiries. In a case of this
+sort I find it best to take a line, and stick to it."
+
+His tone was respectful but firm. Evidently, P.C. Robinson was not one to
+be trifled with. Moreover, for a sleuth whose maximum achievement
+hitherto had been the successful prosecution of a poultry thief, it was
+significant that the unconscious irony of "a case of this sort" should
+have been lost on him.
+
+"Do you really insist on conducting your investigation while the body is
+lying here?" demanded Grant, deliberately turning his back on the girl in
+the distant cottage.
+
+"Not that, sir--not altogether--but I must really ask you to clear up one
+or two points now."
+
+"For goodness' sake, what are they?"
+
+"Well, sir, in the first place, how did you come to find the body?"
+
+"I walked out into the garden after finishing breakfast a few
+minutes ago, and noticed the rope attached to the staple, just as
+you see it now."
+
+"Did you walk straight here?"
+
+"No. Not exactly. I was--er--curious about the face I saw, or thought I
+saw, last night, and looked into the room through the same window. By
+doing so I scared Mrs. Bates, who was clearing the table, and she
+screamed--"
+
+"Her would, too," put in Bates. "Her'd take 'ee for Owd Ben's ghost."
+
+"You shut up, Bates," said the policeman. "Don't interrupt Mr. Grant."
+
+Grant was conscious of an undercurrent of suspicion in the
+constable's manner. He was wroth with the man, but recognized that he
+had to deal with narrow-minded self-importance, so contrived again to
+curb his temper.
+
+"I am not acquainted with old Ben or his ghost," he said quietly. "I can
+only tell you that I went inside to reassure Mrs. Bates, and then
+strolled slowly to this very spot. Naturally, I could not miss the rope
+and the staple. To my mind, it was not intended that I or anyone else
+should miss them. I regarded them as so peculiar that I shouted for
+Bates. He came at once, and drew the body out of the water."
+
+"And you recognized the dead woman as the one you saw last night?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"At about ten minutes to eleven?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Is it likely, sir, that any other person saw her in these grounds a
+bit earlier?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Well, sir, I can't put it much plainer. Could anybody else have seen her
+here, say about 10.15?"
+
+Grant met the policeman's inquiring glance squarely before he answered.
+
+"It is possible, of course," he said, "but most unlikely."
+
+"Were you alone here at that hour?"
+
+Again Grant sought and held that inquisitive gaze, held it until Robinson
+affected to consult his notes. There was a moment of tense silence. Then
+the reply came with an icy stubbornness that was not to be denied.
+
+"I decline absolutely to be cross-examined about my movements. If you are
+unable or unwilling to order the removal of the body, I'll telegraph to
+the chief of police at Knolesworth, and ask him to act. Further, I shall
+request Dr. Foxton to examine the poor lady's injuries. It strikes me as
+a monstrous proceeding that you should attempt to record my evidence at
+this moment, and I refuse to become a party to it."
+
+"Now, then, Robinson, stop yer Sherlock Holmes work, an' help me to lift
+this poor woman on to the stretcher," said Bates gruffly.
+
+The policeman's red face grew a shade deeper with annoyance, but he had
+the sense to avoid a scene. He was not popular in the village, and was
+well aware that the two rustics pressed into service as stretcher-bearers
+would joyfully retail the fact that he had been "set down a peg or two by
+Mr. Grant."
+
+"I'll do all that's necessary in that way, sir," he said stiffly. "I
+suppose you have no objection to my askin' if you noticed any strange
+footprints on the ground hereabouts?"
+
+"That was the first thing I looked for, both here and outside the
+window--the latter, of course, for another reason. I found none. These
+stones would show no signs. The ground is so dry that even the five men
+now present leave no traces, but I remember seeing in the bed of the
+stream certain marks which, unfortunately, were obliterated when Bates
+hauled the body ashore. They were valueless, however--shapeless
+indentations in the mud and sand."
+
+"Were they wide apart or close together, sir?"
+
+"Quite irregular. No one could judge by the length of the stride whether
+they were made by the feet of a man or a woman, if that is what you have
+in mind ... but, really--"
+
+Grant's impatient motion was not to be misunderstood. Robinson stooped,
+removed the rug, and unfastened the rope, after noting carefully how it
+was tied, a point which he called on the others to observe as well. Then
+he and the villagers went away with their sad burden, the rug being
+requisitioned once more to hide that wan face from the vivid sunshine.
+
+Bates had a trick of grasping a handful of his short whiskers when
+puzzled; he did so now; it seemed to be an unconscious effort to pull his
+jaws apart in order to emit speech.
+
+"I've a sort of idee, sir," he said slowly, "that Robinson saw Doris
+Martin on the lawn with 'ee last night."
+
+Grant turned on his henchman in a sudden heat of anger.
+
+"Miss Martin's name must be kept out of this matter," he growled.
+
+But Sussex is not easily browbeaten when it thinks itself in the right.
+
+"All very well a-sayin' that, sir, but a-doin' of it is a bird of another
+color," argued Bates firmly.
+
+"How did you know that Miss Martin was here?"
+
+"Bless your heart, sir, how comes it that us Steynholme folk know
+everythink about other folk's business? Sometimes we know more'n they
+knows themselves. You've not walked a yard wi' Doris that the women's
+tittle-tattle hasn't made it into a mile."
+
+No man, even the wisest, likes to be told an unpalatable truth. For a few
+seconds, Grant was seriously annoyed with this village Solon, and nearly
+blurted out an angry command that he should hold his tongue. Luckily,
+since Bates was only trying to be helpful, he was content to say
+sarcastically:
+
+"Of course, if you are so well posted in my movements last night, you can
+assure the coroner and the Police that I did not strangle some strange
+woman, tie a rope around her, and throw her in the river."
+
+"Me an' my missis couldn't help seein' you an' Doris a-lookin' at the
+stars through a spyglass when us were goin' to bed," persisted Bates. "We
+heerd your voices quite plain. Once 'ee fixed the glass low down, an'
+said, 'That's serious. It's late to-night.' An' I tell 'ee straight, sir,
+I said to the missis:--'It will be serious, an' all, if Doris's father
+catches her gallivantin' in our garden wi' Mr. Grant nigh on ten
+o'clock.' Soon after that 'ee took Doris as far as the bridge. The window
+was open, an' I heerd your footsteps on the road. You kem' in, closed the
+window, an' drew a chair up to the table. After that, I fell asleep."
+
+Perturbed and anxious though he was, Grant could hardly fail to see that
+Bates meant well by him. The mental effort needed for such a long speech
+said as much. The allusion to Sirius, amusing at any other time, was now
+most valuable, because an astronomical almanac would give the hour at
+which that brilliant star became visible. Other considerations yielded at
+once, however, to the fear lest Robinson and his note-book were already
+busy at the post office. Without another word, he hurried away by the
+side-path through the evergreens, leaving Bates staring after him, and,
+with more whisker-pulling, examining the rope and staple, which, by the
+policeman's order, were not to be disturbed.
+
+Grant reached the highroad just as Robinson and the men with the
+stretcher were crossing a stone bridge spanning the river about a hundred
+yards below The Hollies. A slight, youthful, and eminently attractive
+female figure, walking swiftly in the opposite direction, came in sight
+at the same time, and Grant almost groaned aloud when the newcomer stood
+stock still and looked at the mournful procession. He, be it remembered,
+was somewhat of an idealist and a poet; it grieved his spirit that those
+two women, the quick and the dead, should meet on the bridge. He took it
+as a portent, almost a menace, he knew not of what. He might have
+foreseen that unhappy eventuality, and prevented it, but his brain
+refused to work clearly that morning. A terrible and bizarre crime had
+bemused his faculties. He seemed to be in a state of waking nightmare.
+
+He was stung into impetuous action by seeing the policeman halt and
+exchange some words with the girl. He began to run, with the quite
+definite if equally mad intent of punching Robinson into reasonable
+behavior. He was saved from an act of unmitigated folly by the girl
+herself. She caught sight of him, apparently broke off her talk with the
+policeman abruptly, and, in her turn, took to her heels.
+
+Thus, on that strip of sun-baked road, with its easy gradient to the
+crown of the bridge, there was the curious spectacle offered by two men
+jogging along with a corpse on a stretcher, a young man and a young
+woman running towards each other, and a discomfited representative of
+the law, looking now one way and now the other, and evidently undecided
+whether to go on or return. Ultimately, it would seem, Robinson went
+with the stretcher-bearers, because Grant and the girl saw no more of
+him for the time.
+
+Grant had received several shocks since rising from the breakfast-table,
+but it was left for Doris Martin, the postmaster's daughter, to
+administer not the least surprising one.
+
+Though almost breathless, and wide-eyed with horror, her opening words
+were very much to the point.
+
+"How awful!" she cried. "Why should any-one in Steynholme want to kill a
+great actress like Adelaide Melhuish?"
+
+Now, the name of the dead woman was literally the last thing Grant
+expected to hear from this girl's lips, and the astounding fact
+momentarily banished all other worries.
+
+"You knew her?" he gasped.
+
+"No, not exactly. But I couldn't avoid recognizing her when she asked for
+her letters, and sent a telegram."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Oh, Robinson told me she was dead. I see now what is puzzling you."
+
+"It is not quite that. I mean, why didn't you tell me she was in
+Steynholme? Has she been staying here any length of time?"
+
+The girl's pretty face crimsoned, and then grew pale.
+
+"I--had no idea--she was--a friend of yours, Mr. Grant," she stammered.
+
+"She used to be a friend, but I have not set eyes on her during the past
+three years--until last night."
+
+"Last night!"
+
+"After you had gone home. I was doing some work, and, having occasion to
+consult a book, lighted a candle, and put it in the small window near the
+bookcase. Then I fancied I saw a woman's face, _her_ face, peering in,
+and was so obsessed by the notion that I went outside, but everything was
+so still that I persuaded myself I was mistaken."
+
+"Oh, is that what it was?"
+
+Grant threw out his hands in a gesture that was eloquent of some feeling
+distinctly akin to despair.
+
+"You don't usually speak in enigmas, Doris," he said. "What in the world
+do you mean by saying:--'Oh, is that what it was?'"
+
+The girl--she was only nineteen, and never before had aught of tragic
+mystery entered her sheltered life--seemed to recover her
+self-possession with a quickness and decision that were admirable.
+
+"There is no enigma," she said calmly. "My room overlooks your lawn.
+Before retiring for the night I went to the window, just to have another
+peep at Sirius and its changing lights, so I could not help seeing you
+fling open the French windows, stand a little while on the step, and go
+in again."
+
+"Ah, you saw that? Then I have one witness who will help to dispel that
+stupid policeman's notion that I killed Miss Melhuish, and hid her body
+in the river at the foot of the lawn, hid it with such care that the
+first passerby must find it."
+
+Every human being has three distinct personalities. Firstly, there is the
+man or woman as he or she really is; secondly, there is the much superior
+individual as assessed personally; thirdly, and perhaps the most
+important in the general scheme of things, there is the same
+individuality as viewed by others. For an instant, the somewhat idealized
+figure which John Menzies Grant offered to a pretty and intelligent but
+inexperienced girl was in danger of losing its impressiveness. But, since
+Grant was not only a good fellow but a gentleman, his next thought
+restored him to the pedestal from which, all unknowing, he had nearly
+been dethroned.
+
+"That is a nice thing to say," he cried, with a short laugh of sheer
+vexation. "Here am I regarding you as a first-rate witness in my behalf,
+whereas my chief worry is to keep you out of this ugly business
+altogether. Forgive me, Doris! Never before have I been so bothered.
+Honestly, I imagined I hadn't an enemy in the world, yet someone has
+tried deliberately to saddle me with suspicion in this affair. Not that I
+would give real heed to that consideration if it were not for the unhappy
+probability that, strive as I may, your name will crop up in connection
+with it. What sort of fellow is this police constable? Do you think he
+would keep his mouth shut if I paid him well?"
+
+Grant was certainly far from being in his normal state of mind, or he
+would have caught the tender gleam which lighted the girl's eyes when she
+understood that his concern was for her, not for himself. As it was,
+several things had escaped him during that brief talk on the sunlit road.
+
+On her part, Doris Martin was now in full control of her emotions, and
+she undoubtedly took a saner view of a difficult situation.
+
+"Robinson is a vain man," she said thoughtfully. "He will not let go the
+chance of notoriety given him by the murder of a well-known actress. Was
+she really murdered? Robinson said so when I met him on the bridge."
+
+"I'm afraid he is justified in that belief, at any rate."
+
+"Well, Mr. Grant, what have we to conceal? I was in your garden at a
+rather late hour, I admit, but one cannot watch the stars by day, and a
+big telescope with its tripod is not easily carried about. Of course,
+father will be vexed, because, as it happens, I did not tell him I was
+coming out. But that cannot be helped. As it happens, I can fix the time
+you opened your window almost to a minute, because the church clock had
+chimed the quarter just before you appeared."
+
+Grant, however, was not to be soothed by this matter-of-fact reasoning.
+
+"I am vexed at the mere notion of your name, and possibly your portrait,
+appearing in the newspapers," he protested. "Miss Melhuish was a
+celebrated actress. The press will make a rare commotion about her death.
+Look at the obvious questions that will be raised. What was she doing
+here? Why was she found in the river bordering the grounds of my house?
+Don't you see? I had to decide pretty quickly whether or not I would
+admit any previous knowledge of her. I suppose I acted rightly?"
+
+"Why hide anything, Mr. Grant? Surely it is always best to tell
+the truth!"
+
+He looked into those candid blue eyes, and drew from their limpid depths
+an element of strength and fortitude.
+
+"By Jove, Doris, small wonder if a jaded man of the world, such as I was
+when I came to Steynholme, found new faith and inspiration in friendship
+with you," he said gratefully. "But I am wool-gathering all the time this
+morning, it would seem. Won't you come into the house? If we have to
+discuss a tragedy we may as well sit down to it."
+
+"No," she said, with the promptitude of one who had anticipated the
+invitation. "I must hurry home. There are accounts to be made up. And
+Robinson and others will be telegraphing to Knoleworth and London. I must
+attend to all that, because dad gets flustered if several messages are
+handed in at the same time."
+
+"Come and have tea, then, about four o'clock. The ravens will have
+fled by then."
+
+"The ravens?"
+
+"The police, you dear child, and the reporters, and the
+photographers--the flock of weird fowl which gathers from all points of
+the compass when the press gets hold of what is called 'a first-rate
+story,' By midday I shall be in the thick of it. But, thank goodness,
+they will know nothing to draw them your way until the inquest takes
+place, and not even then if _I_ can manage it."
+
+"Don't mind me, Mr. Grant. You must not keep anything back on my account.
+I'll try and come at four. But I may be very busy in the office. By the
+way, you ought to know. Miss Melhuish came here on Sunday evening. She
+arrived by the train from London. I--happened to notice her as she passed
+in the Hare and Hounds 'bus. She took a room there, at the inn, I mean,
+and came to the post office twice yesterday. When I heard her name I
+recognized her at once from her photographs. And--one more thing--I
+guessed there was something wrong when I saw you, and Robinson, and
+Bates, and the other men standing near a body lying close to the river.
+That is why I came out. Now I really must go. Good-by!"
+
+She hastened away. Grant stood in the road and looked after her.
+Apparently she was conscious that he had not stirred, because, when she
+reached the bridge, she turned and waved a hand to him. She was
+exceedingly graceful in all her movements. She wore a simple white linen
+blouse and short white skirt that morning, with brown shoes and stockings
+which harmonized with the deeper tints of her Titian red hair. As she
+paused on the bridge for a second or two, silhouetted against the sky,
+she suggested to Grant's troubled mind the Spirit of Summer.
+
+Returning to the house by way of the main gate, which gave on to the
+highway, he bethought him of Mrs. Bates and Minnie. They must be
+enlightened, and warned as to the certain influx of visitors. He resolved
+now to tackle a displeasing task boldly. Realizing that the worst
+possible policy lay in denying himself to the representatives of the
+press, who would simply ascertain the facts from other sources, and
+unconsciously adopt a critical vein with regard to himself, he determined
+to go to the other extreme, and receive all comers.
+
+Of course, there would be reservations in his story. That is what every
+man decides who faces a legal inquiry as a novice. It is a decision too
+often regretted in the light of after events.
+
+Meanwhile, P. C. Robinson was hard at work. In his own phrase, he "took a
+line," and the trend of his thoughts was clearly demonstrated when a
+superintendent motored over from Knoleworth in response to a telegram. He
+told how the body had been found, and then went into details gathered in
+the interim.
+
+"Miss Melhuish hadn't been in the village five minutes," he said, "before
+she asked Mr. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds, where The Hollies
+was, and how long Mr. Grant had lived in the village. She went for a walk
+in the direction of his house almost at once. Tomlin watched her until
+she crossed the bridge. That was on Sunday evening."
+
+Superintendent Fowler allowed his placid features to show a flicker of
+surprise. In that rural district an actual, downright murder was almost
+unknown. Even a case of manslaughter, arising out of a drunken quarrel
+between laborers at fair-time, did not occur once in five years.
+
+"Oh, she came here on Sunday, did she?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, sir. Yesterday, too, she spoke of Mr. Grant to Hobbs, the butcher,
+and Siddle, the chemist."
+
+The two were closeted in the sitting-room of Robinson's cottage, which
+was situated on the main road near the bridge. It faced the short, steep
+hill overhanging the river. A triangular strip of turf formed the village
+green, and the houses of Steynholme clustered around this and a side road
+climbing the hill. From door and windows nearly every shop and residence
+in the village proper could be seen. In front of the Hare and Hounds had
+gathered a group of men, and it was easy to guess the topic they were
+discussing. The superintendent, who did not know any of them, had no
+difficulty in identifying Hobbs, who looked a butcher and was dressed
+like one, or Tomlin, who was either born an innkeeper or had been coached
+in the part by a stage expert. A thin, sharp-looking person, pallid and
+black-haired, wearing a morning coat and striped trousers, must surely be
+Siddle, while a fourth, the youngest there, and of rather sporting guise,
+was apparently a farmer of a horse-breeding turn.
+
+"Who is that fellow in the leggings?" inquired the superintendent
+irrelevantly. He was looking through the window, and Robinson considered
+that the question showed a lack of interest in his statement, though he
+dared not hint at such a thing.
+
+"He's a Mr. Elkin, sir," he said. "As I was saying--"
+
+"How does Mr. Elkin make a living?" broke in the other.
+
+"He breeds hacks and polo ponies," said Robinson, rather shortly.
+
+"Ah, I thought so. Well, go on with your story."
+
+Robinson was irritated, and justly so. His superior had put him off his
+"line." He took it up again sharply, leaving out of court for the moment
+the various rills of evidence which, in his opinion, united into a
+swift-moving stream.
+
+"The fact is, sir," he blurted out, "there is an uncommonly strong case
+against Mr. John Menzies Grant."
+
+"Phew!" whistled the superintendent.
+
+"I think you'll agree with me, sir, when you hear what I've gathered
+about him one way and another."
+
+Robinson was sure of his audience now. Quite unconsciously, he had
+applied the chief canon of realism in art. He had conveyed his effect by
+one striking note. The rest of the picture was quite subsidiary to the
+bold splurge of color evoked by actually naming the man he suspected of
+murdering Adelaide Melhuish.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE GATHERING CLOUDS
+
+
+Thus, it befell that Grant was not worried by officialdom until long
+after his housekeeper and her daughter had recovered from the shock of
+learning that they were, in a sense, connected at first hand with a
+ghastly and sensational crime.
+
+Like Bates and their employer, neither Mrs. Bates nor Minnie had heard or
+seen anything overnight which suggested that a woman was being foully
+done to death in the grounds attached to the house. As it happened,
+Minnie's bedroom, as well as that occupied by her parents, overlooked the
+lawn and river. Grant's room lay in a gable which commanded, the
+entrance. He had chosen it purposely because it faced the rising sun. The
+other members of the household, therefore, though in bed, had quite as
+good an opportunity as he, working in the dining-room beneath, of having
+their attention drawn to sounds disturbing the peace of the night in a
+quiet and secluded spot. Moreover, none of them was asleep. Minnie Bates,
+in particular, said that the "grandfather's clock" in the hall struck
+twelve before she "could close an eye."
+
+At last, just as Grant was rising from an almost untasted luncheon, Mrs.
+Bates, with a voice of scare, announced "the polis," and P.C. Robinson
+introduced Superintendent Fowler. This time Grant did not resent
+questions. He expected them, and had made up his mind to give full and
+detailed answers. Of course, the finding of the body was again described
+minutely. The superintendent, a man of experience, one whose manner was
+not fox-like and irritating like his subordinate's, paid close attention
+to the face at the window.
+
+"There seems to be little room for doubt that Miss Melhuish did enter
+your grounds about a quarter to eleven last night," he said thoughtfully.
+"You recognized her at once, you say?"
+
+"I imagined so. Until this horrible thing became known I had persuaded
+myself that the vision was a piece of sheer hallucination."
+
+"Let us assume that the lady actually came here, and looked in.
+Evidently, her face was sufficiently familiar that you should know
+instantly who this unusual visitor was. I understand, though, that you
+had not the least notion she was staying in Steynholme?"
+
+"Not the least."
+
+"How long ago is it since you last saw her?"
+
+"Nearly three years."
+
+"You were very well acquainted with her, then, or you could not have
+glanced up from your table, seen someone staring at you through a
+window, and said to yourself, as one may express it:--'That is Adelaide
+Melhuish'."
+
+"We were so well acquainted that I asked the lady to be my wife."
+
+"Ah," said the superintendent.
+
+His placid, unemotional features, however, gave no clew to his
+opinions. Not so P. C. Robinson, who tried to look like a judge,
+whereas he really resembled a bull-terrier who has literally, not
+figuratively, smelt a rat.
+
+Despite his earlier good resolutions, Grant was horribly impatient of
+this inquisition. He admitted that the superintendent was carrying
+through an unpleasant duty as inoffensively as possible, but the attitude
+of the village policeman was irritating in the extreme. Nothing would
+have tended so effectively to relieve his surcharged feelings as to
+supply P. C. Robinson then and there with ample material for establishing
+a charge of assault and battery.
+
+"That is not a remarkable fact, if regarded apart from to-day's
+tragedy," he said, and there was more than a hint of soul-weariness in
+his voice. "Miss Melhuish was a very talented and attractive woman. I
+first met her as the outcome of a suggestion that one of my books should
+be dramatized, a character in the novel being deemed eminently suitable
+for her special r�le on the stage. The idea came to nothing. She was
+appearing in a successful play at the time, and was rehearsing its
+successor. Meanwhile, I--fell in love with her, I suppose, and she
+certainly encouraged me in the belief that she might accept me. I did
+eventually propose marriage. Then she told me she was married already.
+It was a painful disillusionment--at the time. I only saw her, to speak
+to, once again."
+
+"Did she reveal her husband's name?"
+
+"Yes--a Mr. Ingerman."
+
+The superintendent looked grave. That was a professional trick of his. He
+had never before in his life heard of Mr. Ingerman, but encouraged the
+notion that this gentleman was thoroughly, and not quite favorably, known
+to him. Sometimes it happened that a witness, interpreting this sapient
+look by the light of his or her personal and intimate knowledge, would
+blurt out certain facts, good or bad as the case might be, concerning the
+person under discussion.
+
+But Grant remained obstinately silent as to the qualities of this
+doubtful Ingerman, so Mr. Fowler scribbled the name in a note-book, and
+was particular as to whether it ended in one "n" or two.
+
+Still, he carried other shots in his locker. In fact, Mr. Fowler, had he
+taken in youth to nicer legal subtleties than handcuffs and summonses,
+would have become a shrewd lawyer.
+
+"We'll leave Mr. Ingerman for the moment," he said, implying, of course,
+that on returning to him there might be revelations. "I gather that you
+and Miss Melhuish did not agree, shall I put it? as to the precise
+bearing of the marriage tie on your love affair?"
+
+"I'm afraid I don't quite follow your meaning," and Grant's tone
+stiffened ominously, but his questioner was by no means abashed.
+
+"I have no great acquaintance with the stage or its ways, but I have
+always understood that divorce proceedings among theatrical folk were,
+shall we say? more popular than, in the ordinary walks of life," said
+Mr. Fowler.
+
+Grant's resentment vanished. The superintendent's calm method, his
+interpolated apologies, as it were, for applying the probe, were
+beginning to interest him.
+
+"Your second effort is more successful, superintendent," he said dryly.
+"Miss Melhuish did urge me to obtain her freedom. It was, she thought,
+only a matter of money with Mr. Ingerman, and she would be given material
+for a divorce."
+
+"Ah," murmured Fowler again, as though the discreditable implication
+fitted in exactly with the life history of a noted scoundrel in a written
+_dossier_ then lying in his office. "You objected, may I suggest, to that
+somewhat doubtful means of settling a difficulty?"
+
+"Something of the kind."
+
+Assuredly, Grant did not feel disposed to lay bare his secret feelings
+before this persuasive superintendent and an absurdly conceited village
+constable. Love, to him, was an ideal, a blend of mortal passion and
+immortal fire. But the flame kindled on that secret altar had scorched
+and seared his soul in a wholly unforeseen way. The discovery that
+Adelaide Melhuish was another man's wife had stunned him. It was not
+until the fire of sacrifice had died into parched ashes that its earlier
+banality became clear. He realized then that he had given his love to a
+phantom. By one of nature's miracles a vain and selfish creature was
+gifted in the artistic portrayal of the finer emotions. He had worshiped
+the actress, the mimic, not the woman herself. At any rate, that was how
+he read the repellent notion that he should bargain with any man for the
+sale of a wife.
+
+"You might be a trifle more explicit, Mr. Grant," said the
+superintendent, almost reproachfully.
+
+"In what direction? Surely a three-years-old love affair can have little
+practical bearing on Miss Melhuish's death?"
+
+"What, then, may I ask, could bear on it more forcibly? The lady
+admittedly visits you, late at night, and is found dead in a river
+bordering the grounds of your house next morning, all the conditions
+pointing directly to murder. Moreover--it is no secret, as the truth must
+come out at the inquest--she had passed a good deal of her time while in
+Steynholme, unknown to you, in making inquiries concerning you, your
+habits, your surroundings, your friends. Surely, Mr. Grant, you must see
+that the history of your relations with this lady, though, if I may use
+the phrase, perfectly innocent, may possibly supply that which is at
+present lacking--a clew, shall I term it, to the motive which inspired
+the man, or woman, who killed her?"
+
+P.C. Robinson was all an eye and an ear for this verbal fencing-match.
+It was not that he admired his superior's skill, because such finesse
+was wholly beyond him, but his suspicious brain was storing up Grant's
+admissions "to be used in evidence" against him subsequently. His own
+brief record of the conversation would have been:--"The prisoner, after
+being duly cautioned, said he kept company with the deceased about
+three years ago, but quarreled with her on hearing that she was a
+married woman."
+
+The superintendent seldom indulged in so long a speech, but he was
+determined to force his adversary's guard, and sought to win his
+confidence by describing the probable course to be pursued by the
+coroner's inquest. But Grant, like the dead actress, had two sides to his
+nature. He was both an idealist and a stubborn fighter, and ideality had
+been shattered for many a day by that grewsome object hauled in that
+morning from the depths of the river.
+
+"I am willing to help in any shape or form, but can only repeat that
+Miss Melhuish and I parted as described. I should add that I have never,
+to my knowledge, met her husband."
+
+"He may be dead."
+
+"Possibly. You may know more about him than I."
+
+"Even then, we have not traveled far as yet."
+
+Fowler was puzzled, and did not hesitate to show it. He believed, not
+without reasonable cause, that this young man was concealing some element
+in the situation which might prove helpful in the quest for the murderer.
+He resolved to strike off along a new track.
+
+"I am informed," he went on, speaking with a deliberateness meant to
+be impressive, "that you did entertain another lady as a visitor
+last night."
+
+Grant allowed his glance to dwell on Robinson for an instant. Hitherto he
+had ignored the man. Now he surveyed him as if he were a viper.
+
+"It will be a peculiarly offensive thing if the personality of a helpless
+and unoffending girl is brought into this inquiry," he cried. "'Brought
+in' is too mild--I ought to say 'dragged in.' As it happens, astronomy is
+one of my hobbies. Last evening, as the outcome of a chat on the subject,
+Doris Martin, daughter of the local postmaster, came here to view Sirius
+through an astronomical telescope. There is the instrument," and he
+pointed through P.C. Robinson to a telescope on a tripod in a corner of
+the room. The gesture was eloquent. The burly policeman might have been a
+sheet of glass. "As you see, it is a solid article, not easily lifted
+about. It weighs nearly a hundred-weight."
+
+"Why is it so heavy?"
+
+The superintendent had a knack of putting seemingly irrelevant questions.
+Robinson had been disconcerted by it earlier in the day, but Grant seemed
+to treat the interruption as a sensible one.
+
+"For observation purposes an astronomical telescope is not of much use
+unless the movement of the earth is counteracted," he said. "Usually, the
+dome of an observatory swings on a specially contrived axis, but that is
+a very expensive structure, so my telescope is governed by a clockwork
+attachment and moves on its own axis."
+
+Mr. Fowler nodded. He was really a very well informed man for a country
+police-officer; he understood clearly.
+
+"Miss Martin came here about a quarter to ten," continued Grant, "and
+left within three-quarters of an hour. She did not enter the house. She
+was watching Sirius while I explained the methods whereby the distance of
+any star from the earth is computed and its chemical analysis
+determined--"
+
+"Most instructive, I'm sure," put in the superintendent.
+
+He smiled genially, so genially that Grant dismissed the notion that the
+other might, in vulgar parlance, be pulling his leg.
+
+"Well, that is the be-all and end-all of Miss Martin's presence. It would
+be cruel, and unfair, if a girl of her age were forced into a distasteful
+prominence in connection with a crime with which she is no more related
+than with Sirius itself."
+
+The older man shook his head in regretful dissent.
+
+"That is just where you and I differ," he said. "That very point leads us
+back to your past friendship with the dead woman."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Surely you see, Mr. Grant, that Miss Melhuish might be, probably was,
+watching your star-gazing, especially as your pupil chanced to be, shall
+I say, a remarkably attractive young lady ... No, no," for Grant's anger
+was unmistakable--"It does no good to blaze out in protest. An unhappy
+combination of circumstances must be faced candidly. Here are you and a
+pretty girl together in a garden at a rather late hour, and a woman whom
+you once wanted to marry spying on you, in all likelihood. I've met a few
+coroner's juries in my time, and not one of them but would deem the
+coincidence strange, to put it mildly."
+
+"What in Heaven's name are you driving at?"
+
+"You must not impute motives, sir. I am seeking them, not
+supplying them."
+
+"But what am I to say?"
+
+"Perhaps you will now tell me just how Miss Melhuish and you parted."
+
+The fencers were coming to close quarters. Even P. C. Robinson had to
+admit that his "boss" had cornered the suspect rather cleverly.
+
+Grant realized that there was no room for squeamishness in this affair.
+If he did not speak out now, his motives might be woefully misunderstood.
+
+"We parted in wrath and tears," he said sadly. "Miss Melhuish could not,
+or did not, appreciate my scruples. She professed to be in love with me.
+She even went so far as to threaten suicide. I--hardly believed in her
+sincerity, but thought it advisable to temporize, and asked for a few
+days' delay before we came to a final decision. We met again, as I have
+said, and discussed matters in calmer mood. Ultimately, she professed
+agreement with my point of view, and we parted, ostensibly to remain good
+friends, but really to separate for ever."
+
+"Thank you. That's better. What _was_ your point of view, Mr. Grant?"
+
+"Surely I have made it clear. I could not regard my wife as purchasable.
+The proposed compact was, I believe, illegal. But that consideration did
+not sway me. I had been dreaming, and thought I was roaming in an
+enchanted garden. I awoke, and found myself in a morass."
+
+The superintendent nodded again. Singularly enough, Grant's somewhat
+high-flown simile appeared to satisfy his craving for light.
+
+"Do you mind telling me--is there another woman?" he demanded, with one
+of those rapid transitions of topic in which he excelled.
+
+"No," said Grant.
+
+"You see what I am aiming at. Let us suppose that Miss Melhuish never, in
+her own mind, abandoned the hope that some day the tangle would
+straighten itself. Women are constituted that way. If her husband is now
+dead, and she became free, she might wish to renew the old ties, but,
+being proud, would want to ascertain first whether or not any other woman
+had come into your life."
+
+"I follow perfectly," said Grant, with some bitterness. "She would be
+consumed with jealousy because my companion in the garden last night
+happened to be a charming girl of nineteen."
+
+"It is possible."
+
+"So she went off and got someone to kill her, and tie her body with a
+rope, and arrange a dramatic setting whereby it would be patent to the
+meanest intelligence that I was the criminal?"
+
+Mr. Fowler smiled, and looked fixedly at P.C. Robinson.
+
+"No, no," he said, quite good-humoredly. "That would be carrying realism
+to extremes. Still, I am convinced, Mr. Grant, that this mystery is bound
+up in some way with your romance of three years ago. At present, I admit,
+I am working in the dark."
+
+He rose. Apparently, the interview was at an end. But, while pocketing
+his note-book, he said suddenly:--
+
+"The inquest will open at three o'clock tomorrow. You will be present, of
+course, Mr. Grant?"
+
+"I suppose it is necessary."
+
+"Oh, yes. You found the body, you know. Besides, you may be the only
+person who can give evidence of identity. In fact, you and the doctor
+will be the only witnesses called."
+
+"Dr. Foxton?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Has he made a post-mortem?"
+
+"He is doing so now. You see, there is clear indication that this
+unfortunate lady was struck a heavy blow, perhaps killed, before she was
+put in the river."
+
+"Good Heavens! Somehow, I was so stunned that I never thought of looking
+for signs of any injury of that sort."
+
+Grant's horror-stricken air was so spontaneous that it probably justified
+the severe test of that unexpected disclosure. He was so unnerved by it
+that the two policemen had gone before he could frame another question.
+
+Once they were in the open road, and well away from The Hollies,
+Robinson ventured to open his mouth.
+
+"He's a clever one is Mr. Grant," he said meaningly. "You handled him a
+bit of all right, sir, but he didn't tell you everything he knew, not by
+long chalks."
+
+The superintendent walked a few yards in silence. Even when he spoke, his
+gaze was introspective, and seemed to ignore his companion.
+
+"I'm inclined to agree with you, Robinson," he said, speaking very
+slowly. "We have a big case in our hands, a very big case. We must tread
+warily. You, in particular, mixing with the village folk, should listen
+to all but say nothing. Don't depend on your memory. Write down what you
+hear and see. People's actual words, and the exact time of an occurrence,
+often have an extraordinarily illuminating effect when weighed
+subsequently. But don't let Mr. Grant think you suspect him. There is no
+occasion for that--yet."
+
+Mr. Fowler could be either blunt or cryptic in speech at will. In one
+mood he was the straightforward, outspoken official; in another the
+potential lawyer. P.C. Robinson, though unable to describe his chief's
+erratic qualities, was unpleasantly aware of them. He was not quite
+sure, for instance, whether the superintendent was encouraging or
+warning him, but, being a dogged person, resolved to "take his own
+line," and stick to it.
+
+Grant passed a distressful day. Work was not to be thought of, and
+reading was frankly impossible. His mind dwelt constantly on the tragedy
+which had come so swiftly and completely into his ordered life. He could
+not wholly discard the nebulous theory suggested by Superintendent
+Fowler, but the more he surveyed it the less reasonable it seemed. The
+one outstanding fact in a chaos of doubt was that someone had
+deliberately done Adelaide Melhuish to death. The murderer had been
+actuated by a motive. What was that motive? Surely, in a place like
+Steynholme no man could come and go without being seen, and the murderer
+must be a stranger to the district, because it was ridiculous to imagine
+that he was one of the residents.
+
+Yet that was exactly what a dunderheaded policeman believed. P.C.
+Robinson had revealed himself by many a covert glance and prick-eared
+movement. Grant squirmed uneasily at the crass conceit, as there was no
+denying that circumstances tended towards a certain doubt, if no more, in
+regard to his own association with the crime.
+
+The admission called for a fierce struggle with his pride, but he forced
+himself to think the problem out in all its bearings, and the folly of
+adopting the legendary policy of the chased ostrich became manifest.
+What, then, should he do? He thought, at first, of invoking the aid of a
+barrister friend, who could watch the inquest in his behalf.
+
+Nevertheless, he shrank from that step, which, to his super-sensitive
+nature, implied the need of legal protection, and he fiercely resented
+the mere notion of such a thing. But something must be done. Once the
+murderer was laid by the heels his own troubles would vanish, and the
+storm raised by the unhappy fate of Adelaide Melhuish would subside into
+a sad memory.
+
+He was wrestling with indecision when a newspaper reporter called. Grant
+received the journalist promptly, and told him all the salient facts,
+suppressing only the one-time prospect of a marriage between himself and
+the famous actress.
+
+The reporter went with him to the river, and scrutinized the marks, now
+rapidly becoming obliterated, of the body having been drawn ashore.
+
+"The rope and iron staple, I understand, were taken from the premises of
+a man who lets boats for hire on the dam quarter of a mile away," he
+said casually.
+
+Grant was astounded at his own failure to make any inquiry whatsoever
+concerning this vital matter. He laughed grimly.
+
+"You can imagine the state of my mind," he said, "when I assure you
+that, until this moment, it never occurred to me even to ask where these
+articles came from or what had become of them."
+
+"I can sympathize with you," said the journalist. "A brutal murder seems
+horribly out of place in this environment. It is a mysterious business
+altogether. I wonder if Scotland Yard will take it up."
+
+Grant surprised him by clapping him on the back.
+
+"By Jove, my friend, the very thing! Of course, such an investigation
+requires bigger brains than our local police are endowed with. Scotland
+Yard _must_ take it up. I'll wire there at once. If necessary, I'll pay
+all expenses."
+
+The newspaper man had his doubts. The "Yard," he said, acted in the
+provinces only if appealed to by the authorities directly concerned. But
+Grant was not to be stayed by a trifle like that. He hurried to the post
+office, hoping that Doris Martin might walk back with him.
+
+The girl and her father were busy behind the counter when he entered. He
+noticed that Doris was rather pale. She was about to attend to him, but
+Mr. Martin intervened. It struck Grant that the postmaster was purposely
+preventing his daughter from speaking to him.
+
+For some inexplicable reason, he felt miserably tongue-tied, and was
+content to write a message to the Chief Commissioner of Police, London,
+asking that a skilled detective should be sent forthwith to Steynholme.
+
+Mr. Martin read it gravely, stated the cost, and procured the requisite
+stamps. In the event, Grant quitted the place without exchanging a word
+with Doris, while her father, usually a chatty man, said not a syllable
+beyond what was barely needed.
+
+As he passed down the hill and by the side of the Green he was aware of
+being covertly watched by many eyes. He saw P.C. Robinson peering from
+behind a curtained window. Siddle, the chemist, came to the shop door,
+and looked after him. Hobbs, the butcher, ceased sharpening a knife and
+gazed out. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds Inn, surveyed him from
+the "snug."
+
+These things were not gracious. Indeed, they were positively maddening.
+He went home, gave an emphatic order that no one, except Miss Martin, if
+she called, was to be admitted and savagely buried himself in a treatise
+on earth-tides.
+
+But that day of events had not finished for him yet. He had, perforce,
+eaten a good meal, and was thinking of going to the post office in order
+to clear up an undoubted misapprehension in Mr. Martin's mind, when
+Minnie Bates came with a card.
+
+"If you please, sir," said the girl, "this gentleman is very pressing.
+He says he's sure you'll give him an interview when you see his name."
+
+So Grant looked, and read:--
+
+
+MR. ISIDOR G. INGERMAN
+
+_Prince's Chambers, London, W._
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+A CABAL
+
+
+Grant stared again at the card. A tiny silver bell seemed to tinkle a
+sort of warning in a recess of his brain. The name was not engraved in
+copper-plate, but printed in heavy type. Somehow, it looked ominous. His
+first impression was to bid Minnie send the man away. He distrusted any
+first impression. It was the excuse of mediocrity, a sign of weakness.
+Moreover, why shouldn't he meet Isidor G. Ingerman?
+
+"Show him in," he said, almost gruffly, thus silencing shy intuition, as
+it were. He threw the card on the table.
+
+Mr. Ingerman entered. He did not offer any conventional greeting, but
+nodded, or bowed. Grant could not be sure which form of salutation was
+intended, because the visitor promptly sat down, uninvited.
+
+Minnie hesitated at the door. Her master's callers were usually cheerful
+Bohemians, who chatted at sight. Then she caught Grant's eye, and went
+out, banging the door in sheer nervousness.
+
+Still Mr. Ingerman did not speak. If this was a pose on his part, he
+erred. Grant had passed through a trying day, but he owned the muscles
+and nerves of an Alpine climber, and had often stared calmly down a wall
+of rock and ice which he had just conquered, when the least slip would
+have meant being dashed to pieces two thousand feet below.
+
+There was some advantage, too, in this species of stage wait. It enabled
+him to take the measure of Adelaide Melhuish's husband, if, indeed, the
+visitor was really the man he professed to be.
+
+At first sight, Isidor G. Ingerman was not a prepossessing person.
+Indeed, it would be safe to assume that if, by some trick of fortune, he
+and not Grant were the tenant of The Hollies, P.C. Robinson would have
+haled him to the village lock-up that very morning. It was not that he
+was villainous-looking, but rather that he looked capable of villainy. He
+was a tall, slender, rather stooping man, with a decidedly well-molded,
+if hawk-like, face. His aspect might be described as saturnine. Possibly,
+when he smiled, this morose expression would vanish, and then he might
+even win a favorable opinion. He had brilliant black eyes, close set, and
+an abundant crop of black hair, turning gray, which, in itself, lent an
+air of distinction. His lips were thin, his chin slightly prominent. He
+was well dressed, and managed a hat, stick, and gloves with ease.
+Altogether, he reminded Grant of a certain notable actor who is
+invariably cast for the r�le of a gentlemanly scoundrel, but who, in
+private life, is a most excellent fellow and good citizen. Oddly enough,
+Grant recognized in him, too, the type of man who would certainly have
+appealed to Adelaide Melhuish in her earlier and impressionable years.
+
+Meanwhile, the visitor, finding that the clear-eyed young man seated in
+an easy chair (from which he had not risen) could seemingly regard him
+with blank indifference during the next hour, thought fit to say
+something.
+
+"Is my name familiar to you, Mr. Grant?" he inquired.
+
+The voice was astonishingly soft and pleasant, and the accent agreeably
+refined. Evidently, there were surprising points about Mr. Ingerman. Long
+afterwards, Grant learned, by chance, that the man had been an actor
+before branching off into that mysterious cosmopolitan profession known
+as "a financier."
+
+"No," said Grant. "I have heard it very few times. Once, about three
+years ago, and today, when I mentioned it to the police."
+
+The other man's sallow cheeks grew a shade more sallow. Grant supposed
+that this slight change of color indicated annoyance. Of course, the
+association of ideas in that curt answer was intolerably rude. But Grant
+had been tried beyond endurance that day. He was in a mood to be brusque
+with an archbishop.
+
+"We can disregard your confidences, or explanations, to the
+police," said Ingerman smoothly. "Three years ago, I suppose, my
+wife spoke of me?"
+
+"If you mean Miss Adelaide Melhuish--yes."
+
+"I do mean her. To be exact, I mean the lady who was murdered outside
+this house last night."
+
+Grant realized instantly that Isidor G. Ingerman was a foeman worthy of
+even a novelist's skill in repartee. Thus far, he, Grant, had been merely
+uncivil, using a bludgeon for wit, whereas the visitor was making play
+with a finely-tempered rapier.
+
+"Now that you have established your identity, Mr. Ingerman, perhaps you
+will tell me why you are here," he said.
+
+"I have come to Steynholme to inquire into my wife's death."
+
+"A most laudable purpose. I was given to understand, however, that at one
+time you took little interest in her living. I have not seen Mrs.
+Ingerman for three years--until last night, that is--so there is a
+chance, of course, that husband and wife may have adjusted their
+differences. Is that so?"
+
+"Until last night!" repeated Ingerman, almost in a startled tone. "You
+admit that?"
+
+Grant turned and pointed.
+
+"I saw, or fancied I saw, her face at that window," he said. "She
+looked in on me about ten minutes to eleven. I was hard at work, but
+the vision, as it seemed then, was so weird and unexpected, that I went
+straight out and searched for her. Perhaps 'searched' is not quite the
+right word. To be exact, I opened the French window, stood there, and
+listened. Then I persuaded myself that I was imagining a vain thing,
+and came in."
+
+"What was she doing here?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"She arrived in Steynholme on Sunday evening, I am told."
+
+"I heard that, too."
+
+"You imply that you did not meet her?"
+
+"No need to imply anything, Mr. Ingerman. I did not meet her. Beyond
+the fanciful notion that I had seen her ghost last night, the first I
+knew of her presence in the village was when I recognized her dead body
+this morning."
+
+"Strange as it may sound, I am inclined to believe you."
+
+Grant said nothing. He wanted to get up and pitch Ingerman into the road.
+
+"But who else will take that charitable view?" purred the other, in
+that suave voice which so ill accorded with his thin lips and slightly
+hooked nose.
+
+"I really don't care," was the weary answer.
+
+"Not at the moment, perhaps. You have had a trying day, no doubt. My
+visit at its close cannot be helpful. But--"
+
+"I am feeling rather tired mentally," interrupted Grant, "so you will
+oblige me by not raising too many points at once. Why should you imagine
+that conversation with you in particular should add to my supposed
+distress?"
+
+"Doesn't it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why, then, may I ask, do you so obviously resent my questions? Who has
+so much right to put them as I?"
+
+Grant found that he must bestir himself. Thus far, the honors lay with
+this rather sinister-looking yet quiet-mannered visitor.
+
+"I am sorry if anything I have said lends color to that belief," he
+answered. "Candidly, I began by assuming that you forfeited any legal
+right years ago to interfere in behalf of Miss Melhuish, living or dead.
+Let us, at least, be candid with each other. Miss Melhuish herself told
+me that you and she had separated by mutual consent."
+
+"Allow me to emulate your candor. The actual fact is that you weaned my
+wife's affections from me."
+
+"That is a downright lie," said Grant coolly.
+
+Ingerman's peculiar temperament permitted him to treat this grave
+insult far more lightly than Grant's harmless, if irritating, reference
+to the police.
+
+"Let us see just what 'a lie' signifies," he said, almost judicially. "If
+a lady deserts her husband, and there is good reason to suspect that she
+is, in popular phrase, 'carrying on' with another man, how can the
+husband be lying if he charges that man with being the cause of the
+domestic upheaval?"
+
+"In this instance a hypothetical case is not called for. Three years ago,
+Mr. Ingerman, you had parted from your wife. Your name was never
+mentioned. Apparently, none in my circle had even heard of you. Miss
+Melhuish had won repute as a celebrated actress. I met her, in a sense,
+professionally. We became friends. I fancied I was in love with her. I
+proposed marriage. Then, and not until then, did the ghost of Mr."--Grant
+bent forward, and consulted the card--"Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman intrude."
+
+"So marriage was out of the question?"
+
+"If you expect an answer--yes."
+
+Ingerman rested the handle of his stick against his lips.
+
+"That isn't how the situation was represented to me at the time," he said
+thoughtfully.
+
+Grant was still sore with the recollection of the way in which the
+superintendent of police had forced him to confess the pitiful scheme
+whereby a woman in love had sought to gain her ends. He refused to sully
+her memory a second time that day, even to gain the upper hand in this
+troublesome controversy.
+
+"I neither know nor care what representations may have been made to you,"
+he retorted. "I merely tell you the literal truth."
+
+"Possibly. Possibly. It was not I who used the word 'lie,' remember. But
+if you are ungracious enough to refuse to withdraw the offensive phrase,
+let it pass. We are not in France. This deadly business will be fought
+out in the law courts. I am here to-night of my own initiative. I thought
+it only fair and reasonable that you and I should meet before we are
+brought face to face at a coroner's inquest, and, it may be, in an Assize
+Court.... No, no, Mr. Grant. Pray do not put the worst construction on my
+words. _Someone_ murdered my wife. If the police show intelligence and
+reasonable skill, _someone_ will be tried for the crime. You and I will
+certainly be witnesses. That is what I meant to convey. The doubt in my
+mind was this--whether to be actively hostile or passively friendly to
+the man who, next to me, was interested in the poor woman now lying dead
+in a wretched stable of this village."
+
+The almost diabolical cleverness of this long speech, delivered without
+heat and with singularly adroit stress on various passages, was revealed
+by its effect on Grant. He was at once infuriated and puzzled. Ingerman
+was playing him as a fisherman humors a well-hooked salmon. The simile
+actually occurred to him, and he resolved to precipitate matters by
+coming straightway to the landing-net.
+
+"Is your friendship purchasable?" he inquired, making the rush without
+further preamble.
+
+"My wife was, I was led to believe," came the calm retort.
+
+Grant threw scruples to the wind now. Adelaide Mulhuish was being
+defamed, not by him, but by her husband.
+
+"We are at cross purposes," he said, weighing each word. "Your wife, who
+knew your character fairly well, I am convinced, thought that you were
+open to receive a cash consideration for your connivance in a divorce."
+
+"She had told me plainly that she would never live with me again. I was
+too fair-minded a man to place obstacles in the way when she wished to
+regain her freedom."
+
+"So it was true, then. What was the price? One thousand--two? I am not a
+millionaire."
+
+"Nor am I. As a mere matter of pounds, shillings, and pence, it was a
+serious matter for me when my wife's earnings ceased to come into the
+common stock."
+
+"My first, if rather vague, estimate of you was the correct one. You are
+a good bit of a scoundrel, and, if I guess rightly, a would-be
+blackmailer."
+
+"You are talking at random, Mr. Grant. The levying of blackmail connotes
+that the person bled desires that some discreditable, or dangerous, fact
+should be concealed."
+
+"Such is not my position."
+
+"I--I wonder."
+
+"I can relieve you of any oppressive doubt. I informed the police some
+few hours ago that you have appeared already in a similar role."
+
+"Oh, you did, did you?" snarled Ingerman, suddenly abandoning his pose,
+and gazing at Grant with a curiously snakelike glint in his black eyes.
+
+"Yes. It interested them, I fancied."
+
+Grant was sure of his man now, and rather relieved that the battle of
+wits was turning in his favor.
+
+"So you have begun already to scheme your defense?"
+
+"Hadn't you better go?" was the contemptuous retort.
+
+"You refuse to answer any further questions?"
+
+"I refuse to buy your proffered friendship--whatever that may mean."
+
+"Have I offered to sell it?"
+
+"I gathered as much."
+
+Ingerman rose. He was still master of himself, though his lanky body was
+taut with rage. He spoke calmly and with remarkable restraint.
+
+"Go through what I have said, and discover, if you can, the slightest
+hint of any suggested condonation of your offenses, whether avowed or
+merely suspected. I shall prove beyond dispute that you came between me
+and my wife. Don't hug the delusion that your three years' limit will
+save you. It will not. I wish you well of your attempt to prove that I
+was a consenting party to divorce proceedings. I came here to look you
+over. I have done so, and have arrived at a very definite opinion. I,
+also, have been interviewed by the police, and any unfavorable views they
+may have formed concerning me as the outcome of your ex parte statements
+are more than counteracted by the ugly facts of a ghastly murder. You
+were here shortly before eleven o'clock last night. My wife was here,
+too, and alive. This morning she was found dead, by you. At eleven
+o'clock last night I was playing bridge with three city men in my flat.
+When the news of the murder reached me to-day my first thought, after the
+shock of it had passed, was:--'That fellow, Grant, may be innocently
+involved in a terrible crime, and I may figure as the chief witness
+against him.' I am not speaking idly, as you will learn to your cost.
+Yet, when I come on an errand of mercy, you have the impudence to charge
+me with blackmail. You are in for a great awakening. Be sure of that!"
+
+And Isidor G. Ingerman walked out, leaving Grant uncomfortably aware that
+he had not seen the last of an implacable and bitter enemy.
+
+It was something new and very disturbing for a writer to find himself in
+the predicament of a man with an absolutely clear conscience yet
+perilously near the meshes of the criminal law. He had often analyzed
+such a situation in his books, but fiction diverged so radically from
+hard fact that the sensation was profoundly disconcerting, to say the
+least. He did not go to the post office. He was not equal to any more
+verbal fire-works that evening. So he lit a pipe, and reviewed Ingerman's
+well-rounded periods very carefully, even taking the precaution to jot
+down exact, phrases. He analyzed them, and saw that they were capable of
+two readings. Of course, it could not be otherwise. The plausible rascal
+must have conned them over until this essential was secured. Grant even
+went so far as to give them a grudging professional tribute. They held a
+canker of doubt, too, which it was difficult to dissect. Their veiled
+threats were perplexing. While their effect, as apart from literal
+significance, was fresh in his mind, he made a few notes of different
+interpretations.
+
+He went to bed rather early, but could not sleep until the small hours.
+Probably his rest, such as it was, would have been even more disturbed
+had he been able to accompany Ingerman to the Hare and Hounds Inn.
+
+A small but select company had gathered in the bar parlor. The two hours
+between eight and ten were the most important of the day to the landlord,
+Mr. Tomlin. It was then that he imparted and received the tit-bits of
+local gossip garnered earlier, the process involving a good deal of play
+with shining beer-handles and attractively labeled bottles.
+
+But this was a special occasion. Never before had there been a
+Steynholme murder before the symposium. Hitherto, such a grewsome topic
+was supplied, for the most part, by faraway London. To-night the
+eeriness and dramatic intensity of a notable crime lay at the very doors
+of the village.
+
+So Tomlin was more portentous than usual; Hobbs, the butcher, more
+assertive, Elkin, the "sporty" breeder of polo ponies, more inclined to
+"lay odds" on any conceivable subject, and Siddle, the chemist, a
+reserved man at the best, even less disposed to voice a definite opinion.
+
+Elkin was about twenty-five years of age, Siddle looked younger than his
+probable thirty-five years, while the others were on the stout and
+prosperous line of fifty.
+
+They were discussing the murder, of course, when Ingerman entered, and
+ordered a whiskey and soda. Instantly there was dead silence. Looks and
+furtive winks were exchanged. There had been talk of a detective being
+employed. Perhaps this was he. Mr. Tomlin knew the stranger's name, as he
+had taken a room, but that was the extent of the available information.
+
+"A fine evenin', sir," said Tomlin, drawing a cork noisily. "Looks as
+though we were in for a spell o' settled weather."
+
+"Yes," agreed Ingerman, summing up the conclave at a glance. "Somehow,
+such a lovely night ill accords with the cause of my visit to
+Steynholme."
+
+"In-deed, sir?"
+
+"Well, you and these other gentlemen may judge for yourselves. It will
+be no secret tomorrow. I am the husband of the lady who was found in the
+river outside Mr. Grant's residence this morning."
+
+Sensation, as the descriptive reporters put it. Mr. Tomlin was dumbly but
+unanimously elected chairman of the meeting, and was vaguely aware of his
+responsibilities. He drew himself a fresh glass of bitter.
+
+"You don't tell me, sir!" he gasped. "Well, the idee! The pore lady's
+letters were addressed to Miss Adelaide Melhuish. Perhaps you don't know,
+sir, that she stayed here!"
+
+"Oh, yes. I was told that by the local police-constable. Have I, by any
+chance, been given her room?"
+
+"No, sir. Not likely. It's locked, and the police have the key till the
+inquest is done with."
+
+"As for the name," explained Ingerman, in his suave voice, "that was a
+mere stage pseudonym, an adopted name. My wife was a famous actress, and
+there is a sort of tacit agreement that a lady in the theatrical
+profession shall be known to the public as 'Miss' rather than 'Mrs.'"
+
+"Well, there!" wheezed Tomlin. "Who'd ever ha' thought it?"
+
+The landlord was not quite rising to the occasion. He was, in fact,
+stunned by these repeated shocks. So Hobbs took charge.
+
+"It's a sad errand you're on, sir," he said. "Death comes to all of us,
+man an' beast alike, but it's a terrible thing when a lady like Miss--
+Mrs. ----"
+
+"Ingerman is my name, but my wife will certainly be alluded to by the
+press as Miss Melhuish."
+
+"When a lady like Miss Melhuish is knocked on the 'ead like a--"
+
+Mr. Hobbs hesitated again. He also felt that the situation was rather
+beyond him.
+
+"But my wife was flung into the river and drowned," said Ingerman sadly.
+
+"No, sir. She was killed fust. It was a brutal business, so I'm told."
+
+"Do you mean that she was struck, her skull battered?" came the demand,
+in an awed and soul-thrilling whisper.
+
+"Yes, sir. An' the wust thing is, none of us can guess who could
+ha' done it."
+
+"Lay yer five quid to one, Hobbs, that the police cop the scoundrel afore
+this day fortnight," cried Elkin noisily.
+
+Then Mr. Siddle put in a mild word.
+
+"Gentlemen," he said, "let me remind you that we four will probably be
+jurors at the inquest."
+
+That was a sobering thought. Elkin subsided, and Hobbs looked critically
+at the remains of a gill of beer.
+
+Ingerman took stock of the chemist. He might easily induce the others to
+believe that Grant was the real criminal, but the quiet man in the black
+morning-coat and striped cloth trousers was of finer metal. He knew
+instantly that if he could persuade this one "probable juror" of Grant's
+guilt, the remainder would follow his lead like a flock of sheep.
+
+But there was no need to hurry. Next day's inquest would be a mere
+formality. The real struggle would begin a week or a fortnight later.
+
+"You have said a very wise thing, sir," he murmured appreciatively. "Even
+my feelings must be kept under better control. But this is no ordinary
+murder. Before it is cleared up there will be astounding revelations.
+Mark the word--astounding."
+
+Hobbs, whose heavy cheeks were of a brick-red tint, almost startled the
+conclave by a sudden outburst which gave him an apoplectic appearance.
+
+"You're too kind'earted, Siddle," he cried. "Wot's the use of talkin'
+rubbish. We all know where the body was found. We all know that Doris
+Martin an' Mr. Grant were a'sweet-'eartin' in the garden--"
+
+"Look here, Hobbs, just keep Doris Martin's name out of it!" shouted
+Elkin, smiting the table with his fist till the glasses danced.
+
+"Gentlemen!" protested Siddle gently.
+
+"It's all dashed fine, but I'm not--" blustered Elkin. He yielded to
+Ingerman's outstretched hand.
+
+"I seem to have brought discord into a friendly gathering," came the
+mournful comment. "Such was far from being my intent. Landlord, the round
+is on me, with cigars. Now, let us talk of anything but this horror. If I
+forget myself again, pull me up short, and fine me another round."
+
+Siddle half rose, but thought better of it. Evidently, he meant to use
+his influence to stop foolish chatter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE SEEDS OP MISCHIEF
+
+
+Ingerman was a shrewder judge of human nature than the village chemist.
+As well try to stem the flowing tide as stop tongues from wagging when
+such a theme offered.
+
+Tomlin created a momentary diversion by clattering in the bar. After this
+professional interlude, Ingerman ignored his own compact.
+
+"I'm sure you local residents will be interested, at least, in hearing
+something of my wife's career," he said. "There never was a more lovable
+and gracious woman, and no couple could be more united than she and I
+till some three years ago. Then came a break. She was independent of me,
+of course. She was a celebrity, I a mere nobody, best known, if at all,
+as 'Miss Melhuish's husband.' Nevertheless, we were devoted to each other
+until, to her and my lasting misfortune, a certain author wrote a book
+which, when dramatized, contained a part for which my wife's stage
+presence and talents seemed to be peculiarly suited."
+
+Siddle stirred uneasily, but the others were still as partridges in
+stubble. Ingerman did not intend to alarm the shy bird of the
+covey, however.
+
+"I name no names," he said solemnly. "Nor am I telling you anything that
+will not be thoroughly exposed before the coroner and elsewhere. From
+that unhappy period dated our estrangement. My wife fell under a fatal
+influence which lasted, practically unchecked, until the day, if not the
+very hour, of her death. Do I blame her? No--a thousand times no! You see
+me, a plain man, considerably her senior. _I_ had not the gift of writing
+impassioned love passages in which she could display her artistic genius.
+When I came home from the City, tired after the day's work, _she_ was
+just beginning hers. You know what London fashionable life is--the
+theater, a supper, a dance, some great lady's 'reception,' and the rest
+of it. Ah, me! The stage, and literature, and the arts generally are not
+for poor fellows moiling in a City office. You gentlemen, I take it, are
+all happily married--"
+
+"I'm not," said Elkin, "but I'll lay you long odds I will be soon."
+
+For some reason, this remark produced a certain uneasiness among his
+friends. Tomlin stared at the ash of one of the cigars "stood" by this
+talkative Londoner; Hobbs, whose glass had reached a low level again,
+examined the dregs almost fiercely; and Siddle seemed to be about to say
+something, but, with his usual restraint, kept silent. Then Ingerman made
+a very shrewd guess, and wondered who Doris Martin was, and what Hobbs's
+cryptic allusion had meant.
+
+"Good luck to you, sir," he said, "but--take no offense--don't marry an
+actress. There's an old adage, 'Birds of a feather flock together.' I
+would go farther, and interpolate the word 'should.' If Adelaide Melhuish
+had never met me, but had married the man who could write her plays, this
+tragedy in real life would never have been."
+
+"D--n him," muttered Elkin fiercely. "He's done for now, anyhow. He'll
+turn no more girls' heads for a bit."
+
+"An' five minutes since you yapped at me like a vicious fox-terrier for
+'intin' much the same thing," chortled Hobbs.
+
+Siddle stood up.
+
+"You ain't goin', Mr. Siddle?" went on the butcher. "It's 'ardly 'arf
+past nine."
+
+"I have some accounts to get out. It's near the half year, you know," and
+Siddle vanished unobtrusively.
+
+Hobbs shook his head, and gazed at Elkin as though the latter was a
+refractory bullock.
+
+"Siddle's a fair-minded chap," he said. "He can't stand 'earin' any of us
+'angin' a man without a fair trial."
+
+Ingerman had marked the chemist for more subtle treatment when an
+opportunity arose, or could be made. At present, he was not sorry such a
+restraining influence was removed. The next half hour should prove a
+golden one if well utilized. He was right. Before the inn was cleared,
+what between Elkin's savage comments and the other men's thinly-veiled
+allusions, he knew all that Steynholme could tell with regard to Grant
+and Doris Martin.
+
+Grant's first thought next morning was of the girl who had been thrust so
+prominently into his life by the death of another woman. That was,
+perhaps, the strangest outcome of the tragedy. Doris was easily the
+prettiest and most intelligent girl in the village, a rare combination in
+itself, even among young ladies of much higher social position than a
+postmaster's daughter. But her father was a self-educated man, whose life
+had been given to books, whose only hobby was the culture and study of
+bees. He had often refused promotion, solely because his duties at
+Steynholme were light, and permitted of many free hours. In his only
+child he found a quick pupil and a sympathetic helper. Of her own accord
+she took to poetry and music. In effect, had Doris Martin attended the
+best of boarding-schools and training colleges, she would have received a
+smattering of French and a fair knowledge of the piano or violin,
+whereas, after more humble tuition, it might fairly be said of her that
+few girls of her age had read so many books and assimilated their
+contents so thoroughly. From her mother she inherited her good looks and
+a small yearly income, just sufficient to maintain a better wardrobe
+than her father's salary would permit.
+
+Grant, newly settled in Steynholme, found the postmaster and his daughter
+intellectually on a par with himself, and this claim could certainly not
+be made on behalf of the local "society" element. The three became
+excellent friends. Naturally, the young people spent a good deal of time
+together. But there had been no love-making--not a hint or whisper of it!
+
+And now, by cruel chance, their names were linked by scandal in its most
+menacing form, since there was no gainsaying the fact that Doris's
+star-gazing on that fatal Monday night was indissolubly bound up with the
+death of Adelaide Melhuish.
+
+For the first time, then, the notion peeped up in Grant's mind that the
+whirligig of existence might see Doris his wife. But the conceit
+resembled the Gorgon's teeth, which, when sown in the ground, sprang
+forth as armed men. The very accident which revealed a not unpleasing
+possibility had established a grave obstacle in the way of its ultimate
+realization. Already there was a cloud between him and the Martins,
+father and daughter. To what a tempest might not that cloud develop when
+the questionings and innuendoes of the inquest established an aura of
+suspicion and intrigue around a perfectly innocent meeting in the garden
+of The Hollies!
+
+Grant ate his breakfast in wrath. In wrath, too, he glanced through the
+morning newspapers, and saw his own name figuring large in the "story" of
+the "alleged" murder. The reporters had missed nothing. They had even got
+hold of the "peculiar coincidence" of his (Grant's) glimpse of a face at
+the window. His play was recalled, and Adelaide Melhuish's success in the
+title-r�le. Then Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman was introduced. He was described
+as "a man fairly well known in the City." That was all. The press could
+say nothing as yet of marital disagreements, nor was any hint concerning
+Doris Martin allowed to appear. But these journalistic fire-works were
+only held in reserve. "Dramatic and sensational developments" were
+promised, and police activity in "an unexpected direction" fore-shadowed.
+
+All of which, of course, was mere journalistic paraphrasing of
+circumstances already known to the writers, and none the less galling to
+Grant on that account.
+
+And there was no answer from the Commissioner of Police at Scotland Yard.
+True, the overnight telegram might have reached the Department after
+office hours. Grant, like most members of the general public, held the
+vague belief that Government officials do very little work. Still, one
+might reasonably expect better things from the institution which was
+supposed to safeguard law-abiding citizens.
+
+Calm analysis of Ingerman's nebulous threats had revealed a hostile
+force not to be despised. Possibly, the man was already in league with
+that narrow-minded village constable, so every passing hour made more
+urgent the need of a trained intelligence being brought to bear on the
+mystery of Adelaide Melhuish's killing. Grant racked his brains to
+discover who could possibly have a motive for committing the crime.
+Naturally, his thoughts flew to Ingerman. Surely that sinister-looking
+person should be forced to give an account of himself instead of, as was
+probable, being allowed to instill further nonsense into the suspicious
+mind of P.C. Robinson.
+
+There were two morning deliveries of London letters in Steynholme, one at
+eight and another at half past ten. Grant waited until the postman had
+left a publisher's circular (the only letter for The Hollies by the
+second mail). Then, in a fever of impatience, he jammed on a hat and went
+out. He would wait no longer. He would telegraph Scotland Yard again,
+and, incidentally, demand an audience at the post office.
+
+No sooner had he entered the highroad than he saw P.C. Robinson on guard.
+That important person was standing on the bridge, apparently taking the
+air. He was nibbling the chin-strap of his helmet; both thumbs were
+locked in his belt. From that strategic position three roads came under
+observation.
+
+It was a fine morning, and Grant's sense of humor was not proof against
+this open espionage. He smiled, and determined to take a rise out of
+"Sherlock," as Bates had christened the policeman.
+
+The bridge lay a hundred yards to the left. The road was straight until
+it curved around the house and its shrubberies, so the view was blocked
+on that side. Grant filled and lighted a pipe with a deliberateness meant
+to be provoking, glancing several times doubtfully at P.C. Robinson, who,
+of course, was grandly unaware of his presence. Then he strolled off to
+the right, and, when hidden, took to his heels for a hundred yards
+sprint. Turning into a winding bridle-path tucked between hedges of thorn
+and hazels, he walked to a point where it crossed a patch of furze. At a
+little distance a hand-bridge spanned the river, and gave access to the
+eastern end of the village by a steep climb of the wooded cliff. The
+path, in fact, was a short cut to that part of Steynholme.
+
+He sat on a hump of rock, and waited. It was a boyish trick, but very
+successful. Within three minutes, at the utmost, P.C. Robinson hurried
+past, using a stalking, stealthy stride which was distinctly ludicrous.
+
+The eyes of the two men met, but Grant alone was prepared.
+
+"Hello, Robinson!" he cried cheerfully. "What's the rush? Surely our
+rural peace has not been disturbed again?"
+
+Robinson knew he had been "sold," but rose to the occasion.
+
+"Excuse me, Mr. Grant," he puffed. "Can't wait now. Have an appointment.
+I'll see you later."
+
+Honor demanded that he should not relax that swift pace. Unhappily, the
+path up the cliff was visible throughout from Grant's rock, so, on
+reaching the summit, Robinson was a-boil in more ways than one.
+Moreover, peeping through the first screen of trees that offered, he
+had the mortification of seeing the man who had befooled him go back
+the way he came.
+
+Purple-faced with heat and anger, the policeman forgot his surroundings,
+and glowered at Grant with real fury. So he heard no one approaching
+along the main road until he was hailed a second time with, "Hello,
+Robinson!"
+
+He turned sharply. This was Mr. Elkin.
+
+"Good morning!" he said. "Have you seen the superintendent?"
+
+"What? Mr. Fowler? No. Is _he_ here so early?"
+
+"I must have missed him."
+
+"Well, you'll hardly find him on Bush Walk," which was the name of the
+path.
+
+"You never can tell," came the dark answer.
+
+At any rate, the policeman elected to abandon his self-imposed vigil, and
+the two walked together into the village.
+
+"My! You look as though you'd run a mile," commented Elkin.
+
+"This murder has kept me busy," growled the other, frankly mopping
+his forehead.
+
+"Ay, that's so. And it isn't done with yet, by a long way. Pity you
+weren't in the Hare and Hounds last night. You'd have heard something.
+There's a chap staying there, name of Ingerman--"
+
+"I've met him. The dead woman's husband."
+
+"Oh, perhaps you've got his yarn already?"
+
+"It all depends what he said to you."
+
+"Well, he hinted things. Unless I'm greatly mistaken, you'll soon be
+making an arrest."
+
+"I believe I could put my hand on the murderer this very minute," said
+Robinson vindictively.
+
+Elkin laughed, somewhat half-heartedly.
+
+"Lay you fifty to one against the time," he said. "I'm the only one near
+enough for that limit, you know."
+
+The policeman realized that he had allowed annoyance to shake his wits.
+He looked at Elkin rather sharply, and noticed that the horse-breeder
+seemed to be nervous and ill.
+
+"I didn't quite mean that I could grab my man this minute," he said,
+"but, if I can guess him, it amounts to nearly the same thing. What have
+you been doing to yourself, Mr. Elkin? You look peeky to-day."
+
+"Too much whiskey and tobacco. I'll call at Siddle's for a 'pick-me-up.'
+Am I wanted for the jury?"
+
+"Yes. I left a notice at your place last evening."
+
+"I didn't get it."
+
+"Been away?"
+
+"No. Fact is, I went home late, and didn't bother about letters this
+morning. What time is the inquest?"
+
+"Three o'clock, in the club-room of the Hare and Hounds."
+
+"Will that fellow, Grant, be there?"
+
+"Rather. Dr. Foxton warned him yesterday."
+
+"Good! What about Doris Martin? Will she be a witness?"
+
+"Not to-day."
+
+They were entering the village, and could see down the long, wide slope
+of the hill. Grant had just come into sight at its foot.
+
+Both men scowled at the distant figure, but neither passed any comment.
+They parted, the policeman walking straight on, Elkin bearing to the
+left. The chemist's shop stood exactly opposite the post office, so
+Elkin, arriving first, was aware of his unconscious rival's destination.
+
+He had not answered Mr. Siddle's greeting, but gazed moodily through a
+barricade of specifics piled in the window. Then he swore.
+
+"What's wrong now?" inquired the chemist quietly.
+
+"That Grant. Got a nerve, hasn't he?"
+
+"I can't say, unless you explain."
+
+"He's just gone into the post office."
+
+"Why shouldn't he? He wants stamps, may be; plenty of 'em, I
+should imagine."
+
+"Oh, you're a fish, Siddle. You aren't crazy about a girl, like I am. The
+sooner Grant's in jail the better I'll be pleased."
+
+"If you take my advice, which you won't, I know, you will not utter that
+sort of remark publicly."
+
+"Can't help it. Bet you a fiver I'm engaged to Doris Martin within a
+week."
+
+Mr. Siddle took thought.
+
+"Why so quickly?" he asked, after a pause.
+
+"I'll catch her on the hop, of course. If she's engaged to me it'll help
+her a lot when this case comes into court."
+
+"I cannot believe that Doris would accept any man for such a reason."
+
+"I'm not 'any man.' She knows I'm after her. Will you take my bet,
+even money?"
+
+"No. I don't bet."
+
+"Well, you needn't put a damper on me. In fact, you can't. Have you that
+last prescription of Dr. Foxton's handy? My liver wants a tonic."
+
+The chemist thumbed a dog-eared volume, read an entry carefully, and
+retired to a dispensing counter in the rear of the shop.
+
+"Shall I send it?" came his voice.
+
+"No. I'll wait. Give me a dose now, if you don't mind."
+
+For some reason, Fred Elkin was not himself that day. He was moody, and
+fretful as a sick colt. But he had diagnosed his ailment and its cause
+accurately; a discreet doctor was probably aware of his failings, and had
+considered them in the "mixture."
+
+The post office was not busy when Grant entered. A young man, a stranger,
+was seated at the telegraphist's desk, tapping a new instrument. The G.
+P. O., forewarned, had lent an expert to deal with press messages.
+
+Mr. Martin, sorting some documents, came forward when he saw Grant. His
+kindly, somewhat pre-occupied face was long as a fiddle.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. Martin," said Grant.
+
+"Good morning. What can I do for you?" was the stiff reply. Grant was in
+no mind to be rebuffed, however.
+
+"I must have a word with you in private," he said.
+
+"I'm sorry--but my time is quite full."
+
+"I'm sorry, too, but the matter is urgent."
+
+The click of the sounder became less businesslike. There was an element
+in the tone of each voice that drew the London telegraphist's attention.
+Martin, usually the mildest-mannered man in Sussex, was obviously ill at
+ease. But he simply could not hold out against Grant's compelling gaze.
+
+"Come into the back room," he said nervously. "Call me if I'm needed," he
+added, nodding to his assistant.
+
+Grant did not hesitate an instant when the postmaster reached the "back
+parlor" through another door. The open window, draped in clematis, gave
+a delightful glimpse of The Hollies. A window-box of mignonette filled
+the air with its delicate perfume. Grant hoped that Doris would be there,
+but the only signs of her recent presence were a hat and an open book on
+the table.
+
+"Now, Mr. Martin," he said gravely, "you and I should have a serious
+talk. It is idle to deny that gossip is spreading broadcast certain
+malicious and absurd rumors which closely concern Doris and myself. To me
+these things are of slight consequence. To a girl of your daughter's age
+they are poisonous. If you, her father, know the whole truth, you can
+regulate your actions so as to defeat the scandalmongers. That is why I
+am here to-day. That is why I came here yesterday, but your attitude took
+me aback, and I was idiot enough to go without a word of explanation. I
+was too shaken then to see my clear course, and follow it regardless of
+personal feelings. This morning I am master of myself, and I insist that
+you listen now while I tell you exactly what occurred on Monday night."
+
+"Surely--these matters--are--for the authorities," stammered the
+older man.
+
+"What? Your daughter's good name?"
+
+Mr. Martin reddened. His agitation was pitiful.
+
+"That is hardly in question, sir," he said brokenly.
+
+"I am speaking of the tongue of slander. Heaven help and direct me! I
+would suffer death rather than see Doris subjected to the leers and
+innuendoes of every lout in the village."
+
+Grant's earnestness could hardly fail to impress his friend. But Martin
+had either made up his mind or been warned not to discuss the murder, and
+adhered loyally to that line of conduct. He retreated toward the door
+leading to the post office proper.
+
+"It is too late to interfere now," he said.
+
+"What on earth do you mean?" demanded Grant, yielding to a gust of anger.
+
+"The whole--of the circumstances--are being inquired into by the police,"
+came the hesitating answer.
+
+"Has that prying scoundrel, Robinson, dared to cross-examine Doris?"
+
+"He came here, of course, but Scotland Yard has taken up the inquiry."
+
+"A detective--here?"
+
+"Yes. He is with Doris in the garden at this moment."
+
+Grant knew the topography of the house. Without asking permission, he
+tore through yet a third door leading to a kitchen and scullery, nearly
+upsetting a tiny maid who had her ear or eye to the key-hole, and raced
+into the garden in which the postmaster kept his bees.
+
+Doris, standing with her hands behind her back, was looking at The
+Hollies, and deep in conversation with an alert and natty little man who
+was evidently absorbed in what she was saying.
+
+Grant, in a whirl of fury, was only conscious that Doris's companion was
+slight, almost diminutive, of frame, very erect, and dressed in a
+well-fitting blue serge suit, neat brown boots and straw hat, when the
+two heard his footsteps.
+
+Doris was flustered. Her Romney face held a look of scare.
+
+"Oh, here is Mr. Grant!" she said, striving vainly to speak with
+composure.
+
+The little man pierced Grant with an extraordinarily penetrating glance
+from very bright and deeply-recessed black eyes.
+
+"Ah, Mr. Grant, is it!" he chirped pleasantly. "Good morning! So _you're_
+the villain of the piece, are you?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+SCOTLAND YARD TAKES A HAND
+
+
+It was a singular greeting, to say the least, and the person who uttered
+it was quite as remarkable as his queer method of expressing himself
+seemed to indicate.
+
+Grant, though in a fume of hot anger, had the good sense to choke back
+the first impetuous reprimand trembling on his lips. In fact, wrath
+quickly subsided into blank incredulity. He saw before him, not the
+conventional detective who might be described as a superior Robinson--not
+even the sinewy, sharp-eyed, and well-spoken type of man whom he had once
+heard giving evidence in a famous jewel-robbery case--but rather one whom
+he would have expected to meet in the bar of a certain well-known
+restaurant in Maiden Lane, a corner of old London where literally all the
+world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.
+
+During his theatrical experiences he had come across scores of such men,
+dapper little fellows, wizened of face yet curiously youthful in manner;
+but they, each and all, were labeled "low comedian." Certainly, a rare
+intelligence gleamed from this man's eyes, but that is an attribute not
+often lacking in humorists who command high salaries because of their
+facility in laughter-making. This man, too, had the wide, thin-lipped,
+mobile mouth of the actor. His ivory-white, wrinkled forehead and cheeks,
+the bluish tint on jaws and chin, his voice, his perky air, the very tilt
+of his straw hat, were eloquent of the footlights. Even his opening
+words, bizarre and cheerfully impertinent, smacked of "comic relief."
+
+"I figure prominently in this particular 'piece,'" snapped Grant. "May I
+ask your name, sir?"
+
+"A wise precaution with suspicious characters," rejoined the other,
+smiling. Grant was suddenly reminded of a Japanese grinning at a joke,
+but he bent over a card which the stranger had whisked out of a waistcoat
+pocket. He read:
+
+MR. CHARLES F. FUENEAUX,
+
+_Criminal Investigation Department_,
+
+NEW SCOTLAND YARD, S.W.
+
+He could not control himself. He gazed at Mr. Charles F. Furneaux with a
+surprise that was not altogether flattering.
+
+"Did the Commissioner of Police send _you_ in response to my
+telegram?" he said.
+
+"That is what lawyers call a leading question," came the prompt retort.
+"And I hate lawyers. They darken understanding, and set honest men at
+loggerheads."
+
+"But it happens to be very much to the point at this moment."
+
+"Well, Mr. Grant, if you really press for an answer, it is 'Yes' and
+'No.' The Commissioner received a certain telegram, but he may have acted
+on other grounds. Even Commissioners can be creatures of impulse, or
+expediency, just as the situation demands.
+
+"You are here, at any rate."
+
+"That is what legal jargon terms an admitted fact."
+
+"Then you had better begin by assuming that I am no villain."
+
+"It is assumed. It couldn't well be otherwise after the excellent
+character you have been given by this young lady."
+
+"She, at least, will speak well of me, I do believe," said Grant, with a
+strange bitterness, for his heart was sore because of the seeming
+defection of his friend, the postmaster. "What I actually had in mind was
+the stupidity of the local policeman, who is convinced that I am both a
+criminal and a fool."
+
+"The two are often synonymous," said Furneaux dryly. "But I acquitted you
+on both counts, Mr. Grant, on hearing, and even seeing, how you spent
+Monday evening."
+
+Grant, who had cooled down considerably, found a hint of badinage in
+this comment.
+
+"You have evidently been told that Miss Martin and I were star-gazing in
+the garden of my house," he said. "It happens to be true."
+
+"Oh, yes. There was a very fine cluster of small stars in Canis Major,
+south of Sirius, that night."
+
+"You know something about the constellations, then?" was the
+astonished query.
+
+"Enough for the purposes of Scotland Yard," smirked Furneaux, who had
+checked P.C. Robinson's one-sided story by referring to Whitaker's
+Almanack. "It may relieve your mind if I tell you that I have never seen
+a real live astronomer in the dock. Venus and Mars are often in trouble,
+but their devoted observers seldom, if ever."
+
+Grant warmed to this strange species of detective, though, if pressed for
+an instant decision, he would vastly have preferred that one of more
+orthodox style had been intrusted with an inquiry so vital to his own
+happiness and good repute. Eager, however, to pour forth his worries into
+any official ear, he brought back the talk to a definite channel.
+
+"Will you come to my place?" he asked. "I have much to say. Let me assure
+you now, in Miss Martin's presence, that she is no more concerned in this
+ghastly business than any other young lady in the village."
+
+"But she is interested. And _you_ are. And I am. Why not discuss matters
+here, for the present, I mean? We have a glorious view of your house and
+grounds. We can see without being seen. None can overhear. I advise both
+of you to go thoroughly into this matter here and now."
+
+Furneaux spoke emphatically. Even Doris put in a timid plea.
+
+"Perhaps that would be the best thing to do," she said. "Mr. Furneaux has
+been most sympathetic. I am sure he understands things already in a way
+that is quite wonderful to me."
+
+The very sound of her voice was comforting. Grant might have argued with
+the detective, but could not resist Doris. Without further demur he went
+through the whole story, giving precise details of events on the Monday
+night. Then the recital widened out into a history of his relations with
+Adelaide Melhuish. He omitted nothing. Doris gasped when she heard
+Superintendent Fowler's version of the view a coroner's jury might take
+of her presence in the garden of The Hollies at a late hour. But Grant
+did not spare her. He reasoned that she ought to be prepared for an
+ordeal which could not be avoided. He was governed by the astute belief
+that his very outspokenness in this respect would weaken the inferences
+which the police might otherwise draw from it.
+
+Furneaux uttered never a word. He was a first-rate listener, though his
+behavior was most undetective-like, since he hardly looked at Grant or
+the girl, but seemed to devote his attention almost exclusively to the
+scenic panorama in front.
+
+However, when Grant came to the somewhat strenuous passage-at-arms of
+the previous night between Ingerman and himself, the little man broke
+in at once.
+
+"Isidor G. Ingerman?" he cried. "Is he a tall, lanky, cadaverous,
+rather crooked person, with black hair turning gray, and an absurdly
+melodious voice?"
+
+"You have described him without an unnecessary word," said Grant.
+
+Furneaux clicked his tongue in a peculiar fashion.
+
+"Go on!" he said. "It's a regular romance--quite in your line, Mr. Grant,
+of course, but none the less enthralling because, as you so happily
+phrased Miss Martin's lesson in astronomy, it happens to be true."
+
+Grant was scrupulously fair to Ingerman. He admitted the "financier's"
+adroitness of speech, and made clear the fact that if the visit had the
+levying of blackmail for its object such a possible outcome was only
+hinted at vaguely. Being a novelist, one whose temperament sought for
+sunshine rather than gloom in life, he wound up in lighter vein. The ruse
+which tricked P.C. Robinson into a breathless scamper of nearly a mile on
+a hot day in June was described with gusto. Doris, who knew the village
+constable well, laughed outright, while Furneaux cackled shrilly. None
+who might be watching the little group in that delightful garden, with
+its scent of old-world flowers and drone of bees, could have guessed that
+a grewsome tragedy formed their major theme.
+
+The girl was the first to realize that even harmless merriment was in ill
+accord with the presence of death, for the body of Adelaide Melhuish lay
+within forty yards of the place where they stood.
+
+"May I leave you now?" she inquired. "Father may be wanting help in
+the office."
+
+"I shan't detain you more than a few seconds," said Furneaux briskly. "On
+Monday evening you two young people parted at half past ten. How do you
+fix the time?"
+
+Doris answered without hesitation:
+
+"The large window of Mr. Grant's study was open, and we both heard a
+clock in the hall chime the half-hour. I said, 'Goodness me, is that half
+past ten?' and started for home at once. Mr. Grant came with me as far as
+the bridge. When I reached my room, in exactly five minutes after leaving
+The Hollies, I stood at the open window--that window"--and she pointed to
+a dormer casement above the sitting-room--"and looked out. It was a
+particularly fine night, mild, but not very clear, as a slight mist often
+rises from the river after a hot day in summer. I may have been there
+about ten minutes, no longer, when I saw the study window of The Hollies
+thrown open, and Mr. Grant's figure was silhouetted by the lamp behind
+him. He seemed to be listening for something, so I, who must have heard
+any unusual sound, listened too. There was nothing. I could hear the
+ripple of the river beneath the bridge, so everything was very still.
+After a minute, or two, perhaps--no longer--Mr. Grant went in, and closed
+the window. Then I went to bed."
+
+"Did Mr. Grant draw any blind or curtains?"
+
+"There are muslin curtains attached to each side of the window. One
+cannot see into the room from a distance."
+
+Furneaux measured an imaginary line drawn from Doris's bedroom to the
+edge of the cliff, and prolonged it.
+
+"Nor can you see the river or foot of the lawn from your room," he
+commented.
+
+"No. In winter I can just make out the edge of the lawn. When the trees
+are in leaf, all the lower part is hidden."
+
+"You had actually retired to rest about eleven, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"So if Mr. Grant came out again you would not know?" Doris blushed
+furiously, but her reply was unfaltering.
+
+"I would have known during the next half-hour, at least," she said. "An
+inclined mirror hangs in my room. I use it sometimes for adjusting a hat.
+The square of light from Mr. Grant's room is reflected in it, and any
+sudden increase in the illumination caused by opening the window or
+pulling the curtains aside would certainly have caught my eye."
+
+"You have an unshakable witness in Miss Martin," said Furneaux, stabbing
+a finger at Grant. "Now, I'll hurry off. You and I, Mr. Grant, meet at
+Philippi, otherwise known as the crowner's quest."
+
+Any benevolent intent he may have had in leaving these young people
+together was, however, frustrated by Doris, whose composure seemed to
+have fled since her statement about the mirror. She resolutely
+accompanied the detective, and Grant had to follow. All three passed into
+the post office, Doris using the private door. Mr. Martin looked up from
+his desk when they appeared, and requested his daughter to check a bundle
+of postal orders. The pretext was painfully obvious, but Grant was not so
+wishful now to clear up matters with Doris's father, as the girl herself
+might be trusted to pass on an accurate account of the affair from
+beginning to end.
+
+He was about to reach the street quick on Furneaux's heels when the
+little man turned suddenly.
+
+"By the way, don't you want a shilling's worth of stamps?" he said.
+
+Grant smiled comprehension, and went back to the counter, where Doris
+herself served him. She did not try to avoid his glance, but rather met
+it with a baffling serenity oddly at variance with her momentary loss of
+self-possession in the garden.
+
+When he entered the street the detective had vanished.
+
+He walked down the hill at a rapid pace, disregarding the eyes peeping
+at him through open doorways, over narrow window-curtains, and covertly
+staring when people passed in the roadway. The sensitive side of his
+temperament shrank from this thinly-veiled hostility. He was by way of
+being popular in Steynholme, yet not a soul spoke to him. Before he
+reached the bridge, the other side of him, the man of action, of cool
+resource in an emergency, rose in rebellion against the league of silly
+clodhoppers. Back he strode to the post office and dashed off a
+telegram. It ran:
+
+"Walter Hart, Savage Club, Adelphi, London. Come here and help to
+lay a ghost."
+
+He signed it in full, name and address. Doris was gone, but her father
+received it, and read the text in a bewildered way.
+
+"I find myself deserted by my Steynholme friends so I am trying to import
+one stanch one," said Grant, almost vindictively.
+
+Martin murmured the cost, and Grant stormed out again. This time, passing
+the Hare and Hounds, he looked at door and windows. He caught a face
+scowling at him over a brown wire blind bearing the words "Wines and
+Spirits" on it in letters of dull gold. It was a commonplace type of
+face, small-featured, ginger-moustached, and crowned by a billy-cock hat
+set at a rakish angle. Its most marked characteristic was the positive
+hatred which glowed in the sharp, pale-blue eyes. Grant wondered who this
+highly censorious young man might be. At any rate, he meant to ascertain
+whether or not the critic was susceptible of satire at his own expense.
+He walked up to the window, elevated his eyebrows at the frowning person
+within, pretended to read the words on the screen, looked again at the
+man inside, and shook his head gravely in the manner of one who has
+accurately determined cause and effect.
+
+Fred Elkin was quick-witted enough to appreciate Grant's unspoken
+comment. He was also unmannerly enough to put out his tongue. Then Grant
+laughed, and turned on his heel.
+
+Mr. Siddle, quietly observant of recent comings and goings, was standing
+at the door of the shop, and missed no item of this dumb show. He raised
+both hands in silent condemnation of Elkin's childishness, whereupon the
+horse-dealer jerked a thumb toward Grant's retreating figure, and went
+through a rapid pantomime of the hanging process. His crony disapproved
+again, and went in. Now, both those men were on the jury panel, so, to
+all appearance, Grant would be judged by at least one deadly enemy, whose
+animosity might or might not be fairly balanced by the chemist's
+impartial mind.
+
+The tenant of The Hollies actually dreaded the loneliness of his
+dwelling now, though it was that very quality which had drawn him to
+Steynholme a year earlier. Work or reading was equally out of the
+question that day. He sought the industrious Bates, who was trenching
+celery in the kitchen garden.
+
+"Have 'ee made out owt about un, sir?" inquired that hardy individual,
+pausing to spit on the handle of his spade.
+
+"No," said Grant. "The thing is a greater mystery than ever."
+
+"I'm thinkin' her mun ha' bin killed by a loony," announced Bates.
+
+"Something of the kind, no doubt. But why are the little less dangerous
+loonies of Steynholme united in the belief that I am the guilty one?"
+
+"Ax me another," growled Bates.
+
+"Who is spreading this rumor? Robinson?"
+
+"'E dussen't, sir. 'E looks fierce, but 'e'll 'old 'is tongue. T'super
+will see to that."
+
+"Someone is talking. That is quite certain."
+
+"There's a chap in the 'Are an' 'Ounds--kem 'ere last night."
+
+"Ingerman?"
+
+"Ay, sir, that's the name. 'E's makin' a song of it, I hear."
+
+"Anybody else?"
+
+"Fred Elkin is gassin' about. Do 'ee know un? Breeds 'osses at Mount
+Farm, a mile that-a-way," and Bates pointed to the west.
+
+Grant hazarded a guess, and described the face of condemnation seen at
+the inn. Bates nodded.
+
+"That's un," he said. Then he drove the spade into the rich loam. "They
+do say," he added, apparently as an after-thought, "as Fred Elkin is
+mighty sweet on Doris, but her'll 'ave nowt to do wi' un."
+
+Grant whistled softly. This explanation threw light on a dark place.
+
+"The plot thickens," he said. "Mr. Elkin becomes more interesting than he
+looks. Are there other disappointed swains in the offing?"
+
+"What's that, sir?"
+
+"Has Miss Martin any other suitors?"
+
+"Lots of 'em 'ud be after her like wasps round a plum-tree if she'd give
+'em 'alf a chance. But _you_ put a stopper on 'em."
+
+Bates was blunt of speech, though a philosopher withal.
+
+"Elkin is my only serious rival, then?" laughed Grant, passing off as a
+joke a thrust which was shrewder than the gardener knew.
+
+"'E 'as plenty of brass, but I reckon nowt on 'im," was the
+contemptuous answer.
+
+"Well, he is not a likely person to kill a woman he had never before
+seen. Miss Martin will marry whom she chooses, no doubt. The present
+problem is to find out who murdered Miss Melhuish. Now, had _I_ been the
+victim you would be thinking hard, Bates."
+
+"I tell 'ee, sir, it wur a loony."
+
+Nor was Bates to be moved from that opinion. He held to it, through thick
+and thin, for many days.
+
+Grant wandered into the front garden. His eyes rose involuntarily to the
+distant post office, and he noticed at once that the dormer window was
+closed. Yet Doris shared his own love of fresh air, and that window had
+always been open till that very hour. Somehow, this simple thing seemed
+to shut him out of her life. He walked to the river, and gazed at the
+spot where the body was drawn ashore. In the absence of rain the water
+ran clear as gin, and the marks made by the feet of Adelaide Melhuish's
+murderer were still perceptible. If only those misshapen blotches could
+reveal their secret! If only some Heaven-sent ray of intuition would
+enable him to put the police on the track of the criminal! Theoretically,
+a novelist and essayist should be a first-rate detective, yet, brought
+face to face with an actual felony, here was one who perforce remained
+blind and dumb.
+
+Yet he was not blameworthy for failing to solve a mystery which was
+rapidly establishing a record for bewildering elements. Wherein he did
+err most lamentably was in his reading of a woman's heart.
+
+No answering telegram came from his friend in London. The day wore
+slowly till it was time to attend the inquest. He found a crowd gathered
+in front of the Hare and Hounds. Superintendent Fowler was there, and
+quite a number of policemen, whose presence was explained when a buzz of
+excitement heralded Grant's arrival. He decided not to stand this sort of
+persecution a moment longer.
+
+Before the superintendent could interfere, he leaped on to a set of stone
+mounting-steps which stood opposite the door. Instantly, seeing that he
+was about to speak, the angry murmuring of the mob was hushed. He looked
+into a hundred stolid faces, and stretched out his right hand.
+
+"I cannot help feeling," he said, in slow, incisive accents which carried
+far, "that a set of peculiar circumstances has led you Steynholme folk to
+suspect me of being responsible, in some way, for the death of the lady
+whose body was found in the river near my house. Now, I want to tell you
+that I am not only an innocent but a much-maligned man. The law of the
+land will establish both facts in due season. But I want to warn some of
+you, too, I shall not trouble to issue writs for libel. If any blackguard
+among you dares to insult me openly, I shall smash his face."
+
+He knew when to stop. Superintendent Fowler's nudge was not called
+for, as the orator simply met the scrutiny of all those eyes without
+another word.
+
+Curiously enough, the sense of justice is inherent in every haphazard
+gathering of the public. Grant's soldierly bearing, his calm defiance of
+hostile opinion, the outspoken threat which he so plainly meant, won
+instant favor. Someone shouted, "Hear, hear!" and the crowd applauded.
+From that moment he had little to complain of in the attitude of the
+community as a whole. There were subtle and dangerous enemies to be
+fought and conquered, but Steynholme looked on, keen to learn of any new
+sensation, of course, but placidly content that the final verdict should
+be left in the hands of the authorities.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+"ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS"
+
+
+The inquest was surprisingly tame after the stirring events which had
+led up to it. Indeed, save for two incidents, the proceedings were
+almost dull.
+
+The coroner, a Knoleworth solicitor named Belcher, prided himself on
+conducting this _cause c�l�bre_ with as little ostentation as he would
+have displayed over an ordinary inquiry. Messrs. Siddle, Elkin, Tomlin
+and Hobbs, with eight other local tradesmen and farmers, formed the
+jurors, and the chemist was promptly elected foreman; no witnesses were
+ordered out of court; the formalities of "swearing in" the jury and
+"viewing" the body were carried through rapidly. Almost before Grant had
+time to assimilate these details Superintendent Fowler, who marshalled
+the evidence, called his name. The coroner's officer tendered him a
+well-thumbed Bible, while the coroner himself administered the oath.
+
+Grant eyed the somewhat soiled volume, and opened it before putting it to
+his lips. The action probably did not please the jury. Elkin nudged
+Tomlin, and sniggered at the rest of his colleagues, as much as to say:
+"What did I tell you? The cheek of him!"
+
+Elkin, by the way, looked ill. When his interest flagged for an instant
+his haggard aspect became more noticeable.
+
+Ingerman was there, of course. Furneaux sat beside Mr. Fowler. A
+stranger, whom Grant did not recognize, proved to be the County Chief
+Constable. There was a strong muster of police, and the representatives
+of the press completely monopolized the scanty accommodation for the
+public. To Grant's relief, Doris Martin was not in attendance.
+
+He told the simple facts of the finding of Adelaide Melhuish's corpse. A
+harmless question by the coroner evoked the first "scene" which set the
+reporters' pencils busy.
+
+"Did you recognize the body!" inquired Mr. Belcher.
+
+"I did."
+
+"Then you can give the jury her name?"
+
+Before Grant could answer, Ingerman sprang up, his sallow face livid
+with passion.
+
+"I protest, sir, against this man being permitted to identify my
+wife," he said.
+
+He was either deeply moved, or proved himself an excellent actor. His
+flute-like voice vibrated with an intense emotion. Thus might Mark Antony
+have spoken when vowing that Brutus was an honorable man.
+
+"Who are you?" demanded the coroner sharply.
+
+"Isidor George Ingerman, husband of the deceased lady," came the
+clear-toned reply.
+
+"Well, sit down, sir, and do not interrupt the court again," said
+the coroner.
+
+"I demand, sir, that you note my protest."
+
+"Sit down! Were you any other person I would have you removed. As it is,
+I am prepared to regard your feelings to the extent of explaining that
+the witness is not identifying the body but relating a fact within his
+own knowledge."
+
+Ingerman bowed, and resumed his seat.
+
+For some reason, Grant stared blankly at Furneaux. The latter did not
+meet his glance, but put a finger on those thin lips. It might, or might
+not, be a warning to repress any retort he had in mind. At any rate,
+obeying a nod from the coroner, he merely said:
+
+"She was a well-known actress, Miss Adelaide Melhuish."
+
+Mr. Belcher's pen hesitated a little. Then it scratched on. Undoubtedly,
+he was himself exercising the restraint he meant to impose on others.
+
+"You are quite sure?" he said, after a pause.
+
+"Quite."
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Grant. Wait here until you sign your deposition. Of
+course, you are aware that this inquiry will stand adjourned, and the
+whole matter will be gone into fully at a later date."
+
+"So I have been informed, sir."
+
+Ingerman was the next witness. _He_, like a good democrat, kissed the
+cover of the Bible. The coroner began by giving him some advice.
+
+"This is a purely formal inquiry, to permit of a death certificate being
+issued. You will oblige me, therefore, by answering my questions without
+introducing any extraneous subject."
+
+Ingerman adhered to these instructions. Having already shot a
+carefully-prepared bolt, he meant avoiding any further conflict with
+the authorities. His evidence was brief and to the point. The deceased
+was his wife. They were married at a London registrar's office on a
+given date, six years ago. His wife acted under her maiden name. There
+was no family.
+
+The court was well lighted by four long windows in the eastern wall,
+which each witness faced, so Grant was free to study his avowed enemy at
+leisure. He thought he made out a crafty underlook in Ingerman which he
+had failed to detect the previous night. That slow, smooth voice seemed
+to weigh each syllable. Such a man would never blurt out an unconsidered
+admission. He was a foe to be reckoned with. The subtle malignancy of
+that well-timed outburst was proof positive in that respect.
+
+The jury, apparently, attached much weight to his words. On some faces
+there was an expectancy which merged into marked disappointment when his
+evidence came to an end. The foreman alone displayed the judicial
+attitude warranted by the oath he had taken. Somehow, Grant had faith in
+Mr. Siddle. The man looked intellectual. When spoken to in his shop his
+manner was invariably reserved. But that was his general repute in
+Steynholme--a quiet, uninterfering person, who had come to the village a
+young man, yet had never really entered into its life. For instance, he
+neither held nor would accept any public office. At first, people
+wondered how he contrived to eke out a living, but this puzzle was solved
+by his admitted possession of a small annuity.
+
+Dr. Foxton, general practitioner, who held undisputed sway in the
+district, told how he had conducted an autopsy on the body of the
+deceased. He found a deep, incised wound on the back of the skull, a
+wound which would have caused death in any event. The instrument used
+must have been a heavy and blunt one. Miss Melhuish was dead or dying
+when thrown into the river. The body was well nourished, and the vital
+organs sound. Undoubtedly she had been murdered.
+
+Bates followed, and evoked a snigger by the outspokenness of blunt
+Sussex.
+
+"I hauled 'um in," he said, "an' knew it wur a dead 'un by the feel of
+the rope."
+
+The coroner was not curious. He merely wished to put on record the time
+and manner in which Mr. Grant summoned assistance.
+
+Then P. C. Robinson entered the box, and contrived to bring about the
+second "incident."
+
+He told how, "from information received," he went to The Hollies, and
+found Mr. Grant standing near the river with a dead body at his feet.
+
+"One side of Mr. Grant's face was covered with blood," he went on.
+
+If the policeman was minded to create a sensation, he certainly
+succeeded. A slight hum ran through the court, and then all present
+seemed to restrain their breathing lest a word of the evidence should be
+lost. The mention of "blood" in a murder case was a more adroit dodge
+than Robinson himself guessed, perhaps. Few of his hearers troubled to
+reflect that a smudge of fresh gore on Grant's cheek could hardly have
+any bearing on the death of a woman whose body had admittedly lain all
+night in the river. It sufficed that Robinson had introduced a touch of
+the right color into the inquiry. Even the coroner was worried.
+
+"Well!" he said testily.
+
+"I took down his statement, sir," said the witness, well knowing that he
+had wiped off Grant's morning score in the matter of Bush Walk.
+
+"Never mind his statement. That must await the adjourned hearing. What
+did you do with the body?"
+
+"Took it to the stable of the Hare and Hounds, sir."
+
+"Where it was viewed recently by the jury?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"It is the body identified by Mr. Ingerman as that of his wife?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"That will do.... Superintendent Fowler, will this day week at ten
+o'clock suit you?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said the superintendent.
+
+"Then the inquest stands adjourned until that day and hour. Gentlemen of
+the jury, you must be here punctually."
+
+"Can't we ask any questions?" cried Elkin, in an injured tone.
+
+"No. You cannot," snapped the coroner emphatically.
+
+After a few formalities, which included the reading and signing of the
+depositions, the courthouse emptied. The whole thing was over in half an
+hour. Grant, determined to have a word with the representative of
+Scotland Yard, went openly to Furneaux, and asked him to come to The
+Hollies and join him in a cup of tea.
+
+"No," was the curt answer. "I'm busy. I'll see you later."
+
+It was difficult to reconcile the detective's present stand-off manner
+with his earlier camaradie, to say nothing of the seemingly friendly hint
+conveyed by the signal to pass no comment on Ingerman's interruption.
+
+Rather sick at heart, Grant went out into the sunshine. He was
+snap-shotted a dozen times by press photographers. One man, backing
+impudently in front of him in order to secure a sharp focus, tripped over
+the raised edge of a cartway into a yard, and sat down violently.
+
+The onlookers laughed, but Grant helped the photographer to rise.
+
+"If you want a really good picture of the Steynholme murderer, come to my
+place, and I'll give you one," he said.
+
+The pressman was grateful, because Grant's action had tended to mitigate
+his discomfiture.
+
+"No one but a fool thinks of you as a murderer, Mr. Grant," he said.
+"What I really want is a portrait of 'the celebrated' author in whose
+grounds the body was found."
+
+"Come along, then, and I'll pose for you."
+
+The photographer was surprised, but joyfully accepted the gifts the gods
+gave. He could not guess that his host was pining for human
+companionship. He could not fathom Grant's disappointment, on reaching
+The Hollies, at finding no telegram from a trusted friend, Walter Hart.
+And he was equally unconscious of the immense service he rendered by
+compelling his host to talk and act naturally. He enlightened Grant, too,
+in the matter of inquests.
+
+"Next week there will be a gathering of lawyers," he said. "The police
+will be represented, probably by the Treasury, if the case is thought
+sufficiently important. That chap, Ingerman, too, will employ a
+solicitor, I expect, judging from his attitude to-day. In fact, any one
+whose interests are affected ought to secure legal assistance. One never
+knows how these inquiries twist and turn."
+
+"Thank you," said Grant, smiling at the journalist's tact. "I'll order
+tea to be got ready while you're taking your pictures. By the way, what
+sort of detective is Mr. Charles F. Furneaux?"
+
+"A pocket marvel," was the enthusiastic answer. "Haven't you heard of him
+before? Well, you wouldn't, unless you followed famous cases
+professionally. He seldom appears in the courts--generally manages to
+wriggle out of giving direct evidence. But I've never known him to fail.
+He either hangs his man or drives him to suicide. If I committed a crime,
+and was told that Furneaux was after me, I'd own up and save trouble,
+because I wouldn't have the ghost of a chance of winning clear."
+
+"He strikes one as too flippant for a detective."
+
+"Yes. Lots of people have thought that, and they're either disappearing
+in quicklime beneath some corridor of a prison, or doing time at
+Portland. I wonder if Winter also is coming down on this job."
+
+"Who is 'Winter'?"
+
+"The Chief Inspector at the 'Yard.' A big, cheerful-looking fellow--from
+his appearance might be a gentleman-farmer and J. P., with a taste for
+horses and greyhounds. He and Furneaux are called the Big 'Un and the
+Little 'Un, and each is most unlike the average detective. But Heaven
+help any wrong-doer they set out to trail! They'll get him, as sure as
+God made little apples."
+
+"Then the sooner Mr. Winter visits Steynholme the better I shall be
+pleased. This tragedy is becoming a perfect nightmare. You heard that
+fat-headed policeman speak of my face being covered with blood. He did it
+purposely. I made a fool of him this morning, so he paid me out, the
+literal truth being that a branch of that Dorothy Perkins rose there
+caught my cheek as I entered this room on Tuesday morning--before I
+discovered the body--and broke the skin. I suppose the cut is visible
+still? I saw it to-day while shaving."
+
+"Yes," said the other, chortling over the "copy" his colleagues were
+missing. "The mark is there right enough. Queer how inanimate objects
+like a rose-tree can make mischief. I remember a case in which a chestnut
+in a man's pocket sent him to penal servitude. There was absolutely no
+evidence against him, except a possible motive, until that chestnut was
+found and proved to be one of a particular species, grown only in a
+certain locality."
+
+"How fortunate that the Dorothy Perkins is popular!" laughed Grant. "Will
+your paper publish photographs of the principals in this affair?"
+
+"I expect so. I've a fine collection--the jury, all in a row--and you,
+making that speech to the mob."
+
+"Oh! Will that appear?"
+
+"By Jove, yes, sir. It was wired off before the inquest opened."
+
+Grant reddened slightly. His own impetuous action had blurted out to the
+whole world that which Steynholme was only thinking. No wonder Furneaux
+had warned him to go slow. Perhaps the little man was annoyed because of
+his challenge to the village crowd? Well, be it so. He meant, and would
+live up to, every word of it!
+
+The afternoon dragged after the pressman's departure. What Grant really
+hungered for was a heart-to-heart talk between Doris Martin and himself.
+But, short of a foolish attempt to carry the post office by storm, he saw
+no means of realizing his desire. He must, perforce, await the less
+troubled hours of the morrow or next day. Doris would surely give her
+father an exact account of the conversation between Grant, Furneaux, and
+herself that morning, and that greatly perplexed man could hardly fail to
+see how unjust was the tittle-tattle of the village.
+
+So, avoiding Mrs. Bates, whose fell intent it was to ask him what he
+wanted for dinner, he struck off along the road to Knoleworth, walked
+eight miles in two hours, and reached The Hollies about seven o'clock,
+rather inclined for a meal and much more contented with life.
+
+Minnie announced that a gentleman "who brought a bag" had been awaiting
+him since half-past five, and was now asleep on the lawn! A glance at the
+aforesaid bag, still reposing in the entrance hall, sent Grant quickly
+into the garden. A long, broad-shouldered person was stretched on a
+wicker chair, and evidently enjoying a nap. A huge meerschaum pipe and
+tobacco pouch lay on the grass. The newcomer's face was covered by a
+broad-brimmed, decidedly weather-beaten slouch hat, which, legend had it,
+was purchased originally in South America in the early nineties, and had
+won fame as the only one of its kind ever worn in the Strand.
+
+"Hullo! Wally! Glad to see you!" shouted Grant joyously.
+
+The sleeper stirred.
+
+"No, not another drop!" he muttered. "You fellows must have heads of
+triple brass and stomachs of leather!"
+
+"Get up, you rascal, or I'll spill you out of the chair!" said Grant.
+
+A lazy hand removed the hat, and a pair of peculiarly big and bright eyes
+gazed up into his.
+
+"Oh, it's you, is it?" drawled a quiet voice. "Why the blazes did you
+send for me? And, having sent, why wake me out of the best sleep I've
+had for a week?"
+
+"But why didn't you let me know you were coming? I would have met
+the train."
+
+"I did. Here's the telegram. That pink-cheeked maid of yours nearly had a
+fit when I opened it to show her that I was expected."
+
+"You wired from Victoria, I suppose?"
+
+"Would you have preferred Charing Cross, or the Temple? Isn't Victoria
+respectable?"
+
+Grant laughed as they shook hands. Hart was the most casual adventurer in
+existence. His specialty was revolutions. Wherever the flag of rebellion
+was raised against a government, thither went Walter Hart post-haste by
+train, steamer, or on horseback. He had been sentenced to death five
+times, and decorated by successful Jack Cades twice as often.
+
+"I'm a sort of outlaw. That's why I sought your help," explained Grant.
+
+"I know all about you, Jack," said Hart slowly, picking up the pipe and
+filling it from the pouch. The meerschaum was carved to represent the
+head of a grinning negro, and was now ebon black from use.
+
+"I felt like a pint of Sussex ale after a hot journey in the train, so
+hied me to the village inn, where several obliging gentlemen told me your
+real name. Two of them, Ingerman and Elkin, apparently make a hobby of
+enlightening strangers as to your right place in society."
+
+"I must interview Elkin."
+
+"Not worth while, my boy. Ingerman is the crafty one. I thought I might
+be doing you more harm than good, or I would have given him a thick ear
+this afternoon ... Oh, by the way, what time is it?"
+
+"Seven o'clock."
+
+"A little fellow named Furneaux is coming here to dinner at seven-thirty.
+Said he would drop in by the back door, and mutter 'Hush! I'm Hawkshaw,
+the detective.' He resembles a cock-sparrow, so I asked him why he didn't
+fly in through an attic window. He took my point at once, and remarked
+that he wanted none of my lip, or he would ask me officially what became
+of Don Ramon de Santander's big pink pearl. It's a queer yarn. There was
+a bust-up in Guatemala--"
+
+"Look here, Wally," broke in Grant anxiously. "Are you serious? Did
+Furneaux really say he was coming here?"
+
+"He did, and more--he expressed a partiality for a chicken roasted on a
+spit. You have a spit in your kitchen, he says, and a pair of chickens in
+your larder."
+
+"How did you contrive to meet him?"
+
+"You're a poor guesser, Jack. _He_ met _me_. 'That you, Mr. Hart?' he
+said. 'Mr. Grant's house is the first on the right across the bridge.
+Tell him'--and the rest of it."
+
+"Have you warned Mrs. Bates?"
+
+"Mrs. Bates being?"
+
+"My housekeeper."
+
+"No, sir. If she's anything like your housemaid, I'm glad I didn't, or
+I should have been chucked into the road. I had the deuce of a job to
+reach the lawn. Had I ordered dinner I might now have been in the
+village lockup."
+
+Grant hurried away, and placated Mrs. Bates after a stormy
+interlude. Precisely at 7.30 p. m. Minnie came and said that "Mr.
+Hawkshaw" had arrived.
+
+"Bring him out here," said Grant. "Fetch some sherry and glasses, and
+give us five minutes' notice before dinner is served."
+
+"Please, sir," tittered Minnie, "the gentleman prefers to stay indoors.
+He said his complexion won't stand the glare."
+
+"Very well," smiled Grant, rising. "Put the sherry and bitters on the
+sideboard."
+
+"Say," murmured Hart, "is this chap really a detective?"
+
+"Yes. He stands high at Scotland Yard."
+
+"Never more than five feet four, I'll swear. But I wouldn't have missed
+this for a pension. I have a revolver in my hip pocket, of course. One
+would feel lonely without it, even in England. But I hope you can stage a
+few knives and daggers, and a red light. I can cut masks out of a strip
+of black velvet. That girl will have a piece stowed away somewhere."
+
+The two entered the dining-room study, where the table was now laid for
+dinner. Furneaux was seated on the edge of a chair in the darkest
+corner. His eyes gleamed at them strangely.
+
+"Can you trust Bates?" he said to Grant.
+
+It was a wholly unexpected question, and Grant answered sharply:
+
+"Of course, I can."
+
+"Tell him to make sure that no one trespasses on your lawn between now
+and ten o'clock. Close that window, draw the blind and curtains, and
+block that small window, the one through which you saw the ghost."
+
+"Ye gods!" cackled Hart ecstatically.
+
+"Why all these precautions?" demanded Grant, rather amused now.
+
+"I'm supposed to be on the very verge of arresting you, and it would
+weaken the faith of my allies if I were seen drinking your wines and
+eating your chicken."
+
+"By the way, how did you know I had chickens in store, and a spit on
+which to roast them?"
+
+"I looked you over at five-thirty this morning, having traveled from
+London by the mail train. I must lecture you on your inefficient
+window-catches, Mr. Grant. Several self-respecting burglars of my
+acquaintance would give your house the go-by as being too easy. And, one
+other matter. I suggest that any man who mentions the Steynholme murder
+again before the coffee arrives shall be fined a sovereign for each
+offense, such fine, or fines, to form a fund for the relief of his
+hearers. _Cr� nom d'un pipe_! Three intelligent men can surely discuss
+more interesting topics while they eat!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+AN INTERRUPTED SYMPOSIUM
+
+
+"Have a cigarette," said Grant to Furneaux, when the blinds were drawn, a
+lamp lighted, and the sherry dispensed.
+
+"Thank you."
+
+The self-invited guest took one. He sniffed it, broke the paper wrapping,
+and crumbled some of the tobacco between finger and thumb.
+
+"Ah, those Greeks!" he said sadly. "They simply can't go straight. This
+brand of Turk used to be made of a tobacco grown on a slope above
+Salonica. A strip of sun-baked soil built up a reputation which is now
+being bartered for filthy lucre by the use of Egyptian 'fillings.'"
+
+"You're a connoisseur, Mr. Hawknose--try these," said Hart, proffering
+a case, from which the detective drew a cigarette, throwing the other
+one aside.
+
+"Why 'Hawknose'?" he inquired.
+
+"A blend. First syllable of Hawkshaw and second of Furneaux--the latter
+Anglicized, of course."
+
+"And vulgarized."
+
+"You prefer Furshaw, perhaps?"
+
+"Either effort is feeble for a man who can write about South America,
+and be lucid. Do you smoke this stuff, may I ask?" While talking, he had
+smelt and destroyed the second cigarette.
+
+"If it's a fair question, what the devil do _you_ smoke?" cried Hart.
+
+"Nothing. I'm a non-smoker. My profession demands a clear intellect, not
+a brain atrophied by nicotine."
+
+"Piffle! Carlyle and Bismarck were smokers."
+
+"Who reads Carlyle now-a-days? And what modern German pays heed to
+Bismarck's dogmas? Look at that pipe of yours. It was once a pure ivory
+white. Now it is black--soiled by tobacco juice. Your lungs are slowly
+emulating it, and your wits will cloud in time. Read Tolstoi, Mr. Hart.
+He will teach you how nicotine deadens the conscience."
+
+"At last I know why I smoke like a Thames tug," laughed Hart, "but I'm
+blest if I can understand why _you_ make such a study of the vile weed."
+
+"Most criminals are addicted to the habit. I classify them by their brand
+of tobacco. For instance, a clever forger would never descend to thick
+twist, while a swell mobsman would turn with horror from a woodbine."
+
+Minnie entered, and nodded, whereupon Grant led the others upstairs to
+wash. From the bathroom he looked out over a darkening landscape. Doris's
+dormer window was open. She was leaning on the sill, but he could not
+tell whether or not her eyes were turned his way. Her attitude was
+pensive, disconsolate, curiously forlorn for a girl normally
+high-spirited. He was on the point of signaling to her when he remembered
+Furneaux's presence. There was something impish, almost diabolically
+clever, in that little man's characteristics which induced wariness.
+
+The dinner was a marvel, considering the short notice given to the cook.
+Luckily, Mrs. Bates, a loyal soul, had resolved to tempt her employer's
+appetite that evening. Village gossip had it that the police were about
+to arrest him, and she was determined he should enjoy at least one good
+meal before being haled to prison. Hence, the materials were present.
+The rest was a matter of quantities, and Sussex seldom stints itself in
+that respect.
+
+The chatter round the table was light and amusing. The three were well
+matched conversationally. Furneaux evidently held the opinion once
+expressed by a notable Walrus--that the time had come
+
+To talk of many things:
+Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
+Of cabbages--and kings.
+
+He was in excellent form, and the others played up to him. Hart's slow
+drawl was ever trenchant and witty, and Grant forgot his woes in
+congenial company. As for the mercurial detective himself, it might be
+said of him as of the school-master of Auburn:
+
+And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,
+That one small head could carry all he knew.
+
+It was he who dropped them with a bounce from the realm of fancy to the
+unpleasing region of ugly fact. No sooner had Minnie cleared the table,
+and brought in the coffee, than he whisked around on Grant as though
+hitherto he had been only awaiting an opportunity of scarifying him.
+
+"Now," he said, propping an elbow on the table, and supporting his chin
+on a clenched fist, "the embargo is off the Steynholme affair. _You_
+didn't kill Adelaide Melhuish, Mr. Grant. Who did?"
+
+"I wish I could tell you," was the emphatic answer.
+
+"Do you suspect anybody? You needn't fear the libel law in confiding your
+secret thought to me, and I assume that Mr. Hart is trustworthy--where
+his friends are concerned?"
+
+"Why that unkind differentiating clause, my pocket Vidocq?" put in Hart.
+
+"Because two Kings and a baker's dozen of Presidents have, at various
+times, sent most unflattering reports to this country about you."
+
+"I must have annoyed 'em most damnably."
+
+"You had. I congratulate you, but Heaven only knows where I may convoy
+you some day on an extradition warrant....Proceed, Mr. Grant."
+
+"I assure you, on my honor, that the only reasonable suggestion I can
+make is that put forward by my gardener to-day," said Grant. "He thinks
+that the murder must have been committed by a lunatic. I can offer no
+other hypothesis."
+
+"Your gardener may be right. But what lunatic, barring yourself and the
+horse-coper, Elkin, is in love with Doris Martin?"
+
+Like Elkin the previous night, Grant struck the table till things
+rattled.
+
+"Keep her name out of it," he cried fiercely. "You are a man of the
+world, not a suspicious idiot of the Robinson type. You heard to-day the
+full and true explanation of her presence here on Monday night. It was a
+sheer accident. Why harp on Doris Martin rather than any member of the
+Bates family?"
+
+"Who, may I ask, is Doris Martin?" put in Hart.
+
+"The Steynholme postmaster's daughter," said Furneaux. "A remarkably
+pretty and intelligent girl. If her father was a peer she would be the
+belle of a London season. As it is, her good looks seem to have put a
+maggot in more than one nut in this village."
+
+Hart waved the negro's head in the air.
+
+"The lunatic theory for mine," he declared. "If one woman's lovely face
+could bring a thousand ships to Ilion, why should not another's drive men
+to madness in Steynholme?"
+
+"Well phrased, sir," cackled Furneaux delightedly. "I'll wangle that in
+on a respected colleague of mine, who is a whale at deducing a
+proposition from given premises, but cannot induce a general fact from
+particular instances to save his life ... Now, stifle your romantic
+frenzy, Mr. Grant, and listen to me. If you were minded to instruct me in
+the art of writing good English, I would sit at your feet an attentive
+disciple. When I, Furneaux, of the 'Yard,' lay down a first principle in
+the investigation of crime, I expect deference on your part. I tell you
+unhesitatingly that if Doris Martin didn't exist, Adelaide Melhuish would
+be alive now. That, as a thesis, is nearly as certain a thing as that the
+sun will rise to-morrow. I go farther, and hazard the guess, not the
+fixed belief, though my guesses are usually borne out by events, that if
+Doris Martin had not been in this garden at half past ten on Monday
+night, Adelaide Melhuish would not have been killed some twenty minutes
+later. It is useless for you to fume and rage in vain effort to disprove
+either of these presumptive facts. You are simply beating the air. This
+mystery centers in and around the postmaster's daughter. Come, now, you
+are a reasonable person. Admit the cold, hard truth, and then give play
+to your fancy."
+
+"Sir," said Hart, brandishing his pipe again, "I suggest that you and I,
+here and now, form a mutual admiration society."
+
+"It is a cruel and bitter thing that an innocent girl should be dragged
+into association with a foul crime," said Grant stubbornly. "I am not
+disputing the force of your acumen, Mr. Furneaux. My only desire is to
+shield the good name of a very charming young lady."
+
+"What's done can't be undone," countered the detective, well knowing that
+Grant confessed himself beaten.
+
+"But what is all the bother about? You heard from Miss Martin's own lips
+absolutely the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Put her in the
+witness-box, and what more can she tell you?"
+
+"I am not worrying about her appearance in the witness-box," said
+Furneaux dryly. "Long before that stage is reached I shall be hunting a
+star burglar, or, perhaps, looking into the Foreign Office _dossier_ of
+our worthy friend here, as to-day's papers hint at trouble in Venezuela.
+No, sir. The county police will get all the credit. P.C. Robinson will be
+swanking about then, telling the yokels what _he_ did. I, with Olympic
+nod, say, 'There's your man!' and the handcuffs' brigade do the rest. So
+far as I can foresee, Miss Martin's name may be spared any undue
+prominence in this inquiry. I go even farther, and promise that anything
+I can do in that way shall be done."
+
+"That is very kind and considerate of you," said Grant gratefully.
+
+"Don't halloo till you're out of the wood." said Furneaux, sitting back
+suddenly and nursing his left knee with clasped hands. "I can't control
+other people's actions, you know. What I insist on to-night is that you
+shall envisage this affair in its proper light. We have a long way to
+travel before counsel rises with his smug 'May it please you, me lud,
+and gentlemen of the jury.' But, having persuaded you to agree that,
+willy nilly, Miss Doris is the hub of our little universe for the hour,
+I now swear you and this fire-eater in as assistants. There must be no
+more speeches, no punching of heads, very little love-making, and that
+by order--"
+
+"Has the postmaster's daughter a delectable sister, O Liliputian cop?"
+demanded Hart.
+
+"No. Two of 'em would have caused a riot long since. Mr. Grant will do
+all, and more than all, necessary in that direction."
+
+Grant leaned forward. He spoke very earnestly.
+
+"I want you to believe me when I tell you," he said, "that I never gave
+serious thought to the notion of marrying Miss Martin until such a
+possibility was suggested last night by that swab, Ingerman."
+
+"Ah, Ingerman! You kept a record of what he said, I gather?"
+
+"Yes, here it is."
+
+Grant rose, and went to a writing-desk with nests of drawers which stood
+against the wall on the left of the door. He never used it for its
+primary purpose. When the table was laid for meals, Minnie or her mother
+had orders to remove all papers and books to the top of the desk. The
+house contained no other living-room of size. The hall was spacious; a
+smoking den next the dining-room had degenerated into a receptacle of
+guns, fishing-rods, golf-clubs, Alpenstocks, skis and other such sporting
+accessories. The remainder of the ground-floor accommodation was given up
+to the Bateses.
+
+Unlocking a drawer, Grant produced a notebook, which he handed to
+Furneaux. The detective laid it on the table. He was sitting with
+his back to the large window. Hart faced him. Grant's chair was
+between the two.
+
+"By the way, as you're on your feet, Mr. Grant," said Furneaux, "you
+might just show me exactly where you were standing when you saw the face
+at the window."
+
+"For the love of Mike, what's this?" gurgled Hart. "'The face at the
+window'; 'the postmaster's daughter.' How many more catchy cross-heads
+will you bring into the story?"
+
+"Poor Adelaide Melhuish undoubtedly came here on Monday night and looked
+in at me while I was at work," said Grant sadly. "You know the history of
+my calf love three years ago, Wally."
+
+"Shall I ever forget it? You bored me stiff about it. Then, when the
+crash came, you walked me off my legs in the Upper Engadine. Ugh! That
+night on the Forno glacier. It gives me a chill to think of it now.
+Furneaux, pass the port. Your name is wrongly spelt. It should be
+fourneau, not Furneaux. A little oven. Hot stuff. Got me?"
+
+"My _dear_ Hart, you flatter me," retorted the detective instantly.
+
+"How long am I to pose here?" snapped Grant.
+
+"Sorry," said Furneaux. "These interruptions are banal. Is that where
+you were?"
+
+"Yes. I had my hand outstretched for a book. It's dark in this
+corner. When I want to find a book I light a candle, which is always
+placed on the ledge of the window for the purpose. The blind was not
+drawn that night. It seldom is. I had the book in my hand, and had
+found the required passage when I chanced to look at the window and
+saw _her_ face."
+
+"Do you mind reconstructing the scene. This lamp was on the table,
+I suppose?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, pull up the blind, light your candle, and find the book. Act the
+whole incident, in fact."
+
+Grant obeyed. He held the candlestick until he had picked out the
+particular volume; then he placed it in the recess of the window, and
+searched through the pages of the book.
+
+Furneaux bent forward so as to watch the rehearsal and catch the effect
+of the light externally. The hour was not so late as when Adelaide
+Melhuish, or her ghost, gazed in through one of those narrow panes, but
+the night was dark enough to lend the necessary _vraisemblance_. Hart,
+deeply interested, looked on with rapt, eager eyes. For a full minute
+the tableau remained thus. Then, with a rapidity born of many a close
+'scape in wild lands, Hart drew a revolver from a hip pocket, and fired
+at the window.
+
+He alone was in a position to see through all parts of it. Grant was
+still thumbing a small brown volume in the manner of one who knew that a
+certain passage would be found therein but was ignorant of its exact
+place in the text. Furneaux, intent on his every movement, had only a
+side-long view of the window, which, it will be remembered, formed a tiny
+rectangle in a thick wall.
+
+The revolver was a heavy-caliber weapon, and the explosion blew out the
+lamp. The flame of the candle flickered, owing either to the passage of
+the bullet or the disturbance of the air. But it burnt steadily again
+within the fifth part of a second, and they all saw a starred hole in the
+center pane of glass of the second tier from the bottom.
+
+"What fool's game are you playing?" shrilled Furneaux, nevertheless
+active as a wildcat in his spring to the French window, there to snatch
+at the blind and turn the knob which controlled a lever bolt.
+
+"Laying another ghost--one with whiskers," said Hart coolly. "I got him,
+too, I think."
+
+"You must be mad, mad!" shrieked the detective, tearing open the window,
+and vanishing.
+
+"For Heaven's sake, Wally, no more shooting!" cried Grant, running
+after Furneaux.
+
+Minnie and her mother appeared at the dining-room door. Finding the place
+in semi-obscurity, and reeking with gunpowder, they screamed loudly.
+
+"You Steynholme folk are all on the jump," said Hart. "Cheer up, fair
+dames! Thunder relieves the atmosphere, you know, and one live cartridge
+is often more effective than an ocean of talk."
+
+"Bub-bub-but who's shot, sir?" gasped Minnie.
+
+"A ghost, a most scoundrelly apparition, with fearsome eyes, offensive
+whiskers, and a hat which is a base copy of mine."
+
+"Owd Ben!" sighed Mrs. Bates, collapsing straightway in a faint.
+
+Luckily, Minnie caught her mother and broke her fall, because the
+housekeeper was large and solid, and might have been seriously injured
+otherwise. Hart was distressed by this development, but, being eminently
+a ready person in an emergency, he rose to the occasion by extracting the
+empty case from the revolver, and holding it to the poor woman's
+nostrils, while supporting her with an arm and a knee.
+
+"This is far more effective than burnt brown paper, Minnie," he said.
+"Now, don't get excited, but mix some brandy and water, and we'll have
+your mother telling us who Owd Ben is, or was, before Hawk-eye comes back
+to disturb us. Judging by the noises I hear, he's busy outside."
+
+"That's father!" shrieked Minnie hysterically.
+
+"Good Lord! Has your father--"
+
+For an instant, Hart was nearly alarmed, but Grant's voice came
+authoritatively:
+
+"It's all right, Bates. Let go, I tell you!"
+
+"Phew!" said Hart. "I was on the point of confusing your respected dad
+with Owd Ben ... That's it, ma! Sniff hard! As a cook you're worth your
+weight in gold, which is some cook."
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux, seeing that no dead body was stretched on the strip
+of grass beneath the window, dashed into the shrubbery to the right, and
+was clutched in a mighty embrace by an older but much more powerful man
+in Bates, who had hurried from the front of the house on hearing the
+pistol-shot. Most fortunately, the gardener, deeming his vigil a needless
+one, had not armed himself with a stick, or the consequences might have
+been grave. As it was, no one except Hart had been vouchsafed sight or
+sound of the latest specter, which, however, had left a very convincing
+souvenir of its visit in the shape of a soft felt hat with two bullet
+holes through the crown.
+
+Furneaux, quivering with silent wrath, soon abandoned the search when
+this _pi�ce de conviction_ was found at the root of the Dorothy Perkins
+rose-tree. Seeing the lamp relighted, he peremptorily bade Grant and
+Bates come in with him. He closed the window, adjusted the blind again,
+and poured generous measures of port wine into two glasses. Handing one
+to Bates, he took the other himself.
+
+"Friend," he said, "some men have fame thrust upon them, but you have
+achieved it. To-night you pierced the heel of Achilles. Here's to you!"
+
+"I dunno wot 'ee's saying mister, but 'good health'," said Bates,
+swigging the wine with gusto.
+
+"Now, for your master's sake, not a word to a soul about this hubbub."
+
+"Right you are, sir! But that there pryin' Robinson wur on t' bridge five
+minutes since. And, by gum, here he is!"
+
+A determined knock and ring came at the front door. Minnie, helped by
+Hart, had just escorted Mrs. Bates to the kitchen.
+
+"Let _me_ go!" said Furneaux, darting out into the hall. He opened the
+door, and thrust his face into the police-constable's, startling the
+latter considerably. Before Robinson could utter a syllable, the
+detective hissed a question.
+
+"Did anyone cross the bridge after that shot was fired?"
+
+"Nun--No, sir," stuttered the other.
+
+"You saw no one running along the road?"
+
+"Saw nothing, sir."
+
+"Very well. Glad to find you're on the job. Don't let on you met me here.
+Good-night!"
+
+Mighty is Scotland Yard with the provincial police. Robinson was back on
+his self-imposed beat before he well realized that he knew neither why
+nor by whom nor by what sort of weapon the commotion had been created.
+But he was quite sure the noise came from the garden front of Mr.
+Grant's house.
+
+"That little hop-o'-me-thumb thinks he's smart, dam smart," he communed
+angrily, "but I've taken a line of me own, an' I'll stick to it, though
+the Yard sends down twenty men!"
+
+He heard footsteps coming down a paved footpath which ran like a white
+riband through the cobble-beaded width of the high-street, and withdrew
+swiftly to the shelter of a disused tannery adjoining the village end of
+the bridge. A cloaked female figure sped past. Though the night was
+rather dark for June, he had no difficulty in recognizing Doris Martin's
+graceful movements. No other girl in Steynholme walked like her. She was
+slim enough to dispense with tight corsets, and tall enough to wear
+low-heeled shoes, nor did she need to pinch her toes in order to gain the
+semblance of small feet.
+
+After her went Robinson, keyed to exultation by this outcome of his
+watchfulness. She was going to The Hollies, of course. The road led to
+Knoleworth, and no young woman of her age in the village would dream of
+taking a lonely walk in the country at ten o'clock at night.
+
+For a man of his height and somewhat ponderous build, the policeman
+followed with real stealth. Thus, when she turned in at the gate, he was
+there by the time she had reached the front door. He heard her pull the
+bell. Curiously enough, to his thinking, Furneaux again appeared.
+
+"Is Mr. Grant at home?" he heard Doris say.
+
+"Yes. Will you come in?" replied the detective.
+
+"Is he--is all well here?"
+
+"Quite, I assure you. But _do_ come in. I'll escort you home. I'm going
+to the inn in five minutes."
+
+Doris, after hesitating a little, entered.
+
+Robinson crept on tiptoe over a stretch of gravel, and took to the
+shrubbery. It was high time, he thought, that the local constabulary
+learnt what was going on in that abode of mystery.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+HE WHOM THE CAP FITS--
+
+
+Several minutes had elapsed between the two unexpected visits. During
+those minutes a somewhat acrimonious discussion broke out in the
+dining-room. Bates went to reassure his wife, and Hart sauntered back
+from the kitchen. He was received by Furneaux and Grant more in sorrow
+than in anger, a pose on their part which he blandly disregarded. He
+helped himself to the remains of the decanter of port.
+
+"The next point of vital interest in the narrative is to establish, by
+such evidence as is available, who Owd Ben is, or was," he said. "I
+presume, since he had attained local celebrity as a ghost, he has passed
+over, as the spiritists say."
+
+"Sit down!" cried Furneaux savagely.
+
+Hart sat down, and began filling that portentous pipe.
+
+"You fellows merely ran into each other outside, I take it," he said,
+apparently by way of a chatty remark. "The crack of the pistol-shot and
+the supposed resurrection of Owd Ben threw Mrs. Bates temporarily off her
+balance, so I helped in reviving her. Between such a cook and such a
+ghost, who would hesitate?"
+
+When Furneaux was really irritated, he swore in French.
+
+_"Nom d'un bon petit homme gris!"_ he almost squealed, "why did you whip
+out that infernal revolver? You spoiled everything, everything! Have you
+no sense in that picturesque head of yours? Your skull is big enough to
+hold brains, not soap-bubbles."
+
+"Did your French father marry a Jap?" inquired Hart, with sudden
+interest.
+
+"And now you're insulting my mother," yelped the detective.
+
+"Not I. You know nothing about the finest race of little women in the
+world, or you would not even imagine such rubbish."
+
+"But why, why, didn't you tell me that you saw someone outside?"
+
+"You wouldn't have believed me. The goblin was disappearing. I had to
+shoot quick."
+
+"Why shoot at all?"
+
+"Sir, there are certain manifestations I object to on principle. What
+self-respecting ghost ever wore whiskers?"
+
+"This was no ghost. You shot the man's hat off."
+
+"Then what the blazes are you growling at? Had I, in blood-curdling
+whisper, told you that once again there was a face at the window, you
+would have scoffed at me. The ill-looking scamp caught my eye after his
+first glance at Grant. He was mizzling when I fired. You would have sat
+there and argued about hypnosis, with our worthy author's skilled
+support. And there would have been no hat! I do an admirable bit of trick
+shooting, yet I am only reviled for my dexterity. Really, Charles
+Fran�ois!"
+
+"Ah! You remember, at last," and the detective smiled sourly.
+
+"_Parfaitement_! as they say in Paris, where you and I met once, though
+'twas in a crowd. But _I_ didn't steal the blessed pearl. I believe it
+was that blatant patriot, Domengo Suarez."
+
+"You've got _some_ brains, then. Why not use them? Don't you see what a
+fix we three would have found ourselves in had you shot the man?"
+
+"But, consider, Carlo mio! A spook with whiskers! What court would find
+me guilty? Let me produce the authentic record of Owd Ben, and I have no
+doubt but that the Lord Chief Justice himself would have potted his
+representative. He'd be bound to confess it."
+
+Furneaux was cooling down.
+
+"You've shaken my confidence," he said. "Unless I have your promise that
+you will never do such a thing again while in my company, I shall ban you
+from this inquiry with bell, book, and candle."
+
+"Very well. It's a bargain. Now let us ponder Exhibit A."
+
+He stretched a long arm over the table, and took the hat.
+
+"Put it on!" commanded the detective.
+
+Hart did so, and scowled frightfully. Furneaux bent forward and squinted.
+
+"Notice the line of those bullet-holes," he said to Grant.
+
+"Any man wearing that hat must have had his scalp ploughed up," said
+Grant instantly.
+
+"Well, we know that nothing of the kind happened. Why?"
+
+"It was perched on top of a wig," drawled Hart.
+
+Furneaux was slightly disappointed--there was no denying it. Being a vain
+little person, he liked to show off in a minor matter such as this.
+
+"Yes," he admitted, "and what's the corollary?"
+
+"That the wearer is probably a clean-shaven person with thin hair, a
+daring scoundrel who is well posted in the leading characteristics
+of Owd Ben. Charles le Petit, time is now ripe for details of that
+hairy goblin."
+
+"Where did you dig him up from, anyhow?" said the detective testily.
+
+"Mrs. Bates recognized him from my vivid description."
+
+"Her husband can tell us the story," put in Grant. "I'll fetch him."
+
+He had not moved ere the front door bell rang a second time.
+
+"Here is Owd Ben himself, I expect," said Hart.
+
+"If it's that Robinson--" growled Furneaux vexedly, hastening to
+forestall Minnie.
+
+But it was Doris Martin, and very pretty she looked as she entered the
+room, her high color being the joint outcome of a rapid walk and a very
+natural embarrassment at finding the frankly admiring eyes of a stranger
+fixed on her.
+
+"I don't quite know why I'm here," she said, with a nervous laugh,
+addressing Grant directly. "You will think I am always gazing in the
+direction of The Hollies, but my room commands this house so fully that I
+cannot help seeing or hearing anything unusual. A few minutes ago I heard
+what I thought was a muffled gunshot. I looked out, and saw your window
+thrown open, though the light was dim, and only a candle was showing in
+the smaller window. I was alarmed, so came to inquire what had happened.
+You'll pardon me, I'm sure."
+
+"Say you don't, Jack, I implore you, and let me apologize for you,"
+pleaded Hart.
+
+"Doris, this is my good friend, Wally Hart," smiled Grant. "Won't you sit
+down? We have an exciting story for you."
+
+"Father will be horribly anxious if he knows I have gone out."
+
+Nevertheless, there was sufficient spice of Mother Eve in Doris that she
+should take the proffered chair.
+
+"Sorry to interrupt," broke in Furneaux. "Did you meet P.C. Robinson!"
+
+"No."
+
+"You came by way of the bridge?"
+
+"There is no other way, unless one makes a detour by Bush Walk."
+
+The detective whirled round on Grant.
+
+"What room is over this one?"
+
+"Minnie's."
+
+"She's in the kitchen, with her mother. See that she doesn't come
+upstairs while I'm absent. You three keep on talking."
+
+"Thanks," said Hart.
+
+Doris, more self-possessed now, read the meaning of the quip promptly.
+
+"Mr. Grant has often spoken of you," she said. "You talk, and
+we'll listen."
+
+"Not so, divinity," came the retort. "I may be a parrot, but I don't want
+my neck wrung when you've gone."
+
+"Don't encourage him, Doris," said Grant, "or you'll be here till
+midnight."
+
+"If that's the best you can do, you had better leave the recital to me,"
+laughed Hart.
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had stolen noiselessly to the bedroom overhead. The
+casement window was open--he had noted that fact while in the garden. He
+peeped out, and was just in time to see Robinson emulating a Sioux Indian
+on the war-path. The policeman removed his helmet, and was about to peer
+cautiously through the small window. The detective's blood ran cold. What
+if Hart discovered yet another ghost?
+
+"Robinson--go home!" he said, in sepulchral tones.
+
+The constable positively jumped. He gaped on all sides in real terror.
+He, too, had heard hair-raising tales of Owd Ben.
+
+"Go home!" hissed Furneaux, leaning out.
+
+Then the other looked up.
+
+"Oh, it's you, sir!" he gasped, sighing with relief.
+
+"Man, you've had the closest shave of your life! There's a fellow below
+there who shoots at sight."
+
+"But I'm on duty, sir."
+
+"You'll be in Kingdom Come if you gaze in at that window. Be off!"
+
+"I--"
+
+"Robinson, you and I will quarrel if you don't do as I bid you. And that
+would be a pity, because I want to inform Mr. Fowler that he has a
+particularly smart man in Steynholme."
+
+"Very well, sir, if _you're_ satisfied, I _must_ be."
+
+And away went the eavesdropper, crushed, still tingling with that fear of
+the supernatural latent in every heart, but far from convinced.
+
+Furneaux tripped downstairs. The routing of Robinson had put him into a
+real good humor. He found the three in the dining-room gazing
+spell-bound at the felt hat.
+
+"Now, young lady, you're coming with me," he said, grinning amiably. "The
+Sussex constabulary is quelled for the hour."
+
+"But, Mr. Furneaux, I recognize that hat!" said Doris, and it was notable
+that even Hart remained silent.
+
+The detective looked at her strangely, but put no question.
+
+"I am almost sure it belongs to our local Amateur Dramatic Society," went
+on the girl. "It was worn by Mr. Elkin last November. He played a
+burlesque of Svengali. I was Trilby, and caught a horrid cold from
+walking about without shoes or stockings."
+
+"Don't tell me any more," was Furneaux's surprising comment. "I'll do the
+rest. But let me remark, Miss Martin, that I experienced great
+difficulty, not so long ago, in persuading friend Grant that you were the
+only important witness this case has provided thus far. Playing in a
+burlesque, were you? We've been similarly engaged to-night. The farce
+must stop now. It makes way for grim tragedy. Not one word of to-night's
+events to anyone, please.... Are you ready?"
+
+Doris stood up. Hart thrust the negro's head at the detective.
+
+"Fouch�," he said, "do you honestly mean slinging your hook without
+making any inquiry as to Owd Ben?"
+
+"Oh, the ghost!" said Doris eagerly. "The Bateses would think of him, of
+course. An old farmer named Ben Robson used to live in this house about
+the time of Napoleon. He was suspected by the authorities to be an agent
+of the smugglers, and the story goes that his own daughter quarreled with
+him and betrayed him. He narrowly escaped hanging, owing to his age, I
+believe, and was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. At last he was
+released, being then a very old man, and he came straight here and
+strangled his daughter. It is quite a terrible story. He was found dead
+by her side. Then people remembered that she had spoken of someone
+scaring her by looking in through that small window some nights
+previously. Naturally, a ghost was soon manufactured. I really wonder why
+the man who rebuilt and renamed the place in the middle of last century
+didn't have the window removed altogether."
+
+"Glad I began the work of demolition tonight," said Hart, and, for once,
+his tone was serious.
+
+"Why did you never tell me that scrap of history, Doris?" inquired Grant.
+
+"You liked the place so much that father and I agreed not to mar your
+enthusiasm by recalling an unpleasant legend," she said frankly. "Not
+that what I've related isn't true. The record appears in a Sussex
+Miscellany of those years.... Oh, my goodness, can it be eleven o'clock!"
+
+The hall clock had no doubt on the point. Furneaux pocketed the written
+notes regarding Ingerman, and grabbed the hat off the table. Grant, for
+some reason, was aware that the detective repressed an obvious reference
+to the last occasion on which the girl had heard that same clock
+announce the hour.
+
+Furneaux would allow no other escort. He and Doris made off immediately.
+
+When they were gone, Hart stared fixedly at an empty decanter.
+
+"My dim recollection of your port, Jack, is that it was a wine of many
+virtues and few vices," he mused aloud.
+
+Grant took the hint, and went to a cellar. Returning, he found his crony
+poring over the book which, singularly enough, figured prominently on
+each occasion when the specter-producing window was markedly in
+evidence. Hart glanced up at his host, and nodded cheerfully at a
+dust-laden bottle.
+
+"What is there in 'The Talisman' which needed so much research?" he
+asked.
+
+"Some lines by Sir David Lindsay, quoted by Scott," was the answer.
+
+"Are these they?" And Hart read:
+
+One thing is certain in our Northern land;
+Allow that birth, or valor, wealth, or wit,
+Give each precedence to their possessor,
+Envy, that follows on such eminence,
+As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck's trace,
+Shall pull them down each one.
+
+"Yes," said Grant.
+
+"Love isn't mentioned. The fair Doris will be true. You're in luck, my
+boy. But somebody is out for your blood, and here is clear warning. Gee
+whizz! If I remain in Steynholme a week I shall become an occultist. What
+is a lyme-hound?"
+
+"'Lyme,' or 'leam,' is the old-time word for 'leash.'"
+
+"Good!" said Hart. "That will appeal to Furneaux. Have him in to dinner
+every day, Jack. He's a tonic!"
+
+Furneaux, for some reason known only to himself, did not accompany Doris
+to the post office. Once they were across the bridge, and the broad
+village street, more green than roadway, was seen to be empty, he tapped
+her on the shoulder and said pleasantly:
+
+"Run away home now, little girl. Sleep well, and don't worry. The tangle
+will right itself in time."
+
+"Poor Mr. Grant is suffering," she ventured to murmur.
+
+"And a good thing, too. It will steady him. Hurry, please. I'll wait here
+till you are behind a locked door."
+
+"No one in Steynholme will hurt me," she said.
+
+"You never can tell. I'm not taking any chances to-night, however."
+
+So Doris sped swiftly up the hill. Arrived at her house, she waved a hand
+to the detective, who flourished his straw hat in response. A fine June
+night in England is never really dark, so the two could not only see each
+other but, when Doris disappeared, Furneaux, turning sharply on his heel,
+was able to make out the sudden straightening of a pucker in the blind of
+a ground-floor room in P.C. Robinson's abode.
+
+The detective walked straight there, and tapped lightly on the window.
+Robinson, after an affected delay, came to the door.
+
+"Who's there?" he demanded.
+
+"As if you didn't know," laughed Furneaux.
+
+Robinson turned a key, and looked out.
+
+"Oh, it's you, sir?" he cried.
+
+"You'll get tired of saying that before I quit Steynholme," said the
+detective. "May I come in? No, don't show a light here. Let's chat in the
+back kitchen."
+
+"I was just going to have a bite of supper, sir," began Robinson
+apologetically. "It's laid in the kitchen. On'y bread and cheese an' a
+glass of beer. Will you join me?"
+
+"With pleasure, if I hadn't stuffed myself at Grant's place. Nice fellow,
+Grant. Pity you and he don't seem to get on together. Of course, we
+policemen cannot allow friendship to interfere with duty, but, between
+you and me, Robinson--strictly in confidence--Grant had no more to do
+with the actual murder of Miss Melhuish than either of us two."
+
+Robinson had turned up a lamp, and hospitably installed Furneaux in his
+own easy-chair.
+
+"The 'actual murder,' you said, sir?" he repeated.
+
+"Yes. It was his presence at The Hollies which brought an infatuated
+woman there, and thus directly led to her death. That is all. Grant is
+telling the truth. I assure you, Robinson, I never allow myself to break
+bread with a man whom I may have to convict. So, I'll change my mind, and
+take a snack of your bread and cheese."
+
+The village constable, by no means a fool, grinned at the implied
+tribute. What he did not appreciate so readily was the fact that his
+somewhat massive form was being twiddled round the detective's
+little finger.
+
+"Right you are, sir," he cried cheerily. "But, if Mr. Grant didn't kill
+Miss Melhuish, who did!"
+
+"In all probability, the man who wore that hat," chirped Furneaux, taking
+a nondescript bundle from a coat pocket, and throwing it on the table.
+
+Robinson started. This June night was full of weird surprises. He
+set down a jug of beer with a bang--his intent being to fill two
+glasses already in position, from which circumstance even the least
+observant visitor might deduce a Mrs. Robinson, _en neglig�_,
+hastily flown upstairs.
+
+He examined the hat as though it were a new form of bomb.
+
+"By gum!" he muttered. "Are these bullet-holes?"
+
+"They are."
+
+"An' is this what someone fired at?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But how in thunder--"
+
+He checked himself in time. He did not want to admit that he had been
+watching the only recognized road to Grant's house all the evening.
+
+"Quite so!" chortled Furneaux, with admirable misunderstanding. "You're
+quick on the trigger, Robinson--almost as quick as that friend of Grant's
+who arrived by the 5.30 from London. You perceive at once that no
+ordinary head could have worn that hat without having its hair combed by
+the same bullet. It was stuck on to a thick wig. Now, tell me the man, or
+woman, in Steynholme, who wears a wig and a hat like that, and you and I
+will guess who killed Miss Melhuish."
+
+Robinson suspected that, as he himself would have put it, his leg was
+being pulled rather violently. Furneaux read his face like a printed
+page. Chewing, much against his will, a mouthful of bread and cheese, he
+mumbled in solemn, broken tones:
+
+"Think--Robinson. Don't--answer--offhand. Has--anybody--ever worn--such
+things--in a play?"
+
+Then the policeman was convinced, galvanized by memory, as it were.
+
+"By gum!" he cried again. "Fred Elkin--in a charity performance
+last winter."
+
+Furneaux choked with excitement.
+
+"A horsey-looking chap, on to-day's jury," he gurgled.
+
+"That's him!"
+
+"The scoundrel!"
+
+"No wonder he looked ill."
+
+"No wonder, indeed. How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill
+deeds done!"
+
+"But, sir--"
+
+Robinson was flabbergasted. He could only murmur "Fred Elkin!" in a
+dazed way.
+
+"Have a drink," said Furneaux sympathetically. "I'll wet my whistle,
+too. Only half a glass, please. Now, we mustn't jump to conclusions.
+This Elkin looks a villain, but may not be one. That is to say, his
+villainy may be confined to dealings in nags. But you see, Robinson,
+what a queer turn this affair is taking. We must get rid of preconceived
+notions. Superintendent Fowler and you and I will go into this matter
+thoroughly to-morrow. Meanwhile, breathe not a syllable to a living
+soul. If I were you, I'd let Mr. Grant understand that we regard him as
+rather outside the scope of our inquiry. This beer is very good for a
+country village. You know a good thing when you see it, I expect. Pity I
+don't smoke, or I'd join you in a pipe. I must get a move on, now, or
+that fat landlord will be locking me out. Good night! Yes. I'll take
+the hat. _Good_ night!"
+
+While walking up the hill Furneaux fanned himself with the straw hat.
+
+"One small bit of my brain is evidently a hereditary bequest from a
+good-natured ass!" he communed. "Here am I, Furneaux, plagued beyond
+endurance by a first-class murder case, and I must go and busy myself
+with the love affair of a postmaster's daughter and a feather-headed
+novelist!"
+
+When Tomlin admitted him to the Hare and Hounds, he buttonholed the
+landlord, who, at that hour, was usually somewhat obfuscated.
+
+"Sir," said the detective gravely, "I am told that you Steynholme folk
+indulge occasionally in such frivolities as amateur theatricals?"
+
+"Once in a way, sir. Once in a way. Afore I lock up the bar, will you--"
+
+"Not to-night. I've mixed port and beer already, and I'm only a little
+fellow. Now you, Mr. Tomlin, can mix anything, I fancy?"
+
+"I've tried a few combinations in me time, sir."
+
+"But, about these theatrical performances--is there any scenery,
+costumes, 'props' as actors call them?"
+
+"Yes, sir. They're stored in the loft over the club-room--the room where
+the inquest wur held."
+
+"What, _here_?"
+
+Furneaux's shrill cry scared Mr. Tomlin.
+
+"Y-yes, sir," he stuttered.
+
+"Is that my candle?" said the detective tragically. "I'm tired, dead
+beat. To-night, Mr. Tomlin, you are privileged to see the temporary wreck
+of a noble mind. God wot, 'tis a harrowing spectacle."
+
+Furneaux skipped nimbly upstairs. Tomlin proceeded to lock up.
+
+"It's good for trade," he mumbled, "but I'll be glad when these 'ere
+Lunnon gents clears out. They worry me, they do. Fair gemme a turn, 'e
+did. A tec', indeed! He's nothin' but a play-hactor hisself!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE CASE AGAINST GRANT
+
+
+Next morning, after a long conference with Superintendent Fowler, from
+which, to his great chagrin, P. C. Robinson was excluded, Furneaux went
+to the post office, dispatched an apparently meaningless telegram to a
+code address, and exchanged a few orthodox remarks with Doris and her
+father about the continued fine weather. While he was yet at the counter,
+Ingerman crossed the road and entered the chemist's shop.
+
+"Let me see," said the detective musingly, "by committing a slight
+trespass on your left-hand neighbor's garden, can I reach the yard
+of the inn?"
+
+"What the eye doesn't see the heart doesn't grieve over," smiled Doris.
+"Mrs. Jefferson went to Knoleworth early to-day, and took her maid. By
+shopping at the stores there, they save their fares, and have a day out
+each week."
+
+"May I go that way, then?" he said. "Suppose you send that goggle-eyed
+skivvy of yours on an errand."
+
+This was done, and Furneaux made the desired transit.
+
+Now, Tomlin, to whom the comings and goings of all and sundry formed the
+staple of the day's gossip, had seen the detective go out, but could
+"take his sollum davy" that the queer little man had not returned. He,
+too, had watched Ingerman going to Siddle's. Ten minutes later Elkin came
+down the hill, and headed for the same rendezvous. Five minutes more, and
+Hobbs, the butcher, joined the others. Tomlin was seething with
+curiosity, but there were some casual customers in the "snug," so he
+could not abandon his post.
+
+Soon, however, Ingerman led Elkin and Hobbs to the inn. Evidently, the
+"financier" had been making some small purchases. He was in high spirits.
+Ordering appetizers before the mid-day meal, he announced that he was
+returning to London that afternoon, but would be in Steynholme again for
+the adjourned inquest.
+
+"No matter how my business suffers, I mean to see this affair through,"
+he vowed. "You gentlemen can pretty well guess my private convictions.
+You were good enough to give me your friendship, so I spoke as openly
+as one dares when no charge has actually been laid against any
+particular person."
+
+"Ay," said Elkin, with whom sunshine seemed to disagree, because he
+looked miserably ill. "We know what you mean, Mr. Ingerman. If the police
+were half sharp they'd have nabbed their man before this ... Did you put
+any water in this gin, Tomlin?"
+
+"Water?" wheezed Tomlin indignantly. _"Water?"_
+
+"Well, no offense. I can't taste anything. I believe I could swallow dope
+and not feel it on my tongue."
+
+"You do look bad, an' no mistake, Fred," agreed Hobbs. "Are you vettin'
+yerself? Don't. Every man to his trade, sez I. Give Dr. Foxton a call."
+
+"I'm taking his medicine regular. Perhaps I need a change."
+
+"'Ave a week-end in Lunnon," said Hobbs, with a broad wink.
+
+"Change of medicine, I mean. I'm not leaving Steynholme till things make
+a move. My next trip to London will be my honeymoon."
+
+"You look like a honeymooner, I don't think," guffawed Hobbs.
+
+"You wouldn't laugh if I told _you_ what you really look like," cried
+Elkin angrily. "Bet you a level fiver I'm married this year. Now, put up
+or shut up!"
+
+Furneaux peeped in, through a door, always open, which led to the stairs.
+
+"Can I have my account, Mr. Tomlin?" he said. "I'm going to town by the
+next train."
+
+"You don't mean to say, Mr. Furneaux, that you are abandoning the case so
+soon?" broke in Ingerman.
+
+"Did I say that?" inquired the detective meekly.
+
+"No. One can't help drawing inferences occasionally."
+
+"Great mistake. Look at our worthy landlord. He's been drawing inferences
+as well as corks, and he's beat to the world."
+
+Tomlin was, indeed, gazing at his smaller guest open-mouthed.
+
+"S'elp me!" he gurgled. "I could ha' sworn--"
+
+"Bad habit," and Furneaux crooked a waggish forefinger at him. "Even the
+wisest among us may err. Last night, for instance, I blundered. I really
+fancied I had a clew to the Steynholme murderer. And where do you think
+it ended? In the loft of your club-room, Mr. Tomlin. In a box of old
+clothes at that. Silly, isn't it?"
+
+"Wot! Them amatoor play-hactin' things?"
+
+"Exactly."
+
+Elkin grunted, though intending to laugh.
+
+"Not so sharp for a London 'tec, I must say," he cried. "Why, those props
+have been there since before Christmas."
+
+"Yes. I know now," was the downcast reply. "Twelve hours ago I thought
+differently. Didn't I, Mr. Tomlin?"
+
+Tomlin tried hard to look knowing.
+
+"Oh, is that wot you wur drivin' at?" he said. "Dang me, mister, I could
+soon ha' put you right 'ad you tole me."
+
+"Well, well. Can't be helped. I may do better in London. What do _you_
+say, Mr. Ingerman? The City is the real mint of money and crime. Who
+knows but that a stroll through Cornhill may have some bearing on the
+Steynholme mystery?"
+
+"May be you'd get a bit nearer if you took a stroll along the Knoleworth
+Road, and not so very far, either," guffawed Elkin.
+
+"Who knows?" repeated Furneaux sadly. "Good-day, gentlemen. Some of this
+merry party will meet again, of course, if not here, at the Assizes.
+Don't forget my bill. Mr. Tomlin. By the way, one egg at breakfast had
+seen vicissitudes. It shouldn't be rated too highly."
+
+"I'm traveling by your train," cried Ingerman.
+
+"So I understood," said Furneaux over his shoulder.
+
+There was silence for a moment after he had gone. Ingerman looked
+thoughtful, even puzzled. He was casting back in his mind to discover
+just how and when the detective "understood" that his departure was
+imminent, since he himself had only arrived at a decision after leaving
+the chemist's.
+
+"That chap is no good," announced Elkin. "I'll back old Robinson against
+him any day."
+
+"Sh-s-sh! He may 'ear you," muttered the landlord.
+
+"Don't care if he does. Cornhill! What the blazes has Cornhill to do
+with the murder at The Hollies?"
+
+Ingerman appreciated the value of that concluding phrase. Elkin had used
+it once before in Siddle's shop, and was quietly reproved by the chemist
+for his outspokenness.
+
+Ingerman, however, did not inform the company that his office lay in an
+alley off Cornhill. He elected to rub in Elkin's words.
+
+"Mr. Siddle seemed to object to The Hollies being mentioned as the scene
+of the crime," he said. "I wonder why?"
+
+"Because he's an old molly-coddle," snapped the horse-dealer. "Thinks
+everyone is like himself, a regular slow-coach."
+
+Tomlin closed the door into the passage, closed it for the first time in
+living memory, whereat Furneaux, on the landing above, grinned
+sardonically, and ran downstairs.
+
+"Wot's this about them amatoor clo'es?" he inquired portentously. "Oo 'as
+the key of that box?"
+
+"_I_ have," said Elkin. "I locked it after the last performance, and,
+unless you've been up to any monkey tricks, Tomlin, the duds are
+there yet."
+
+"You're bitin' me 'ead off all the mornin', Fred," protested the
+aggrieved landlord. "Fust, the gin was wrong, an' now I'm supposed to
+'ave rummidged yur box. Wot for?"
+
+Furneaux popped in.
+
+"My bill ready?" he squeaked.
+
+"No, sir. The train--"
+
+"Leaves at two, but I'm driving to Knoleworth with Superintendent
+Fowler."
+
+The door closed behind him. Tomlin shook his head.
+
+"Box! Jack-in-the-box, I reckon," he said darkly, turning to a
+dog-eared ledger.
+
+Neither at Knoleworth nor Victoria did Ingerman catch sight of the
+detective, though he was anxious either to make the journey in the
+company of the representative of Scotland Yard or arrange an early
+appointment with him. True, he was not inclined to place the
+strange-mannered little man on the same high plane as that suggested by
+certain London journalists to whom he had spoken. But he wanted to win
+the confidence of "the Yard" in connection with this case, and the belief
+that he was being avoided was nettling. He found consolation, of a sort,
+in the illustrated papers. One especially contained two pages of local
+pictures. "Mr. Grant addressing the crowd," with full text, was very
+effective, while there were admirable studies of The Hollies and the
+"scene of the tragedy." His own portrait was not flattering. The sun had
+etched his Mephistophelian features rather sharply, whereas Grant looked
+a very fine fellow.
+
+Ingerman would have been more than surprised were he privileged to
+overhear a conversation which began and ended before he reached his flat
+in North Kensington.
+
+Furneaux, who had jumped into the fore part of the train at Knoleworth,
+and was out in a jiffy at Victoria, handed his bag to a station
+detective, and turned into Vauxhall Bridge Road, one of the quietest of
+London's main thoroughfares. There he met a big man, dressed in tweeds,
+whose manifest concern at the moment seemed to center in a rather bad
+wrapping of a very good cigar.
+
+"Ah! How goes it, Charles?" cried the big man heartily, affecting to be
+aware of Furneaux's presence when the latter had walked nearly a hundred
+yards down a comparatively deserted street.
+
+"What's wrong with the toofa?" inquired Furneaux testily.
+
+"My own carelessness. Stupid things, bands on cigars.... Well, what's
+the rush?"
+
+"There's a train to Steynholme at five o'clock. I want you to take hold.
+I must have help. Like your cigar, this case has come unstuck."
+
+Mr. James Leander Winter, Chief Inspector under the Criminal
+Investigation Department, whistled softly.
+
+"Tut, tut!" he said. "One can never trust the newspapers. Reading this
+morning's particulars, it looked dead easy."
+
+"Tell me how it struck you. Sometimes the uninformed brain is vouchsafed
+a gleam of unconscious genius."
+
+Winter appeared to be devoting his mind to circumventing the vagaries of
+a fragile tobacco-leaf. He was a man of powerful build, over forty, heavy
+but active, deep-chested, round-headed, with bulging blue eyes which
+radiated kindliness and strength of character. The press photographer
+described him accurately to Grant. The average Londoner would have taken
+him for a county gentleman on a visit to the Agricultural Show at
+Islington, with a morning at Tattersall's as a variant. Yet, Sam Weller's
+extensive and peculiar knowledge of London compared with his as a
+freshman's with a don's of a university. It would be hard to assess, in
+coin of the realm, the value of the political and social secrets stowed
+away in that big head.
+
+"First, I must put a question or two," he said, smiling at a baby which
+cooed at him from the shaded depths of a passing perambulator. "Is there
+another woman?"
+
+"Yes, the postmaster's daughter, Doris Martin."
+
+"Shy, pretty little bird, of course?"
+
+"Everything that is good and beautiful."
+
+"Is Grant a Lothario?"
+
+"Excellent chap. Quarter of an hour before the murder he was giving Doris
+a lesson in astronomy in the garden of The Hollies."
+
+"Never heard it called _that_ before."
+
+"This time the statement happens to be strictly accurate."
+
+"Honest Injun?"
+
+"I'm sure of it. If anything, the death of Adelaide Melhuish cleared the
+scales off their eyes. Those two have never kissed or squeezed--yet.
+They'll be starting quite soon now."
+
+"How old is Doris?"
+
+"Nineteen."
+
+"But a really good-looking girl of nineteen must have had admirers before
+Grant went to the village."
+
+"She had, and has. Having educated herself out of the rut, however, she
+left many runners at the post. One is persistent--a youngish horse-coper
+named Elkin. Adelaide Melhuish probably saw her with Grant. Neither Doris
+nor Grant knew that Adelaide Melhuish, as such, was in Steynholme. That
+is to say, the girl had seen Miss Melhuish in the post office, and
+recognized her as a famous actress, but that is all. And now I shan't
+tell you any more, or you'll know all that I know, which is too much."
+
+The cigar was behaving itself at last, having burnt down to the fracture,
+so Winter's thoughts could be given exclusively to the less important
+matter of the Steynholme affair.
+
+"To begin with," he said instantly. "Ingerman can establish a
+cast-iron alibi."
+
+"So I imagined. But he's a bad lot. I throw in that item gratuitously."
+
+The oddly-assorted pair walked in silence until Vauxhall Bridge was in
+sight. Winter pulled out a watch.
+
+"What time did you say my train left Victoria?" he inquired.
+
+"Plenty of time yet to make your guess and listen to further details,"
+scoffed Furneaux.
+
+"Frankly, I give it up. But, if I must share in the hunt, I tell you now
+that, metaphorically speaking, I shall cling to the postmaster's daughter
+till torn away by sheer force of evidence."
+
+Furneaux dug his colleague in the ribs.
+
+"That's the effect of constant association with me, James," he cackled
+gleefully. "Ten years ago you would have pounced on Elkin. You've hit it!
+I'm a prood mon the day. The pupil is equaling the master."
+
+"You little rat, I had hanged my first murderer before you knew the
+meaning of _habeas corpus_! Let's turn now, and get to business."
+
+Few Treasury barristers, leading for the Crown, could have marshaled the
+facts with such lucidity and fairness as Furneaux during that saunter to
+Victoria Station.
+
+"Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice," said Othello to
+Lodovico, and these Scotland Yard men, charged with so great a
+responsibility, never forgot the great-hearted Moor's advice.
+
+When Winter took his seat in the train at five o'clock he could have
+drawn a plan of Steynholme, which he had never seen, and marked thereon
+the exact position of each house mentioned in this record. Moreover, he
+was acquainted with the chief characters by sight, as it were. And,
+finally, he and Furneaux had arranged a plan of campaign.
+
+Furneaux refreshed a jaded intellect by an evening at the opera. Next
+morning, at eleven o'clock, he was inquiring for Mr. Ingerman at an
+office in a certain alley off Cornhill.
+
+A smart youth interposed a printed formula between the visitor and a door
+marked "Private." Furneaux wrote his name, and put "Steynholme" in the
+space reserved for "business." He was admitted at once. Mr. Ingerman,
+apparently, was immersed in a pile of letters, but he swept them all
+aside, and greeted the caller affably.
+
+"Glad to see you, Mr. Furneaux," he said. "I missed you on the train
+yesterday. Did you--"
+
+"Nice quiet place you've got here, Mr. Ingerman," interrupted the
+detective.
+
+"Yes. But, as I was about to--"
+
+"Artistically furnished, too," went on Furneaux dreamily. "Oak,
+self-toned carpets and rugs, restful decorations. Those etchings, also,
+show taste in the selection. 'The Embankment--by Night.' Fitting sequel
+to 'The City--by Day.' I'm a child in such matters, but, 'pon my honor,
+if tempted to pour out my hard-earned savings into the lap of a City
+magnate, I would disgorge here more readily than in some saloon-bar of
+finance, where the new mahogany glistens, and the typewriters click like
+machine-guns."
+
+Ingerman was nettled. He glanced at his correspondence.
+
+"You have a somewhat far-fetched notion of my position," he said, with a
+staccato quality in his velvet voice. "I am not a magnate, and I toil
+here to make, not to lose, money for my clients."
+
+"A noble ideal. Forgive me if my rhapsody took the wrong line."
+
+"And I'm sure you will forgive me if I now put the question which leads
+to the probable cause of your visit. Did you travel by the two o'clock
+train yesterday?"
+
+"Yes. I avoided you purposely."
+
+"May I ask, why?"
+
+"My mind was weary. I wanted my wits about me when I tackled you."
+
+Ingerman smiled, and leaned back, resting both elbows on the arms of the
+chair, and bringing the tips of his fingers together.
+
+"Proceed," he said.
+
+"You prefer that I should drag out a statement piecemeal rather than
+receive it _en bloc_?"
+
+"Put it that way, if you like."
+
+"I shall even enjoy it. To clear the ground, are you the Isidor G.
+Ingerman who exploited the A1 Mine in Abyssinia?"
+
+Ingerman's finger-tips whitened under a sudden pressure, but his voice
+remained calm.
+
+"An unfortunate episode," he said.
+
+"And the Aegean Transport Company, Limited?"
+
+"Into which I was inveigled by Greeks. But why this history of ruined
+enterprises?"
+
+"It's a sort of schooling. I have noticed that the smartest counsel
+invariably begin with a few fireworks in order to induce the proper frame
+of mind in a witness."
+
+"Does that mean that you want me to blurt out bitter and prejudiced
+accusations against Mr. Grant?"
+
+"I want to hear what you have to say about the death of your wife. You
+forced the cross-examining role on me. I'm doing my best."
+
+Ingerman kept silent during many seconds. When he spoke, his cultured
+voice was suave as ever.
+
+"Perhaps it was my fault, Mr. Furneaux," he said. "You gave me a strong
+hint. I should have taken it, and we might have started an interesting
+chat on pleasanter lines. So, with apologies for my insistence about the
+train, I make a fresh start. I believe firmly that Grant was directly
+concerned in the murder. And I shall justify my belief. Within the past
+fortnight a _rapprochement_ between my wife and myself became possible.
+It was spoken of, even reduced to the written word. I have her letters.
+Mine should be found among her belongings. May I take it that they _have_
+been found?"
+
+"Yes," said Furneaux.
+
+"Ah. So far, so good. My poor wife reached the parting of the ways. She
+saw that her life was becoming an empty husk. I think the theater was
+palling on her. But I see now that she still cherished the dream of
+winning the man she loved--not me, her husband, but that handsome
+dilettante, Grant. I take it, therefore, that she went to Steynholme to
+determine whether or not the glamour of the past was really dead.
+Unfortunately, she witnessed certain idyllic passages between her
+one-time lover and a charming village girl. Imagine the effect of this
+discovery on one of the artistic temperament. 'Hell hath no fury like a
+woman scorned,' and my unhappy wife would lash herself into an emotional
+frenzy. She would tear a passion to rags. Her very training on the stage
+would come to her aid in scathing words--perhaps threats. If Grant
+remained cold to her appeal the village beauty should be made to suffer.
+Then _he_ would flame into storm. And so the upas-tree of tragedy spread
+its poisonous shade until reason fled, and some demon whispered, 'Kill!'
+I find no flaw in my theory. It explains the inexplicable. Now, how does
+it strike you, Mr. Furneaux?"
+
+"As piffle."
+
+"Is that so? I have the advantage, of course, in knowing my wife's
+peculiarities. And I have made some study of Grant. He admits already
+that he is under suspicion. Why, if he is innocent? Mind you, I pay
+little heed to the crude disposal of the body. Horace, I think, has a
+truism that art lies in concealing art. My wife's presence in Steynholme
+was no secret. She would have been missed from the inn. Search would be
+made. The murder must be revealed sooner or later, and the murderer
+himself was aware that by no twisting or turning could his name escape
+association with that of his victim. Why not face the music at once? he
+would argue. The very simplicity of the means adopted to fasten a kind of
+responsibility on him might prove his best safeguard. Even now I doubt
+whether any jury will find him guilty on the evidence as it stands, but
+my duty to my unhappy wife demands that I shall strengthen the arm of
+justice by every legitimate means in my power."
+
+"Is that your case, Mr. Ingerman?"
+
+"At present, yes."
+
+"It assumes that the police adopt your view."
+
+"Not necessarily. The police must do their work without fear or favor.
+But Grant can be committed for trial on a coroner's warrant."
+
+"Grant is certainly in an awkward place."
+
+"Only a little while ago you dismissed my theory of the crime as airy
+persiflage."
+
+"That was before you quoted Horace. I have a great respect for Horace.
+His ode to the New Year is a gem."
+
+"Would you care to see my wife's recent letters?"
+
+"If you please."
+
+"They are at my flat, I'll send you copies. The originals are always at
+your disposal for comparison, of course. Now may I, without offense, ask
+a question?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Is it wise that the emissary of Scotland Yard should leave Steynholme?"
+
+"But didn't I tell you that I might obtain light in the neighborhood of
+Cornhill?"
+
+"True. I could have given you the facts in Steynholme."
+
+"I'm a greater believer in what the theater people call 'atmosphere.'
+Some of your facts, Mr. Ingerman, remind me of an expert's report in a
+mining prospectus. When tested by cyanide of potassium the gold in the
+ore often changes into iron pyrites. But don't hug the delusion that I
+shall neglect Steynholme. The murderer is there, not in London, and,
+unless my intellect is failing, he will be tried for his life at the next
+Lewes Assizes. Meanwhile, may I give you a bit of advice?"
+
+"By all means."
+
+"Employ a sound lawyer, one who will avoid needless mud-slinging. Good
+day! Send those letters to the Yard by to-night's post if practicable."
+
+"It shall be done."
+
+When the door closed on Furneaux, Ingerman smiled.
+
+"I've given that little Frenchman furiously to think," he murmured.
+
+But the "little Frenchman" was smiling, too. He had elaborated the scheme
+already discussed with Winter. It was much to his liking, though
+unorthodox, rather crack-brained, more than risky, and altogether opposed
+to the instructions of the Police Manual. Each of these drawbacks was a
+commendation to Furneaux. In fact, the Steynholme mystery had taken quite
+a favorable turn during that talk with Ingerman.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+P. C. ROBINSON TAKES ANOTHER LINE
+
+
+About the time Furneaux was whisked past The Hollies in Superintendent
+Fowler's dogcart, Grant and Hart were finishing luncheon, and planning a
+long walk to the sea. Grant would dearly have liked to secure Doris's
+company, but good taste forbade that he should even invite her to share
+the ramble. Thus, the death of a woman with whom he had not exchanged a
+word during three years had already set up a barrier between Doris and
+himself. Though impalpable, it was effective. It could neither be climbed
+nor avoided. Quiet little Steynholme had suddenly become a rigid censor
+of morals and etiquette. Until this evil thing was annihilated by slow
+process of law, Doris and he might meet only by chance and never remain
+long together.
+
+When the two were ready to start, Hart elected to dispense with his South
+American sombrero.
+
+"I am sensitive to ridicule," he professed. "The village urchins will
+christen me 'Owd Ben,' and the old gentleman's character was such that I
+would feel hurt. So, for to-day, I'll join the no hat brigade."
+
+"I wonder if we'll meet Furneaux," said Grant, selecting a
+walking-stick. "It's odd that we should have seen nothing of him
+this morning."
+
+"It would be still more odd if we had, remembering the precautions he
+took not to be observed coming here last night."
+
+"Well, that's so. I forgot to ask the reason. There was one, I suppose."
+
+"Of the best. That little man is a live wire of intelligence. He's wasted
+on Scotland Yard. He ought to be a dramatist or an ambassador."
+
+"Quaint alternatives, those."
+
+"Not at all. Each profession demands brains, and is at its best in
+coining cute phrases. I've met scores of both tribes, and they're like as
+peas in a pod."
+
+A bell rang.
+
+"That's the front door," said Grant. "It's Furneaux himself, I hope."
+
+But the visitor was P.C. Robinson, who actually smiled and saluted.
+
+"Glad I've caught you before you went out, sir," he said. "Mr. Furneaux
+asked me to tell you he had to hurry back to London. I was also to
+mention that he had got the whiskers."
+
+"What whiskers? Whose whiskers?"
+
+"That's all he said, sir--he'd got the whiskers."
+
+"Why, Owd Ben's whiskers, of course. How dense you are, Jack!" put in
+Hart.
+
+Now, this was the first Robinson had heard of whiskers in connection
+with the crime. He remembered Elkin's make-up as Svengali, of course, and
+could have kicked himself for not associating earlier a set of sable
+whiskers with the black wig and the bullet-torn hat.
+
+But, Owd Ben! What figure did that redoubtable ghost cut in the mystery?
+
+"There are certain _lacunae_ in your otherwise vigorous and thrilling
+story, constable," went on Hart.
+
+"Very likely, sir," agreed Robinson, much to the surprise of his
+hearers. He had not the slightest notion what a _lacuna_, or its
+plural, signified. He was only adopting Furneaux's advice, and trying
+to be civil.
+
+"Ah, you see that, do you?" said Hart. "Well, fill 'em in. When, where,
+and how did the midget sleuth obtain the specter's hairy adornments?"
+
+The policeman, whose wits were thoroughly on the alert, realized that he
+had scored a point, though he knew not how.
+
+"He did not tell me, sir," he answered. "It's a rum business, that's what
+it is, no matter what way you look at it."
+
+Grant, agreeably aware of the village constable's change of front,
+accepted the olive branch readily.
+
+"We're just going for a walk," he said. "If you have ten minutes to
+spare, Mrs. Bates will find you some luncheon, I have no doubt."
+
+"Well, sir, meals are a trifle irregular during a busy time like this,"
+admitted Robinson, feeling that his luck was in, because tongues would
+surely be loosened in the kitchen to an official guest introduced by the
+master of the establishment. He was right. No member of the Bates family
+dreamed of reticence, now that the household was restored to favor with
+"the force." Before Robinson departed, he was full of information and
+good food.
+
+What more natural, then, an hour later, than that he should contrive to
+meet Elkin as the horse-dealer was taking home a lively two-year-old pony
+he had been "lungeing" on a strip of common opposite his house?
+
+Each was eager to question the other, but Elkin opened fire.
+
+"Anything fresh?" he cried. "You have a fair course now, Robinson. That
+little London 'tec has bunked home."
+
+"Has he?" In the language of the ring, Robinson thought fit to spar for
+an opening.
+
+"Oh, none of your kiddin'," said Elkin, stroking the nervous colt's neck.
+"You know he has. You don't miss much that's going on. Bet you half a
+thick 'un you'd have put someone in clink before this if the murder at
+The Hollies had been left in your hands."
+
+"That's as may be, Mr. Elkin. But this affair seems to have gripped you
+for fair. You look thoroughly run down. Sleepin' badly?"
+
+"Rotten! Hardly got a wink last night."
+
+"You shouldn't be out so late. Why, on'y a week ago you were in bed
+regular at 10.15."
+
+"That inquest broke up the day yesterday, so I was delayed at
+Knoleworth."
+
+"What time did you reach home?"
+
+"Dashed if I know. After twelve before I was in bed. By the way, what's
+this about things missing from a box owned by the Amateur Dramatic
+Society? That silly josser of a detective--What's his name?"
+
+"Furneaux," said Robinson, who was clever enough not to appear too
+secretive, and was thanking his stars that Elkin had introduced the very
+topic he wanted to discuss.
+
+"Ay, Furneaux. I remember now. He worried old Tomlin last night about
+that box, which is kept in the loft over the club-room. So Tomlin and I,
+and Hobbs, just to satisfy ourselves, went up there as soon as Furneaux
+left to-day. And, what do you think? The box was unlocked, though I
+locked it myself, and have the key; and a hat and wig and whiskers I
+wore when we played a skit on 'Trilby' were missing. If that isn't a
+clew, what is?"
+
+"A clew!" repeated the bewildered Robinson.
+
+"Yes. I'm telling you, though I kept dark before the other fellows.
+Didn't you say Grant's cheek was bleeding on Tuesday morning?"
+
+"I did."
+
+"Well, the whiskers were held on by wires that slip over the ears. One
+wire was sharp as a needle. I know, because it stuck into a finger more
+than once. Why shouldn't it scratch a man's cheek, and the cut open again
+next morning?"
+
+"By jing, you've got your knife into Mr. Grant, an' no mistake,"
+commented Robinson.
+
+"You yourself gave him a nasty jab at the inquest," sneered Elkin.
+
+"I was just tellin' the facts."
+
+"So am I. I think you ought to know about that hat and the other things.
+I would recognize them anywhere. Furneaux had something up his sleeve,
+too, or he wouldn't have pumped Tomlin... Woa, boy! So long, Robinson! I
+must put this youngster into his stall."
+
+"I'll wait, Mr. Elkin," said Robinson solemnly. "I want to have a word
+with you."
+
+The policeman was glad of the respite. He needed time to collect his
+thoughts. The story of the dinner-party and its excitement disposed
+completely of Elkin's malicious theory with regard to Grant, but, since
+the horse-dealer was minded to be communicative, it would be well to
+encourage him.
+
+"Come in, and have a drink," said Elkin, when the colt had been stabled.
+
+"No, thanks--not when I'm on duty."
+
+Elkin raised his eyebrows sarcastically. He could not possibly guess that
+Robinson was adopting Furneaux's pose of never accepting hospitality
+from a man whom he might have to arrest.
+
+"Well, blaze away. I'm ready."
+
+The younger man leaned against a gate. He looked ill and physically worn.
+
+"Your business has kept you out late of a night recently, you say, Mr.
+Elkin," began the other, speaking as casually as he could contrive. "Now,
+it might help a lot if you can call to mind anyone you met on the roads
+at ten or eleven o'clock. For instance, last night--"
+
+Elkin laughed in a queer, croaking way.
+
+"Last night my mare brought me home. I was decidedly sprung, Robinson.
+Glad you didn't spot me, or there might have been trouble. What between
+the inquest, an' no food, an' more than a few drinks at Knoleworth, I'd
+have passed Owd Ben himself without seeing him, though I believe I did
+squint in at The Hollies as I went by."
+
+"What time would that be?"
+
+"Oh, soon after eleven."
+
+"Sure."
+
+"I can't be certain to ten minutes or so. The pubs hadn't closed when I
+left Knoleworth. What the devil does it matter, anyhow?"
+
+It mattered a great deal. Robinson could testify that Elkin did not cross
+Steynholme bridge "soon after eleven."
+
+"Nothing much," was the answer. "You see, I'm anxious to find out who
+might be stirring at that hour, an' you know everybody for miles around.
+I'd like to fix your journey by the clock, if I could."
+
+"Dash it all, man, I was full to the eyes. There! You have it straight."
+
+"Were you out on Monday night?"
+
+"The night of the murder?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I left the Hare and Hounds at ten, and came straight home."
+
+"Who was there with you?"
+
+"The usual crowd--Hobbs, and Siddle, and Bob Smith, and a commercial
+traveler. Siddle went at half past nine, but he generally does."
+
+"You met no one on the road?"
+
+"No."
+
+The monosyllable seemed to lack Elkin's usual confidence. It sounded
+as if he had been making up his mind what to say, yet faltered at the
+last moment.
+
+Robinson ruminated darkly. As a matter of fact, long after eleven o'clock
+on that fateful night, he himself had seen Elkin walking homeward. He was
+well aware that the licensing hours were not strictly observed by the
+Hare and Hounds when "commercial gentlemen" were in residence. Closing
+time was ten o'clock, but the "commercials," being cheery souls, became
+nominal hosts on such occasions, and their guests were in no hurry to
+depart. Robinson saw that he had probably jumped to a conclusion, an
+acrobatic feat of reasoning which Furneaux had specifically warned him
+against. At any rate, he resolved now to leave well enough alone.
+
+"Well, we don't seem to get any forrarder," he said. "You ought to take
+more care of your health, Mr. Elkin. You're a changed man these days."
+
+"I'll be all right when this murder is off our chests, Robinson. You
+won't have a tiddley? Right-o! So long!"
+
+Robinson walked slowly toward Steynholme. At a turn in the road he halted
+near the footpath which led down the wooded cliff and across the river to
+Bush Walk. He surveyed the locality with a reflective frown. Then, there
+being no one about, he made some notes of the chat with Elkin. The man's
+candor and his misstatements were equally puzzling. None knew better than
+the policeman that the vital discrepancy of fully an hour and a half on
+the Monday night would be difficult to clear up. Tomlin, of course, would
+have no recollection of events after ten o'clock, but the commercial
+traveler, who could be traced, might be induced to tell the truth if
+assured that the police needed the information solely for purposes in
+connection with their inquiry into the murder. That man must be found.
+His testimony should have an immense significance.
+
+That evening, shortly before seven o'clock, a stalwart,
+prosperous-looking gentleman in tweeds "descended" from the London
+express at Knoleworth. The local train for Steynholme stood in a bay on
+the opposite platform, and this passenger in particular was making for it
+when he nearly collided with another man, younger, thinner, bespectacled,
+who hailed him with delight.
+
+"You, too? Good egg!" was the cry.
+
+The gentleman thus addressed did not seem to relish this geniality.
+
+"Where the deuce are you off to?" he demanded.
+
+"To Steynholme--same as you, of course."
+
+"Look here, Peters, a word in your ear. If you know me during the next
+few days, you'll never know me again. I suppose you'll be staying at the
+local inn--there's only one of any repute in the place?"
+
+"That's so. I've got you. May I take it that you will reciprocate when
+the time comes?"
+
+"Have I ever failed you?"
+
+"No. We meet as strangers."
+
+Peters bustled off. He had the reputation of being the smartest "writer
+up" in London of mystery cases. The Steynholme affair had interested both
+him and a shrewd news-editor.
+
+The pair arrived at the Hare and Hounds within a few minutes of each
+other. The big man registered as "Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina." Peters
+ordered a chop, and went off at once to interview the local policeman.
+Mr. Franklin took more pains over the prospective meal.
+
+"Have you a nice chicken?" he inquired.
+
+Yes, Mr. Tomlin had a veritable spring chicken in the larder at
+that moment.
+
+"And do you think your cook could provide a _tourne-dos_?"
+
+"A what-a, sir?" wheezed Tomlin.
+
+The visitor explained. He liked variety, he said. Half the chicken might
+be deviled for breakfast. The two dishes, with plain boiled potatoes and
+French beans, would suit him admirably. He was sorry he dared not try
+Tomlin's excellent claret, but a dominating doctor had put him on the
+water-cart. In effect, Mr. Franklin impressed the landlord as a man of
+taste and ample means.
+
+Peters had gobbled his chop before Franklin entered the dining-room, but
+they met later in the snug, where Elkin was being chaffed by Hobbs anent
+his carryin's on in Knoleworth the previous night.
+
+Siddle came in, but the chatter was not so free as when the habitu�s had
+the place to themselves.
+
+Now, Peters had marked the gathering as one that suited his purpose
+exactly, so he gave the conversation the right twist.
+
+"I suppose you local gentlemen have been greatly disturbed by this
+sensational murder?" he said.
+
+Hobbs took refuge in a glass of beer. Siddle gazed contemplatively at
+his neat boots. Tomlin meant to say something; Elkin, eying the stranger,
+and summing him up as a detective, answered brusquely:
+
+"The murder is bad enough, but the fat-headed police are worse. Three
+days gone, and nothing done!"
+
+"What murder are you discussing, may I ask?" put in Franklin.
+
+Peters turned on him with astonishment in every line of a peculiarly
+mobile face.
+
+"Do you mean to say, sir, that you haven't heard of the Steynholme
+murder?" he gasped.
+
+"I seldom, if ever, read such things in the newspapers, and, as I landed
+in England only a week ago from France, my ignorance, though abyssmal, is
+pardonable. Moreover, I can say truly that I am far more interested in
+pedigree horses than in vulgar criminals."
+
+Peters explained fluently. This was no ordinary crime. A beautiful and
+popular actress had been done to death in a brutal way, and the country
+was already deeply stirred by the story.
+
+Elkin waited impatiently till the journalist drew breath. Then he broke
+in.
+
+"Pedigree horses you mentioned, sir," he said, his rancor against Grant
+being momentarily conquered by the pertinent allusion to his own
+business. "What sort? Racing, coaching, roadsters, or hacks?"
+
+"All sorts. The Argentine, where I have connections, offers an ever-open
+door to good horseflesh."
+
+"Are you having a look round?"
+
+"Yes. There are several decent studs within driving distance of
+Steynholme. Isn't that so, landlord?"
+
+"Lots, sir," said Tomlin. "An' the very man you're talkin' to has some
+stuff not to be sneezed at."
+
+"Is that so?" Mr. Franklin gazed at Elkin in a very friendly manner. "May
+I ask your name, sir?"
+
+Elkin produced a card. Every hoof in his stables appreciated in
+value forthwith, but he was far too knowing that he should appear to
+rush matters.
+
+"Call any day you like, sir," he said. "Glad to see you. But give me
+notice. I generally have an appetizer here of a morning about eleven."
+
+"An' you want it, too, Fred," said Hobbs. "Dash me, you're as thin as a
+herrin'. Stop whiskey an' drink beer, like me."
+
+"And you might also follow that gentleman's example," interposed Siddle
+quietly, nodding towards Mr. Franklin.
+
+"What's that?" snapped Elkin.
+
+"Don't worry about murders."
+
+"That's a nice thing to say. Why should _I_ worry about the d---d
+mix-up?"
+
+The chemist made no reply, but Hobbs stepped into the breach valiantly.
+
+"Keep yer 'air on, Fred," he vociferated. "Siddle means no 'arm. But wot
+else are yer a-doing of, mornin', noon, an' night?"
+
+Elkin laughed, with his queer croak.
+
+"If you stay here a day or two, you'll soon get to know what they're
+driving at, sir," he said to Franklin. "The fact is that this chap,
+Grant, who found the body, and in whose garden the murder was committed,
+has been making eyes at the girl I'm as good as engaged to. That would
+make anybody wild--now, wouldn't it?"
+
+"Possibly," smiled Franklin. "Of course there is always the lady's point
+of view. The sex is proverbially fickle, you know. 'Woman, thy vows are
+traced in sand,' Lord Byron has it."
+
+"Ay, an' some men's, too," guffawed Hobbs. "Wot about Peggy Smith, Fred?"
+
+Elkin blew a mouthful of cigarette smoke at the butcher.
+
+"What about that tough old bull you bought at Knoleworth on Monday?"
+he retorted.
+
+Hobbs's face grew purple. Mr. Franklin beckoned to Tomlin.
+
+"Ask these gentlemen what they'll have," he said gently. The landlord
+made a clatter of glasses, and the threatened storm passed.
+
+"You've aroused my curiosity," remarked Franklin to Peters, but taking
+the company at large into the conversation. "This does certainly strike
+one as a remarkable case. Is there no suspicion yet as to the actual
+murderer?"
+
+"None whatever," said Peters.
+
+"That's what you may call the police opinion," broke in Elkin. "We
+Steynholme folk have a pretty clear notion, I can assure you."
+
+"The matter is still _sub judice_, and may remain so a long time," said
+Siddle. "It is simply stupid to attach a kind of responsibility to the
+man who happens to occupy the house associated with the crime. I have no
+patience with that sort of reasoning."
+
+Hobbs, who did not want to quarrel with Elkin, suddenly championed him.
+
+"That's all very well," he rumbled. "But the hevidence you an' me 'eard,
+Siddle, an' the hevidence we know we're goin' to 'ear, is a lot stronger
+than that."
+
+"I'm sure you'll pardon me, friends," said Siddle, rising with an
+apologetic smile, "but I happen to be foreman of the coroner's jury, and
+I feel that this matter is not for me, at any rate, to discuss publicly."
+
+Out he went, not even heeding Tomlin's appeal to drink the ginger-ale he
+had just ordered.
+
+"Just like 'im," sighed Hobbs. "Good-'earted fellow! Would find hexcuses
+for a black rat."
+
+Elkin talked more freely now that the chemist's disapproving eye was off
+him. Ultimately, Mr. Franklin elected to smoke a cigar in the open air,
+and strolled forth. He sauntered down the hill, stood on the bridge, and
+admired the soft blue tones of the landscape in the half light of a
+summer evening. Shortly before closing time, Robinson appeared, it being
+part of his routine duty to see that no noisy revelers disturbed the
+peace of the village. He noticed the stranger at once, and elected to
+walk past him.
+
+Thus, he received yet another shock when Mr. Franklin addressed
+him by name.
+
+"Good evening, Robinson," said the pleasant, clear-toned voice. "I've
+been expecting you to turn up. Kindly go back home, and leave the door
+open. I want to slip in quietly. I am Chief Inspector Winter, of
+Scotland Yard."
+
+"You don't say so, sir!" stammered Robinson.
+
+"But I do say it, and will prove it to you, of course. I'll be with you
+in a minute or two. There's someone coming. You and I must not be seen
+together."
+
+Robinson made off, and Winter lounged along the Knoleworth road. He met
+Bates, going to the post with letters.
+
+Naturally, Bates looked him over. Returning from the post office, he kept
+a sharp eye for the unknown loiterer, but saw him not. He even walked
+quickly to the bend of the road, but the other man had vanished.
+
+Grant and Hart were talking of anything but the murder when Bates thrust
+his head in. He was grasping his goatee beard, sure sign of some weight
+on his mind.
+
+"Beg pardon," he said, "but I thought you'd like to know. The place is
+just swarmin' with 'em."
+
+"Bees?" inquired Hart.
+
+Bates stared fixedly at the speaker for a second or two.
+
+"No, sir, 'tecs," he said. "There's a big 'un now--just the opposite to
+the little 'un, Hawkshaw. I 'ope I 'aven't to tackle this customer,
+though. He'd gimme a doin', by the looks of 'im."
+
+Bates had disappeared before Grant remembered that the press photographer
+had mentioned the Big 'Un and the Little 'Un of the Yard.
+
+"Now, I wonder," he said.
+
+His wonder could hardly have equaled Winter's had he heard the gardener's
+words. The guess was a distinct score for blunt Sussex, though it was
+founded solely on the assumption that all comers now, unless Bates was
+personally acquainted with them, were limbs of the law.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+WHEREIN WINTER GETS TO WORK
+
+
+Winter had identified Bates at the first glance. The letters in the man's
+hand, too, showed his errand, so, while the gardener was climbing the
+hill, the detective slipped into Robinson's cottage.
+
+He found the policeman awaiting him in the dark, because a voice said:
+
+"Beg pardon, sir, but the other gentleman from the 'Yard' asked me to
+take him into the kitchen. A light in the front room might attract
+attention, he thought."
+
+"Just what Mr. Furneaux would suggest, and I agree with him," said
+Winter, quite alive to the canny discretion behind those words, "the
+other gentleman."
+
+Robinson led the way. Supper was laid on the table. Poor Mrs. Robinson
+had again beaten a hasty retreat.
+
+"Now, Robinson," said the Chief Inspector affably, "before we come to
+business I'll prove my bona fides. Here is my official card, and I'll run
+quickly through events until 1.30 p.m. to-day. I met Mr. Furneaux at
+Victoria, and he posted me fully up to that hour."
+
+So the policeman listened to a clear summary of the Steynholme case as
+it was known to the authorities.
+
+"I did not warn either Mr. Fowler or you of my visit because a telegram
+could hardly be explicit enough," concluded Winter. "At the inn I am Mr.
+Franklin, an Argentine importer of blood stock in the horse line. At
+this moment the only other man beside yourself in Steynholme who is
+aware of my official position is Mr. Peters, and he is pledged to
+secrecy. To-morrow or any other day until further notice, you and I meet
+as strangers in public. By the way, Mr. Furneaux asked me to tell you
+that he found the wig and the false beard in the river early this
+morning. The wearer had apparently flung them off while crossing the
+foot-bridge leading from Bush Walk, having forgotten that they would not
+sink readily. Perhaps he didn't care. At any rate, Mr. Hart's bullet
+seems to have laid Owd Ben's ghost. Now, what of this fellow, Elkin? He
+worries me."
+
+"Can I offer you a glass of beer, sir?"
+
+"With pleasure. May I smoke while you eat? You see, I differ from Mr.
+Furneaux in both size and habits."
+
+Robinson poured out the beer. He was preternaturally grave. The somewhat
+incriminating statements he had wormed out of the horse-dealer that
+afternoon lay heavy upon him. But he told his story succinctly enough.
+Winter nodded to emphasize each point, and congratulated him at the end.
+
+"You arranged that very well," he said. "I gather, though, that Elkin
+spoke rather openly."
+
+"Just as I've put it, sir. He tripped a bit over the time on Monday
+night. But it's only fair to say that he might have had Tomlin's
+license in mind."
+
+"That issue will be settled to-morrow. I'll find out the commercial
+traveler's name, and send a telegram from Knoleworth before noon.... Who
+is Peggy Smith?"
+
+Robinson set down an empty glass with a stare of surprise.
+
+"Bob Smith's daughter, sir," he answered.
+
+"No doubt. But, proceed."
+
+"Well, sir, she's just a village girl. Her father is a blacksmith. His
+forge is along to the right, not far. She'll be twenty, or thereabouts."
+
+"Frivolous?"
+
+"Not more than the rest of 'em, sir."
+
+"Have you seen her flirting with Elkin?"
+
+Robinson took thought.
+
+"Now that I come to think of it, she might be given a bit that way. Her
+father shoes Elkin's nags, so there's a lot of comin' an' goin' between
+the two places. But folks would always look on it as natural enough. Yes,
+I've seen 'em together more than once."
+
+"In that case, he can hardly grumble if the postmaster's daughter has an
+eye for another young man."
+
+"Miss Martin!" snorted Robinson. "She wouldn't look the side of the road
+he was on. Fred Elkin isn't her sort."
+
+"But he said to-night in the Hare and Hounds that he and Miss Martin were
+practically engaged."
+
+"Stuff an' nonsense! Sorry, sir, but I admire Doris Martin. I like to see
+a girl like her liftin' herself out of the common gang. She's the
+smartest young lady in the village, an' not an atom of a snob. No, no.
+She isn't for Fred Elkin. Before this murder cropped up everybody would
+have it that Mr. Grant would marry her."
+
+"How does the murder intervene?"
+
+Robinson shifted uneasily in his chair. He knew only too well that he
+himself had driven a wedge between the two.
+
+"Steynholme's a funny spot, sir," he contrived to explain. "Since it came
+out that Doris an' Mr. Grant were in the garden at The Hollies at half
+past ten on Monday night, without Mr. Martin knowin' where his daughter
+was, there's been talk. Both the postmaster an' the girl herself are up
+to it. You can see it in their faces. They don't like it, an' who can
+blame 'em!"
+
+"Who, indeed? But this Elkin--surely he had some ground for a definite
+boast, made openly, among people acquainted with all the parties?"
+
+"There's more than Elkin would marry Doris if she lifted a finger, sir."
+
+"Can you name them?"
+
+"Well, Tomlin wants a wife."
+
+Winter laughed joyously.
+
+"Next?" he cried.
+
+"They say that Mr. Siddle is a widower."
+
+"The chemist? Foreman of the jury?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"From appearances, he is a likelier candidate than either Elkin or
+Tomlin. Anybody else?"
+
+"I shouldn't be far wrong if I gave you the name of most among the young
+unmarried men in the parish."
+
+"Dear me! I must have a peep at this charmer. But I want those names,
+Robinson."
+
+Winter produced a note-book, so he was evidently taking the matter
+seriously. The policeman, however, was flustered. His thoughts ran on
+Elkin, whereas this masterful person from London insisted on discussing
+Doris Martin.
+
+"My difficulty is, sir, that she has never kep' company with any of
+'em," he said.
+
+"Never mind. Give me the name of every man who, no matter what his
+position or prospects, might be irritated, if no more, if he knew that
+Miss Martin and Mr. Grant were presumably spooning in a garden at a
+rather late hour."
+
+It was a totally new line of inquiry for Robinson, but he bent his wits
+to it, and evolved a list which, if published, would certainly be
+regarded with incredulous envy by every other girl in the village than
+the postmaster's daughter; as for Doris herself, she would be mightily
+surprised when she saw it, but whether annoyed or secretly gratified none
+but a pretty girl of nineteen can tell.
+
+Winter departed soon afterwards. Before going to the inn he had a look at
+the forge. A young woman, standing at the open door of the adjoining
+cottage, favored him with a frank stare. There was no light in the
+dwelling. When he returned, after walking a little way down the road, the
+door was closed.
+
+Next morning, Bates heard of Peters as the detective and of Mr. Franklin
+as a "millionaire" from South America. Moreover, he scrutinized both in
+the flesh, and saw Robinson salute Peters but pass the financial
+potentate with indifference.
+
+Alas, that a reputation, once built, should be destroyed!
+
+"I was mistook, sir," he reported to Grant later. "There's another 'tec
+about, but 'e ain't the chap I met last night. They say this other bloke
+is rollin' in money, an' buyin' hosses right an' left."
+
+"Then he'll soon be rolling in the mud, and have no money," put in Hart.
+
+"Who is he?" inquired Grant carelessly.
+
+"A Mr. Franklin, from South America, sir."
+
+Grant and Hart exchanged glances. Curiously enough, Hart remained silent
+till Bates had gone.
+
+"I must look this joker up, Jack," he said then. "To me the mere mention
+of South America is like Mother Gary's chickens to a sailor, a harbinger
+of storm."
+
+But Hart consumed Tomlin's best brew to no purpose--in so far as seeing
+Mr. Franklin was concerned, since the latter was in Knoleworth, buying a
+famous racing stud. Being in the village, however, this fisher in
+troubled waters was not inclined to return without a bag of some sort.
+
+He walked straight into the post office. Doris and her father were there,
+the telegraphist being out.
+
+"Good day, everybody," he cried cheerfully. "Grant wants to know, Mr.
+Martin, if you and Miss Doris will come and dine with him, us, this
+evening at 7.30?"
+
+The postmaster gazed helplessly at this free-and-easy stranger. Doris
+laughed, and blushed a little.
+
+"This is Mr. Hart, a friend of Mr. Grant's, dad," she explained. "I'm
+afraid we cannot accept the invitation. We are so busy."
+
+"The worst of excuses," said Hart.
+
+"But there is a London correspondent here who hands in a long telegram
+at that hour."
+
+"What's his name?"
+
+"Mr. Peters."
+
+"Great Scott! Jimmie Peters here? I'll soon put a stopper on him. He'll
+come, too--jumping. See if he doesn't. Is it a bargain? Short telegram
+at six. Dinner for five at 7.30. Come, now, Mr. Martin. It's up to you. I
+can see 'Yes' in Doris's eye. Over the port--most delectable, I assure
+you--I'll give full details of the peculiar case of a man in
+Worcestershire whose crop of gooseberries increased fourfold after
+starting an apiary. And what does it matter if you do lose a queen or two
+in June? The drones will attend to that trifle.... It's a fixture, eh?
+Where's Peters? In the Pull and Push? I'll rout him out."
+
+The whirlwind subsided, but quickly materialized again.
+
+"Peters nearly fell on his knees and wept with joy," announced Hart. "He
+believes he was given a bull steak for luncheon. He pledges himself to
+have only five hundred words on the wire at five o'clock."
+
+Meanwhile, father and daughter had decided that there was no valid reason
+why they should not dine with Mr. Grant. Martin already regretted his
+aloofness on the day of the inquest, though, truth to tell, Hart's expert
+knowledge of bee-culture was the determining factor. On her part, Doris
+was delighted. Her world had gone awry that week, and this small
+festivity might right it.
+
+Not one word of the improvised dinner-party did Hart confide to Grant. He
+informed the only indispensable person, Mrs. Bates, and left it at that.
+Grant, a restless being these days, took him for another long walk. It
+chanced that their road home led down the high-street. The hour was a
+quarter past seven, and Peters hailed them.
+
+Hart introduced the journalist, saying casually:
+
+"Jimmie is coming to dinner, Jack."
+
+"Delighted," said Grant, of course.
+
+Peters looked slightly surprised, but passed no comment. Then Doris and
+her father appeared. They joined the others, shook hands, and, to Grant's
+secret perplexity, the whole party moved off down the hill in company.
+When the Martins turned with the rest to cross the bridge, Grant began to
+suspect his friend.
+
+"Wally," he managed to whisper, "what game have you been playing?"
+
+"Aren't you satisfied?" murmured Hart. "Sdeath, as they used to say in
+the Surrey Theater, you're as bad as Furshaw!"
+
+There were others far more perturbed by that odd conjunction of diners
+than the puzzled host, who merely expected Mrs. Bates to belabor him with
+a rolling pin. Mr. Siddle, for instance, had just closed his shop when
+the five met. That is to say, the dark blue blind was drawn, but the
+door was ajar. He came to the threshold, and watched the party until the
+bridge was neared, when one of them, looking back, might have seen him,
+so he stepped discreetly inside. Being a non-interfering, self-contained
+man, he seemed to be rather irresolute. But that condition passed
+quickly. Leaning over the counter, he secured a hat and a pair of
+field-glasses, and went out. He, too, knew of Mrs. Jefferson's weakness
+for shopping in Knoleworth, and that good lady had gone there again. Her
+train was due in ten minutes. A wicket gate led to a narrow passage
+communicating with the back door of her residence. He entered boldly,
+reached the garden, and hurried to the angle on the edge of the cliff
+next to the Martins' strip of ground.
+
+Yes, a spacious dinner-table was laid at The Hollies. Doris, Mr. Martin,
+and Peters soon strolled out on to the lawn. The pedestrians had
+obviously gone upstairs to wash after their tramp.
+
+Mr. Siddle rather forgot himself. He stared so long and earnestly through
+the field-glasses that he ran full tilt into Mrs. Jefferson and maid
+before regaining the high-street. But the chemist was a ready man. He
+lifted his hat with an inquiring smile.
+
+"Didn't you say you wanted some anti-arthritic salts early in the
+week?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Jefferson, "but I got some to-day in Knoleworth,
+thank you."
+
+"Well, I was just making up an indent, and might as well include your
+specific if you really needed it."
+
+Which was kind and thoughtful of Mr. Siddle, but not quite true, though
+it fully explained his presence at Mrs. Jefferson's gate.
+
+Mr. Franklin, escorting a fragrant Havana up the hill (he had traveled by
+the same train) saw the meeting, and, being aware of Mrs. Jefferson's
+frugal habits, since Furneaux had omitted no item of his movements in
+Steynholme, remembered it later during the nightly gathering in the inn.
+
+Elkin greeted Mr. Franklin respectfully when the great man joined
+the circle.
+
+"Did you see anything worth while at Knoleworth, sir?" he said.
+
+"No. I was unlucky. All the principals were at a race meeting."
+
+"By gum! That's right. It's Gatwick today. Dash! I might have saved you
+a journey."
+
+"Oh, it doesn't matter. In my business there is no call for hurry."
+
+Elkin looked around.
+
+"Where's our friend, the 'tec?" he said.
+
+"I think you're wrong about 'im, meanin' Mr. Peters," said Tomlin. "'E's
+'ere for a noospaper, not for the Yard."
+
+"That's his blarney," smirked Elkin. "A detective doesn't go about
+telling everybody what he is."
+
+"Whatever his profession may be," put in Siddle's quiet voice, "I happen
+to know that he is dining with Mr. Grant. So are Mr. Martin and Doris. By
+mere chance I called at Mrs. Jefferson's. I went to the back door, and,
+finding it closed, looked into the garden. From there I couldn't help
+seeing the assembly on the lawn of The Hollies."
+
+"Dining at Grant's?" shouted Elkin in a fury. "Well, I'm--"
+
+"'Ush, Fred!" expostulated Tomlin with a shocked glance at Mr. Franklin.
+"Wot's wrong wi' a bit of grub, ony ways? A very nice-spoken young gent
+kem 'ere twiced, an' axed for Mr. Peters the second time. He's a friend
+o' Mr. Grant's, I reckon."
+
+"What's wrong?" stormed the horse-dealer. "Why, everything's wrong! The
+bounder ought to be in jail instead of giving dinner-parties. Imagine
+Doris eating in that house!"
+
+"Ay! Sweetbreads an' saddle o' lamb," interjected Hobbs with the air of
+one imparting a secret.
+
+Elkin was pallid with wrath. He glared at Hobbs.
+
+"What I had in my mind was the impudence of the blighter," he said
+shrilly. "That poor woman's body leaves here to-morrow for some cemetery
+in London, and Grant invites folk to a small dinner to-night!"
+
+A sort of awe fell on the company. None of the others had as yet put the
+two events in juxtaposition, and they had an ugly sound. Even Mr. Siddle
+stifled a protest. Elkin had scored a hit, a palpable hit, and no one
+could gainsay him. He felt that, for once, the general opinion was with
+him, and drove the point home.
+
+"Hobson--the local joiner and undertaker"--he explained for Mr.
+Franklin's benefit--"came this morning to borrow a couple of horses for
+the job. It's to be done in style--'no expense spared' was Mr. Ingerman's
+order--and the poor thing is in her coffin now while Grant--"
+
+He stopped. Mr. Siddle coughed.
+
+"You've said enough, Elkin," murmured the chemist. "This excitement is
+harmful. You really ought to be in bed for the next forty-eight hours,
+dieting yourself carefully, and taking Dr. Foxton's mixture regularly. He
+has changed it, I noticed."
+
+"Bed! Me! Not likely. I'm going to kick up a row. What are the police
+doing? A set of blooming old women, that's what they are. But I'll stir
+'em up, if I have to write to the Home Secretary."
+
+"Gentlemen," said Mr. Franklin, smiling genially, "I cannot help taking a
+certain interest in this affair. May I, then, as a complete stranger to
+all concerned, tell you how this minor episode strikes me. Mr. Grant, I
+understand, denies having seen or spoken to Miss Melhuish during the past
+three years. None of the others now in his house had met her at all.
+Really, if a man may not give a dinnerparty in these conditions,
+dining-out would become a lost art."
+
+Elkin was obviously seeking for some retort which, though forcible, would
+not offend a possible patron. But Siddle answered far more deftly than
+might be looked for from the horse-dealer.
+
+"Your contention, sir, is just what the man of the world would hold," he
+said, "but, in this village, where we live on neighborly terms, such an
+incident would be impossible in almost any other house than The Hollies."
+
+Mr. Franklin nodded. He was convinced. Tomlin, Hobbs, and a local draper
+bore out the chemist's reasonable theory. Next morning Steynholme was
+again united in condemning Grant, while the postmaster and his daughter
+were not wholly exempted from criticism.
+
+The dinner itself was an altogether harmless and cheery meal. By common
+consent not one word was said about the murder. Hart was amusing on the
+question of bees--almost flippant, Mr. Martin deemed him. Peters had a
+wide store of strange experiences to draw on, while Grant, if rather
+silent in deference to two such brilliant talkers, found much
+satisfaction in regarding Doris as a hostess.
+
+The next day being Saturday, or market day, the village was busy. At
+eleven o'clock there was a somewhat unnecessary display of nodding
+plumes and long-tailed black horses at the removal of the coffin to the
+railway station. For some reason, the funeral arrangements had not been
+bruited about until Elkin made that envenomed attack on Grant in the Hare
+and Hounds the previous night. Ingerman had sent a gorgeous wreath, the
+only one forthcoming locally. This fact, of course, invited comment,
+though no whisperer in the crowd troubled to add that the interment was
+only announced in that day's newspapers.
+
+Peters, meeting Mr. Franklin on the stairs of the inn, put a note into
+his hand. It read:
+
+"Why don't you have a chat with Grant? The public mind is being inflamed
+against him. It's hardly fair."
+
+Mr. Franklin, meeting Peters in the passage, winked at him, and the
+journalist tortured his brains to turn out some readable stuff which
+should grip the million on Sunday yet not to be damaging to the man whose
+hospitality he enjoyed over night.
+
+In a word, the passing of Adelaide Melhuish was exploited thoroughly as
+an indictment of her one-time lover, and the only two in Steynholme not
+aware of the fact were Grant, himself, and Wally Hart.
+
+By a singular coincidence, not ridiculously beyond the ken of a verger,
+when Doris went to church on Sunday morning, she found herself beside
+Mr. Franklin.
+
+At the close of the service the same big man whom she had noticed as a
+neighbor in the pew overtook her at the post office door. He lifted his
+hat. A passer-by heard him say distinctly:
+
+"Pardon me for troubling you, but can you tell me at what time the mail
+closes for London?"
+
+"At four-thirty," said Doris.
+
+No other person overheard Mr. Franklin's next words:
+
+"I am now going to drop a letter in the box. It's for you. Get it at
+once. It is of the utmost importance."
+
+Doris was startled, as well she might be. But--she went straight for the
+letter. It was marked: "Private and Urgent," and ran:
+
+DEAR MISS MARTIN. I am here _vice_ Mr. Furneaux, who is engaged on other
+phases of the same inquiry. My business is absolutely unknown. I figure
+at the inn as "Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina." Indeed, Mr. Furneaux left the
+village because he realized the difficulties facing him in that respect.
+Now, I trust you, and I hope you will justify my faith. You know
+Superintendent Fowler. I want you to meet me and him this afternoon at
+two o'clock at the crossroads beyond the mill. A closed car will be in
+waiting, and we can have half an hour's talk without anyone in Steynholme
+being the wiser. Remember that this village, like the night, has a
+thousand eyes. Naturally, I would not trouble you in this way if the
+cause was not vital to the ends of justice. Whether or not you decide to
+keep this appointment, I have every confidence that you will respect my
+wish that _no one_, other than yourself, shall be informed of my
+identity. But I believe you will be wise, and come.
+
+I am,
+
+Yours faithfully,
+
+J.L. WINTER,
+
+Chief Inspector, C.I.D., Scotland Yard, S.W.
+
+A card was inclosed, as a sort of credential. But, somehow, it was not
+needed. Doris had seen "Mr. Franklin" more than once, and she had heard
+him singing the hymns in church. He looked worthy of credence. His
+written words had the same honest ring. She resolved to go.
+
+Her father, sad to relate, had found three dead queens in the hives. He
+was busy, but spared a moment to tell her that Mr. Siddle was coming to
+tea at four o'clock. Doris was rather in a whirl, and seemed to be
+unnecessarily astonished.
+
+"Mr. Siddle! Why?" she gasped.
+
+"Why not!" said her father. "It's not the first time. You can entertain
+him. I'll look after the letters."
+
+"I must get some cakes. We have none."
+
+"Well, that's simple. I wonder if that fellow Hart really understands
+apiaculture? You might invite him, too."
+
+With that letter in her pocket Doris had suddenly grown wary. Hart and
+Siddle would not mix, and her woman's intuition warned her that Siddle
+had chosen the tea-hour purposely in order to have an uninterrupted
+conversation with her. She disliked Mr. Siddle, in a negative way, but
+the very nearness of the detective was stimulating. Let Mr. Siddle come,
+then, and come alone!
+
+"No, dad," she laughed. "Mr. Hart's knowledge will be available
+to-morrow. In his presence, poor Mr. Siddle would be dumb."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+CONCERNING THEODOEE SIDDLE
+
+
+Winter, being a cheerful cynic, had not erred when he appealed to that
+love of mystery which, especially if it is spiced with a hint of harmless
+intrigue, is innate in every feminine heart. Indeed, he was so assured of
+the success of his somewhat dramatic move that as he walked to a
+rendezvous arranged with Superintendent Fowler on the Knoleworth road he
+reviewed carefully certain arguments meant to secure Doris's assistance.
+
+Passing The Hollies, he smiled at the notion that Furneaux would
+undoubtedly have brought Grant to the conclave. It was just the sort of
+difficult situation in which his colleague would have reveled. But the
+Chief Inspector was more solid, more circumspect, even, singularly
+enough, more sensitive to the probable comments of a crusty judge if
+counsel for the defense contrived to elicit the facts.
+
+"Anything fresh?" inquired the superintendent, when a smart car drew up,
+and Winter entered.
+
+Mr. Fowler was in plain clothes, and the blinds were half drawn. No one
+could possibly recognize either of the occupants unless the car was
+halted, and the inquisitor literally thrust his head inside. The motor
+was a private one, borrowed for the occasion.
+
+"Yes, a little," said Winter, as the chauffeur put the engine in gear.
+"Your man, Robinson, has been drawing Elkin, or Elkin drew him--I am not
+quite sure which, but think it matterless either way."
+
+He sketched Robinson's activities briefly, but in sufficient outline.
+
+"A new figure has come on the screen--Siddle, the chemist," he added
+thoughtfully.
+
+"Siddle!" Mr. Fowler was surprised. "Why, he is supposed to be a model of
+the law-abiding citizen."
+
+"I don't say he has lost his character in that respect," said Winter.
+"Still, he puzzles me. Elkin is a loud-mouthed fool. The verbal bricks he
+hurls at Grant are generally half baked, and crumble into dust. Hitherto,
+Siddle has tried to repress him, with a transparent honesty that rather
+worried me. On Friday night, however, Siddle attacked Grant with poisoned
+arrows. He did more damage in two minutes than Elkin could achieve in as
+many months."
+
+"How?"
+
+"He showed very clearly that Grant was guilty of gross bad taste in
+inviting Mr. Martin and his daughter to dinner that evening. I'm inclined
+to agree with him, if the story has been told fairly. But that is beside
+the main issue. Siddle aroused the sleeping dogs of the village, and the
+pack is in full cry again. Grant seems to have been popular here; he had
+almost recovered from the blow of Miss Melhuish's death by the
+straightforward speech he made before the inquest. But Siddle threw him
+back into the mud by a few skillful words. What is Siddle's record? Is he
+a local man?"
+
+"I think not. Robinson can tell us."
+
+"Robinson says he 'believes' Siddle is a widower. That doesn't argue long
+and close knowledge."
+
+"We must look into it. Robinson has been stationed here four years.
+Siddle is not old, but he has been in business in Steynholme more years
+than that. But--you'll pardon me, I'm sure, Mr. Winter--may I take it
+that you are really interested in the chemist's history?"
+
+The superintendent was perplexed, or he would not have adopted his
+professional method of semi-apologetic questions with a man from
+the C.I.D.
+
+"I hardly know what I'm interested in," laughed Winter. "Grant didn't
+kill the lady. I shall be slow to credit Elkin with being the scoundrel
+he looks. Siddle, and Tomlin, if you please, are regarded as starters in
+the Doris Martin Matrimonial Stakes, and I don't think Tomlin could ever
+murder anything but the King's English. It is Siddle's _volte face_ that
+bothers me."
+
+"Um!" murmured Mr. Fowler. He was not an uneducated man, but _volte
+face_, correctly pronounced, was unfamiliar in his ears.
+
+"The change was so marked," went on the detective. "I gather that Siddle
+is a stickler for charity and fair dealing. He didn't abandon the role,
+of course. It was the sheer ingenuity of his method that caught my
+attention. So I simply catalogue him for research."
+
+"Has Miss Martin promised to meet us?" inquired the other, feeling that
+he was on the track of _volte face_.
+
+"No. But there she is!" cried Winter. "She has just heard the car.
+Tell your chauffeur to slow up. The road is empty otherwise. By the
+way, you help her in. She might be a bit shy of me, and I don't want a
+second's delay."
+
+Winter's judgment was not at fault. Doris _was_ feeling a trifle
+uncertain, seeing that she was about to encounter a complete stranger.
+Moreover, she had come a good half mile from the shop whence the cakes
+for tea were to be procured at the back door, and as a favor. Her eyes
+were fixed on the slowing car with a timid anxiety that betrayed no
+small degree of doubt as to the outcome of this Sunday afternoon
+escapade. She was pale and nervous. At that moment Doris wished herself
+safe at home again.
+
+"One word," broke in the superintendent hurriedly. "Why are you so sure
+that Grant is innocent, Mr. Winter?"
+
+"I'm sure of nothing with regard to this case. But I have great faith in
+Furneaux's flair for the true scent. It has never failed yet."
+
+Mr. Fowler wished his companion would not use such uncommon words.
+However, he got out, and took off his hat with a courteous sweep. Doris
+had to look twice at him. Hitherto, she had always seen him in uniform.
+Winter smiled at the unmistakable expression of relief in her face. She
+was almost self-possessed as she took the seat by his side.
+
+"Good day, Mr. Winter," she said.
+
+"Mr. Franklin, please. Better become used to my pseudonym.... Plenty of
+room for your feet, Mr. Fowler? That's it. Now we're comfy. The chauffeur
+will bring us back here in half an hour, Miss Martin. Will that suit your
+convenience?"
+
+"Oh, yes. I am free till nearly four o'clock. We have a guest to
+tea then."
+
+"I have a well-developed bump of curiosity these days. Who is it,
+may I ask?"
+
+"Mr. Siddle, the local chemist."
+
+"Indeed. An old friend, I suppose?"
+
+"We have known him seven years, ever since he came to Steynholme."
+
+"Ah. He is not a native of the place?"
+
+"No. He bought Mr. Benson's business. He's a Londoner, I believe."
+
+"Is there--a Mrs. Siddle?"
+
+"No. I--er--that is to say, gossip has it that he was married, but his
+wife died."
+
+"He doesn't speak of her? Is that it? One would have thought that in a
+house where he is well known--"
+
+"We don't really know him well. No one does, I think."
+
+"You've invited him to tea, at any rate," laughed Winter.
+
+"No," said Doris. "He invited himself. At least, so I gathered from dad."
+
+"Ah, well. He feels lonely, no doubt, and wishes to chat about recent
+strange events in Steynholme. And that brings me to the reason why I
+sought this chat under such peculiar conditions. You realize my handicap,
+Miss Martin? If I were seen talking to you, or even entering your house
+as apart from the post office, people would begin to wonder. You follow
+that, don't you?"
+
+Yes, Doris did follow it. What she did not follow was the veiled
+admiration in Superintendent Fowler's glance at the detective. Those few
+inconsequential questions had shed a flood of light on Siddle's past and
+present, yet the informant was blissfully unaware of their real purport.
+And the way was opened so deftly. The purchase of a chemist's business
+would almost certainly be negotiated through a local lawyer. Let him be
+found, and Siddle's pre-Steynholme days could be "looked into," as the
+police phrase has it. The superintendent had the rare merit of being
+candid with himself. He had no previous experience of Scotland Yard men
+or methods, and was inclined to be skeptical about Furneaux. But Winter's
+prompt use of a chance opening, and the restraint which cut off the
+investigation before the girl could suspect any ulterior motive,
+displayed a technique which the Sussex Constabulary had few opportunities
+of acquiring.
+
+"Now, Miss Martin," began Winter, "if ever you have the misfortune to
+fall ill--touch wood, please--and call in a doctor, you'll tell him the
+facts, eh?"
+
+"Why consult him at all, if I don't?" she smiled.
+
+"Exactly. To-day I'm somewhat in the position of a Harley-street
+specialist, summoned to assist an eminent local practitioner in Dr.
+Fowler. That's a sort of gentle preliminary, leading up to the
+disagreeable duty of putting some questions of a personal nature. What
+you may answer will not go beyond ourselves. I promise you that. You will
+not be quoted, or requested to prove your statements. Such a thing would
+be absurd. If I were really a doctor, and you needed my advice, you might
+easily describe your symptoms all wrong. It would be my business to
+listen, and deduce the truth, and I would never dream of rating you for
+having misled me. You see my point?"
+
+"Yes, but Mr. Win--Mr. Franklin, I know nothing whatever about
+the murder."
+
+"I'm sure you don't. It was a wicked trick of Fate that took you to Mr.
+Grant's garden last Monday night."
+
+"It was really an astronomical almanac," retorted Doris, who now felt a
+growing confidence in this nice-spoken official. "Sirius is a star
+remarkable for its beautiful changing lights, and on Monday evening was
+at its best. I think I ought to explain," and she blushed delightfully,
+"that the village gossip about Mr. Grant and me is entirely mistaken. We
+are not--well, I had better use plain English--we are not lovers. My
+father and I are just on close, friendly terms with Mr. Grant. I--my
+position hardly warrants even that relationship with an author of some
+distinction. But please set aside any notion of us as likely to become
+engaged. For one thing, it is preposterous. For another, I shall not
+leave my father."
+
+Poor Doris! She little guessed how accurately this skilled student of
+human nature read the hidden thought behind that vehement protest. Even
+the note of vague rebellion against social disabilities was pathetic yet
+illuminating. Of course, he took her quite seriously.
+
+"Let us keep to the hard road of fact," he said. "What you really mean is
+that Mr. Grant has never made love to you. But I must be candid, young
+lady. There is no earthly reason why he shouldn't, though I could name
+offhand half a dozen why he should.... Well, well, I must not pay
+compliments. My friend, Mr. Furneaux, can manage that with much greater
+facility, being half a Frenchman. And now I'm going to say an unpleasant
+thing. I ask your forgiveness in advance. Both Mr. Furneaux and I agree
+in the opinion that your imaginary love affair is indissolubly bound up
+with the mystery of Miss Melhuish's death. In a word, I have brought you
+here today to discuss your prospective marriage, and nothing else. That
+astonishes you, eh? Well, it's the truth, as I shall proceed to make
+clear. There's a Mr. Fred Elkin, for instance--"
+
+Doris uttered a little laugh of dismay. Winter's emphatic words had
+astounded her, but the horse-dealer's name acted as comic relief.
+
+"I can't bear the man," she protested.
+
+"I have no doubt. But you ought to know that he is loudly proclaiming his
+determination to marry you before the year is out."
+
+The girl's face reddened again, and her eyes sparkled.
+
+"I wouldn't marry him if he were a peer of the realm," she said
+indignantly.
+
+"Quite so. But he is an avowed suitor. Now don't be vexed. Has he never
+declared his intentions to _you_?"
+
+"He would never dare. I sing and act a little, at village concerts and
+dramatic performances, and he has annoyed me at times by an officious
+pretense that he was deputed by my father to see me home. I came here
+quite a little girl, so people learnt to use my Christian name. I don't
+object to it at all. But I simply hate hearing it on Mr. Elkin's lips."
+
+"Exit Fred!" said Winter solemnly. "Next!"
+
+Doris, after a period of calm, was now profoundly uncomfortable. This
+kind of prying was the last thing she had expected. She had come prepared
+to defend Grant, but, beyond one exceedingly personal reference, the
+detective had studiously shut him out of the conversation.
+
+"What am I to say?" she cried. "Do you want a list of all the young men
+who make sheep's eyes at me?"
+
+"No. I can get that from the Census Bureau. Come, now, Miss Martin. _You_
+know. Has any man in the village led you to suspect, shall we put it?
+that sometime or other, he might ask you to become his wife?"
+
+Lo, and behold! Doris's pretty eyes filled with tears. Superintendent
+Fowler was so pleased at hearing Scotland Yard introducing a
+parenthetical query into its sentences that he, sitting opposite, was
+taken aback when Winter said in a fatherly way:
+
+"I've been rather clumsy, I'm afraid. But it cannot be helped. I must go
+blundering on. I'm groping in the dark, you know, but it's a thousand
+pities I shall have to tread on _your_ toes."
+
+"It isn't that," sobbed Doris. "I hate to put my thoughts into words.
+That's all. There _is_ a man whom I'm--afraid of."
+
+"Siddle?"
+
+She turned on Winter a face of sudden awe.
+
+"How can you possibly guess?" she said wonderingly, and sheer
+bewilderment dried her tears.
+
+"My business is nine-tenths guesswork. At any rate, we are on firm ground
+now. If you could please yourself, I suppose, Mr. Siddle would not come
+to tea to-day!"
+
+"He certainly would not," declared the girl emphatically.
+
+"You believe he is coming for a purpose?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Elkin--I must drag him in again for an instant--pretends that the
+commotion aroused in the village by this murder would incline you
+favorably to a proposal of marriage. Mr. Siddle may have discovered some
+virtue in the theory."
+
+"Did Mr. Elkin really hint that I needed _him_ as a shield?"
+
+Doris was genuinely angry now. She little imagined that Winter was
+playing on her emotions with a master hand.
+
+"Don't waste any wrath on Elkin," he soothed her. "The fellow isn't worth
+it. But his crude idea might be developed more subtly by an abler man."
+
+"I think it odd that Mr. Siddle should choose to-day, of all days, for a
+visit," she admitted.
+
+Winter relapsed into silence for a while. The car was running through a
+charming countryside, and a glimpse of the sea was obtainable from the
+crest of each hill. Mr. Fowler was too circumspect to break in on the
+thread of his coadjutor's thoughts. The inquiry had taken a curious turn,
+and was momentarily beyond his grasp.
+
+"It's singular, but it's true," said the detective musingly when next he
+spoke, "that I am now going to ask you to act differently than was in my
+mind when I sought this interview. I should vastly like to be present
+when Siddle bares his heart to you this afternoon.
+
+"I can invite you to tea."
+
+Alas! that won't serve our ends. But, if you feel you have a purpose, you
+will be nerved to deal with him. Bring him out into that secluded garden
+of yours--"
+
+"The first thing he will suggest," and Doris's voice waxed
+unconsciously bitter. "He knows that dad will be busy with the mails
+for an hour after tea."
+
+"Good!"
+
+"I think it bad, most disagreeable."
+
+"You won't find the position so awkward if you are playing a part. And
+that is what I want--a bit of clever acting. Lean on those railings, and
+make Siddle believe that your heart is on Mr. Grant's lawn. You know the
+kind of thing I mean. Dreamy eyes, listless manner, inattention, with
+smiling apologies. You will annoy Siddle, and a cautious man in a temper
+becomes less cautious. Force him to avow his real thoughts. You will
+learn something, trust me."
+
+"About what?"
+
+There were no tears in Doris's eyes. They were wide open in wonderment.
+
+"About his attitude to this tragedy. Do this, and you will be giving Mr.
+Grant the greatest possible help. He needs it. Next Wednesday, at the
+adjourned inquest, he will be put on the rack. Ingerman will fee counsel
+to be vindictive, merciless. Such men are to be hired. Their reputation
+is built up on the slaughter of reputations. I want to understand Siddle
+before Wednesday. By the way, what's his other name?"
+
+"Theodore."
+
+"Theodore Siddle. Unusual. Well, your half hour is nearly up. Will you do
+what I ask?"
+
+"I'll try. May I put one question?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You said you had something altogether different in view before we met.
+What was it?"
+
+"I'll tell you--let me see--I'll tell you on Thursday."
+
+"Why not now?"
+
+"Because it is the hardest thing in the world for a woman to be
+single-minded, in the limited sense of concentration, I mean. Focus your
+wits on Siddle to-day. I don't suggest any plan. I leave that to your own
+intelligence. Vex him, and let him talk."
+
+"Vex him!"
+
+"Yes. What man won't get mad if he notices that his best girl is thinking
+about a rival."
+
+This time Doris did not blush. She was troubled and serious, very
+serious.
+
+"I'll do what I can," she promised. "When shall I see you again?"
+
+"Soon. There's no hurry. All this is preparatory for Wednesday."
+
+"Am I to tell my father nothing?"
+
+"Please yourself. Not at present. I recommend you."
+
+The car had stopped. It sped on when Doris alighted. She would be home
+with her cakes at three o'clock, and Mr. Martin would never have noticed
+her absence.
+
+"A fine bit of work, if I may say so," exclaimed Fowler appreciatively.
+"But I am jiggered if I can imagine what you're driving at."
+
+Winter was cutting the end off a big cigar. He finished the operation to
+his liking before answering earnestly:
+
+"We stand or fall by the result of that girl's efforts. Furneaux
+thinks so, and I agree with him absolutely. After five days, where are
+we, Mr. Fowler? In the dark, plus a brigand's hat and hair. But there's
+a queer belief in some parts of England that a phosphorescent gleam
+shows at night over a deep pool in which a dead body lies. That's just
+how I feel about Siddle. The man's an enigma. What sort of place is
+Steynholme for a chemist of his capacities? Dr. Foxton has the highest
+regard for him professionally, and I'm told he doctors people for miles
+around. Yet he lives the life of a recluse. An old woman comes by day
+to prepare his meals, and tidy the house and shop. His sole relaxation
+is an hour of an evening in the village inn, his visits there being
+uninterrupted since the murder. He was there on the night of the
+murder, too. For the rest, he is alone, shut off from the world.
+Without knowing it, he's going to fall into deep waters to-day, and
+he'll emit sparks, or I'm a Chinaman.... I'll leave you here. Good-by!
+See you on Tuesday, after lunch."
+
+The superintendent drove on alone. He pondered the Steynholme affair in
+all its bearings, but mostly did he weigh up Winter and Furneaux. At
+last, he sighed.
+
+"London ways, and London books, and London detectives!" he muttered.
+"We're not up to date in Sussex. Now, if I could please myself, I'd be
+hot-foot after Elkin. I see what Winter has in his mind, but surely Elkin
+fills the bill, and Siddle doesn't.... What was that word--volt what!"
+
+Doris was lucky. She met Mr. Siddle as she emerged from the back passage
+to the cake-shop. Resolving instantly that if an unpleasant thing had to
+be done it should at least be done well, she smiled brightly.
+
+"See what you have driven me to--breaking the Sabbath," she cried,
+holding up the bag of cakes.
+
+"Tea and bread-and-butter with you would be a feast for the gods,"
+said Siddle.
+
+"Now you're adapting Omar Khayyam."
+
+"Who's he?"
+
+"A Persian poet of long ago."
+
+"I never read poetry. But, if your tastes lie that way, I'll accomplish
+some more adaptation."
+
+"Oh, no, please. Cakes for you, Mr. Siddle; poets for giddy young
+things like me."
+
+There was a sting in the words. Doris preened herself on having carried
+out the detective's instructions to the letter thus far.
+
+Arrived in the house she found her father still in the garden, examining
+some larvae under a microscope. He looked severe rather than studious.
+He might have been an omnipotent being who had detected a malefactor in
+a criminal act. Was Steynholme and its secret felon being regarded in
+that way by the providence which, for some inscrutable purpose,
+permitted, yet would infallibly punish, a dreadful murder? She was a
+girl of devout mind, and the notion was appalling in its direct
+application to current events.
+
+In the meantime the chemist, evidently taking a Sunday afternoon
+constitutional, came on Winter, who was leaning on a wall of the bridge
+and looking down stream--Grant's house being on the left.
+
+He would have passed, in his wonted unobtrusive way, but the detective
+hailed him with a cheery "Good day, Mr. Siddle. Are you a fisherman?"
+
+"No, Mr. Franklin, I'm not," he answered.
+
+"Well, now, I'm surprised. You are just the sort of man whom I should
+expect to find attached to a rod and line--even watching a float."
+
+"I tried once when I was younger, but I could neither impale a worm nor
+extract a hook. My gorge rose against either practice. I am a vegetarian,
+for the same reason. If it were not for this disturbing tragedy you would
+have heard Hobbs, the butcher, rallying me about my rabbit-meat, as he
+calls my food."
+
+"Well, well!" laughed Winter. "Your ideas and mine clash in some
+respects. I look on a well-grilled steak as a gift from Heaven, and after
+it, or before it--I don't care which--let me have three hours whipping a
+good trout stream. With the right cast of flies I could show a fine bag
+from this very stretch of water."
+
+"Why not ask Mr. Grant's permission? It would be interesting to learn
+whether he will allow others to try their luck."
+
+Mr. Siddle strolled on. Winter bent over, keen to discern the gray-backed
+fish which must be lurking in those clear depths and rippling shallows.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+ON BOTH SIDES OF THE RIVER
+
+
+The sun, transmuted into Greenwich time, exercised an extraordinary
+influence on the seemingly humdrum life of Steynholme that day. A few
+minutes after three o'clock--just too late to observe either Winter or
+Siddle--P.C. Robinson strolled forth from his cottage. He glanced up the
+almost deserted high-street, in which every rounded cobble and white
+flagstone radiated heat. A high-class automobile had dashed past twice in
+forty minutes, but the pace was on the borderland of doubt, so the
+guardian of the public weal had contented himself with recording its
+number on the return journey.
+
+But his thoughts were far a-field from joyriders, stray cattle, hawkers
+without licenses, and other similar small fry which come into the
+constabulary net. It would be a feather in his cap if he could only
+strike the trail of the veritable Steynholme murderer. The entrancing
+notion possessed him morning, noon, and night. Mrs. Robinson declared
+that it even dominated his dreams. Robinson was sharp. He knew quite well
+that the brains of the London detectives held some elusive quality which
+he personally lacked. They seemed to peer into the heart of a thing so
+wisely and thoroughly. He did not share Superintendent Fowler's somewhat
+derogatory estimate of Furneaux, with whom he was much better acquainted
+than was his superior officer, while Chief Inspector Winter's repute
+stood so high that it might not be questioned. Still, to the best of his
+belief, the case had beaten both these doughty representatives of
+Scotland Yard; there was yet a chance for the humble police-constable; so
+Robinson squared his shoulders, seamed his brows, and marched
+majestically down the Knoleworth road.
+
+He had an eye for The Hollies, of course, though neither he nor anybody
+else could discern more than the bare edge of the lawn from bridge or
+road, owing to the dense screen of evergreen trees and shrubs planted by
+the tenant who remodeled the property.
+
+But the spot where the body of Adelaide Melhuish was drawn ashore was
+visible, and the sight of it started a dim thesis in the policeman's mind
+which took definite shape during less than an hour's stroll. Thus, at
+four o'clock exactly, he was pulling the bell at The Hollies. Almost
+simultaneously, Mr. Siddle knocked modestly on the private door of the
+post office, to reach which one had to pass down a narrow yard.
+
+"Mr. Grant at home?" inquired Robinson, when Minnie appeared.
+
+Yes, the master was on the lawn with Mr. Hart. The policeman found the
+two there, seated in chairs with awnings. They had been discussing, of
+all things in the world, the futurist craze in painting. Hart held by it,
+but Grant carried bigger guns in real knowledge of the artist's
+limitations as well as his privileges.
+
+Hart was the first to notice the newcomer's presence, and greeted
+him joyously.
+
+"Come along, Robinson, and manacle this reprobate," he shouted. "He's
+nothing but a narrow-minded pre-Rafaelite. A period in prison will dust
+the cobwebs out of his attic."
+
+"Hello, Robinson!" said, Grant. "Anything stirring?"
+
+"Not much, sir. I just popped in to ask if you remembered exactly how the
+body was roped?"
+
+"Indeed, I do not. Some incidents of that horrible half hour have gone
+into a sad jumble. I recollect you calling attention to the matter, but
+what your point was I really cannot say now. Perhaps it may come back if
+you explain."
+
+"Well, we don't seem to be making a great deal of progress, sir, and I
+was wondering whether you two gentlemen might help. I don't want it
+mentioned. I'm taking a line of me own."
+
+Grant repressed a smile. He recalled well enough the first "line" the
+policeman took, and the mischief it had caused. Being an even-minded
+person, however, he admitted that his own behavior had not been above
+suspicion on the day the crime was discovered. In allotting blame, as
+between Robinson and himself, the proportion was six of one and half a
+dozen of the other.
+
+"Propound, justiciary," said Hart. "You've started well, anyhow. The
+connection between a line and a rope should be obvious even to a
+judge.... As a pipe-opener, have a drink!"
+
+Robinson had removed his helmet, and was flourishing a red handkerchief,
+not without cause, the day being really very hot.
+
+"Not for a few minutes, thank you, sir," said the policeman. "May I ask
+Bates for a sack and a cord?"
+
+He went to the kitchen. Hart was "tickled to death," he vowed.
+
+"We are about to witness the reconstruction of the crime, a procedure
+which the French delight in, and the intellect of France is a hundred
+years ahead of our effete civilization," he chortled.
+
+Grant was not so pleased. The memory of a distressing vision was
+beginning to blur, and this ponderous policeman must come and revive it.
+Yet, even he grew interested when Robinson illustrated a nebulous idea by
+knotting a clothesline around a sack stuffed with straw, having brought
+Bates to bear him out in the matter of accuracy.
+
+"There you are, gentlemen!" he said, puffing after the slight exertion.
+"That's the way of it. How does it strike you?"
+
+"It's what a sailor calls two half hitches," commented Hart instantly.
+"A very serviceable knot, which will resist to the full strength of
+the rope."
+
+"We have no sailors in Steynholme, sir," said the policeman.
+
+"Oh, it's used regularly by tradesmen," put in Grant. "A draper, or
+grocer--any man accustomed to tying parcels securely, in fact--will
+fashion that knot nine times out of ten."
+
+"How about a--a farmer, sir?" That was as near as Robinson dared to go to
+"horse-dealer."
+
+"I think a farmer would be more likely to adopt a timber hitch, which is
+made in several ways. Here are samples." And Grant busied himself with
+rope and sack.
+
+Robinson watched closely.
+
+"Yes," he nodded. "I've seen those knots in a farmyard.... Well, it's
+something--not much--but a trifle better than nothing.... All right,
+Bates. You can take 'em away."
+
+"Have you shown that knot to Mr. Furneaux?" inquired Grant.
+
+"No, sir. I've kept that up me sleeve, as the sayin' is."
+
+"But why?"
+
+Robinson shuffled uneasily on his feet.
+
+"These Scotland Yard men will hardly listen to a uniformed constable,
+sir," he said. "I'll tell 'em all about it at the inquest on Wednesday."
+
+"In effect, John P. Robinson he sez they didn't know everythin' down in
+Judee," quoted Hart.
+
+"You've got my name pat," grinned the policeman, whose Christian names
+were "John Price."
+
+"My name is Walter, not Patrick," retorted Hart. Robinson continued to
+smile, though he failed to grasp the joke until late that evening.
+
+"Did you make up that verse straight off, sir," he asked.
+
+"No. It's a borrowed plume, plucked from an American quill pen."
+
+Hart gave "plume" a French sound, and Robinson was puzzled to know why
+Grant bade his friend stop profaning a peaceful Sunday afternoon.
+
+"You'll have a glass of beer now?" went on the host.
+
+"I don't mind if I do, sir, though it's tea-time, and I make it a rule on
+Sundays to have tea with the missis. A policeman's hours are broken up,
+and his wife hardly ever knows when to have a meal ready."
+
+Minnie was summoned. It took her a couple of minutes to draw the beer
+from a cool cellar. So it chanced that when Doris led Mr. Siddle to the
+edge of the cliff about twenty-five minutes past four, the first thing
+they saw was the local police-constable on the lawn of The Hollies
+putting down a gill of "best Sussex" at a draught.
+
+"Well!" cried the chemist icily, "I wonder what Superintendent Fowler
+would say to that if he knew it?"
+
+"What is there particularly wrong about Robinson drinking a glass of
+beer?" demanded Doris, more alive to the insinuation in Siddle's words
+than was quite permissible under the role imposed on her by Winter.
+
+She waved her hand to the party on the lawn. Grant, whose eyes ever
+roved in that direction, had seen her white muslin dress the moment
+she appeared.
+
+"Who the deuce is that with Miss Martin?" he said, returning her signal.
+
+"Siddle, the chemist," announced Robinson, not too well pleased himself
+at being "spotted" so openly. "Well, gentlemen, I'll be off," and he
+vanished by the side path through the laurels.
+
+"Siddle!" repeated Grant vexedly. "So it is. And she dislikes the man,
+for some reason."
+
+"Let's go and rescue the fair maid," prompted Hart.
+
+"No, no. If Doris wanted me she would let me know."
+
+"How? At the top of her voice?"
+
+"You're far too curious, Wally."
+
+"Semaphore, of course," drawled Hart. "When are you going to marry the
+girl, Jack!"
+
+"As soon as this infernal business has blown over."
+
+"You haven't asked her, I gather?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Tell me when you do, and I'll hie me to London town, though in torrid
+June. You're unbearable in love."
+
+"The lash of your wit cuts deeply sometimes," said Grant quietly.
+
+"Dash it all, old chap, I was talking at random. Very well. I'll do
+penance in sackcloth and ashes by remaining here, and applauding your
+poetic efforts. I'll even help. I'm a dab at sonnets."
+
+Meanwhile, Mr. Siddle had regained his poise.
+
+"I meant nothing offensive to the donor of the beer," he said, tuning his
+voice to an apologetic note. "But I take it Robinson is conducting
+certain inquiries, and I imagine that his superiors demand a degree of
+circumspection in such conditions. That is all."
+
+"Surely you do not rank with the stupid crowd in its suspicions of Mr.
+Grant?" said the girl.
+
+"I'm pleased to think you refuse to class me with the gossip-mongers of
+Steynholme, Doris," was the guarded answer.
+
+There had been no reference to the murder during tea, which was served
+as soon as the chemist came in. The visitor had tabled a copy of a
+current medical journal containing an article on the therapeutic
+qualities of honey, so the talk was lifted at once into an atmosphere far
+removed from crime. Doris was grateful for his tact. When her father went
+to the office she brought Mr. Siddle into the garden solely in pursuance
+of her promise to the detective, though convinced that there would be no
+outcome save a few labored compliments to herself. And now, by accident,
+as it were, the death of Adelaide Melhuish thrust itself into their
+conversation. Perhaps it was her fault.
+
+"No," she said candidly. "No one who has known you for seven years, Mr.
+Siddle, could possibly accuse you of spreading scandal."
+
+"Seven years! Is it so long since I came to Steynholme? Sometimes, it
+appears an age, but more often I fancy the calendar must be in error.
+Why, it seems only the other day that I saw you in a short frock,
+bowling a hoop."
+
+"A tom-boy occupation," laughed Doris. "But dad encouraged that and
+skipping, as the best possible means of exercise."
+
+"He was right. Look how straight and svelte you are! Few, if any, among
+our community can have watched your progress to womanhood as closely as
+I. You see, living opposite, as I do, I kept track of you more
+intimately than your other neighbors."
+
+Siddle was trimming his sails cleverly. The concluding sentence robbed
+his earlier comments of their sentimental import.
+
+"If we live long enough we may even see each other in the sere and yellow
+leaf," said Doris flippantly.
+
+"I would ask no greater happiness," came the quiet reply, and Doris could
+have bitten her tongue for according him that unguarded opening. Suddenly
+availing herself of the advice which the detective, like Hamlet, had
+given to the players, she gazed musingly at the fair panorama of The
+Hollies and its gardens, with the two young men seated on the lawn. By
+this time Minnie was staging tea, and the picture looked idyllic enough.
+Doris saw, out of the tail of her eye, that her companion was watching
+her furtively, though apparently absorbed in the scene. He moistened his
+thin lips with his tongue.
+
+"As a study in contrasts, that would be hard to beat," he said, after a
+long pause.
+
+"Contrasts!" she echoed.
+
+"Well, yes. Even an uncontentious man like myself can hardly fail to
+compare Sunday afternoon with Tuesday morning."
+
+"Why not Monday night?" she flashed.
+
+"Monday night, in part, remains a mystery yet to be unveiled. I blot
+Monday night from my mind. I have no alternative, being on the jury
+which has to arrive at a just verdict. Now, if Fred Elkin were here, he
+would foam at the mouth."
+
+"Happily, Fred Elkin is _not_ here."
+
+"Ah, I am glad, glad, to hear you say that. You don't like him?"
+
+"I detest him."
+
+"He makes out, to put it mildly, that you are great friends."
+
+"You will oblige me by contradicting the statement. Or--no. One treats
+that sort of man with contempt."
+
+"I agree with you most heartily. I'm sorry I ever mentioned him."
+
+Yet Doris was well aware that the chemist had dragged in Elkin by the
+scruff of the neck, probably for the sake of getting him disposed of
+thoroughly and for all time. Rather on the tiptoe of expectation, she
+awaited the next move. It was slow in coming, so again she looked
+wistfully at the distant tea-drinkers. She found slight difficulty in
+carrying out this portion of the stage directions. Truth to tell, she
+would gleefully have gone and joined them.
+
+Siddle was not altogether at ease. The conversation was too spasmodic to
+suit his purpose. Though slow of speech he was nimble of brain, and,
+knowing Doris so well, he had anticipated a livelier duel of wits. In all
+likelihood, he cursed the tea-party on the lawn. He had not foreseen this
+drawback. But, being a masterful man, he tackled the situation boldly.
+
+"I seized the opportunity of a friendly chat with you to-day, Doris," he
+went on, leaning over the fence to inhale the scent of a briar rose. "The
+story runs through the village that you and your father dined at The
+Hollies on Friday evening. Is that true?"
+
+Now, Doris had it on reliable authority that Siddle himself had been the
+runner who spread that story, and the knowledge steeled her heart
+against him.
+
+"Yes," she said composedly.
+
+"It was kind and neighborly of you to accept the invitation, but a
+mistake."
+
+She turned and faced him. His expression was baffling. She thought she
+saw in his sallow, clean-cut features the shadow of a confident smile.
+
+"You mean that this horrid murder should make some difference in the
+friendship between ourselves and Mr. Grant?" she cried.
+
+"Yes. To you, though to no one else would I speak so plainly, I have no
+hesitation in saying that Mr. Grant is far, very far, from being clear
+of responsibility in that matter. Three days from now you will
+understand what I mean. Evidence will be forthcoming which will put him
+in a most unenviable light. I am not alleging, or even hinting, that he
+may be deemed guilty of actual crime. That is for the law to determine.
+But I do tell you emphatically that his present heedless attitude will
+give place to anxiety and dejection. It cannot be otherwise. A somewhat
+sordid history will be revealed, and his pretense that relations between
+him and the dead woman ceased three years ago will vanish into thin air.
+Believe me, Doris, I am actuated by no motive in this matter other than
+a desire to further your welfare. I cannot bear even to think of your
+name being associated, in ever so small degree, with that of a man who
+must be hounded out of his own social circle, if no worse fate is in
+store for him."
+
+"Good gracious!" cried Doris, genuinely amazed. "How do you come to know
+all this?"
+
+"I listen to the words of those qualified to speak with knowledge and
+authority. I have mixed in varied company this past week, wholly on your
+account. Don't be led away by the mere formalities of the opening day of
+the inquest. The coroner deliberately shut off all real evidence except
+as to the cause of death. On Wednesday the situation will change, and you
+cannot fail to be shocked by what you hear, because you will be there."
+
+"I am given to understand that, even if I am called, my testimony will be
+of no importance."
+
+"Such may be the police view. Mr. Ingerman will press for a very
+different estimate."
+
+"Has he told you that?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"So, although foreman of the jury, you have not declined to hobnob with
+a man who is avowedly Mr. Grant's enemy?"
+
+"I would hobnob with worse people if, by so doing, I might serve you."
+
+Grant, "fed up," as he put it to Hart, with watching the _t�te � t�te_
+between Doris and the chemist, sprang to his feet and went through a
+pantomime easy enough to follow save for one or two signs. Doris held
+both hands aloft. Well knowing that anything in the nature of a
+pre-arranged code would be gall and wormwood to Siddle, she explained
+laughingly:
+
+"Mr. Grant signals that he and Mr. Hart are going for a walk; he wants me
+to accompany them. But I can't, unfortunately. I promised dad to help
+with the accounts."
+
+"If you really mean what you say, my warning would seem to have fallen on
+deaf ears."
+
+Siddle's voice was well under control, but his eyes glinted dangerously.
+His state was that of a man torn by passion who nevertheless felt that
+any display of the rage possessing him would be fatal to his cause.
+
+But, rather unexpectedly, Doris took fire. Siddle's innuendoes and
+protestations were sufficiently hard to bear without the added knowledge
+that a ridiculous convention denied her the companionship of a man whom
+she loved, and who, she was beginning to believe, loved her. She swept
+round on Siddle like a wrathful goddess.
+
+"I have borne with you patiently because of the acquaintance of years,
+but I shall be glad if this tittle-tattle of malice and ignorance now
+ceases," she said proudly. "Mr. Grant is my friend, and my father's
+friend. In the first horror of the crime which has besmirched our dear
+little village, we both treated Mr. Grant rather badly. We know better
+to-day. Your Ingermans and your Elkins, and the rest of the busybodies
+gathered at the inn, may defame him as they choose, or as they dare. As
+for me, I am his loyal comrade, and shall remain so after next Wednesday,
+or a score of Wednesdays. I am going in now, Mr. Siddle, and shall be
+engaged during the remainder of the evening. Your shop opens at six, and
+I am sure you will find some more profitable means of spending the time
+than in telling me things I would rather not hear."
+
+Siddle caught her arm.
+
+"Doris," he said fiercely, "you must not leave me without, at least,
+learning my true motive. I--"
+
+The girl wrested herself free from his grip. She realized what was
+coming, and forestalled it.
+
+"I care nothing for your motive," she cried. "You forget yourself!
+Please go!"
+
+She literally ran into the house. The chemist, unless he elected to
+behave like a love-sick fool, had no option but to follow, and make his
+way to the street by the side door.
+
+The only other happening of significance that Sunday was an unheralded
+visit by Winter to the policeman's residence.
+
+He popped in after dusk, opening the door without knocking.
+
+"You in, Robinson?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes, sir. Will you--"
+
+"Shan't detain you more than a minute. At the inquest you said that you
+personally untied the rope which bound Miss Melhuish's body. Here are a
+piece of string and a newspaper. Would you mind showing me what sort of
+knot was used?"
+
+Robinson was nearly struck dumb, and his fingers fumbled badly, but he
+managed to exhibit two hitches.
+
+"Ah, thanks," said Winter, and was off in a jiffy.
+
+From the window of a darkened room Robinson watched the erect, burly
+figure of the detective until it was merged in the mists of night.
+
+"Well, I'm--," he exclaimed bitterly.
+
+"John, what are you swearing about?" demanded his wife from the kitchen.
+
+"Something I heard to-day," answered her husband. "There was a chap of my
+name, John P. Robinson, an' he said that down in Judee they didn't know
+everything. And, by gum, he was right. They knew mighty little about
+London 'tecs, I'm thinking. But, hold on. Surely--"
+
+He bustled into his coat, and hastened to The Hollies. No, neither Mr.
+Grant nor Mr. Hart had spoken to a soul about the knot. Nor had Bates. Of
+course, Robinson did not venture to describe Winter. Finally, he put the
+incident aside as a clear case of thought-reading.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+A MATTER OF HEREDITY
+
+
+Shortly before noon on Monday occurred two events destined to assume a
+paramount importance in the affair which was wringing the withers of
+Steynholme. As in the histories of both men and nations, these first
+steps in great developments began quietly enough. For one thing, Furneaux
+returned to the village. For another, the London telegraphist, who
+expected the day to prove practically a blank, was reading a newspaper
+when the telegraph instrument clicked the local call.
+
+Doris was checking and distributing the stock of stamps which had arrived
+that morning; her father was counting mail-bags in a small annex to the
+main room, the Knoleworth office having acquired a habit of making up
+shortages by docking the country branches. No member of the public
+happened to be present. The girl could have heard what the Morse code was
+tapping forth had she chosen, but she had trained herself to disregard
+the telegraph when occupied on other work.
+
+Suddenly, however, the telegraphist's pencil paused.
+
+"Hello!" he said. "Theodore Siddle! That's the chemist opposite,
+isn't it!"
+
+"Yes," said Doris, suspending her calculations at mention of the name.
+
+"Well, his mother's dead."
+
+"Dead?" she echoed vacantly. Somehow, it had never hitherto dawned on her
+that the chemist might possess relatives in some part of the country.
+
+"That's what it says," went on the other. "'Regret inform you your mother
+died this morning. Superintendent, Horton Asylum.'"
+
+"In an asylum, too," said the girl, speaking at random.
+
+"Yes. Horton is the place for epileptic lunatics, near Epsom, you know."
+
+"I didn't know. Does it mean that--that she was an epileptic lunatic?"
+
+"So I should imagine, from the wording. If a nurse, or a matron, they'd
+surely describe her as such."
+
+"I suppose we ought not to discuss Mr. Siddle's telegram," said Doris,
+after a pause.
+
+"Well, no. But where's the harm? I wouldn't have yelled out the news if
+we three weren't alone. Where's that boy?"
+
+"Gone to his dinner. Father will take it. By the way, say nothing to him
+as to the contents. Would you mind calling him?"
+
+Doris hurried swiftly to the sitting-room, and thence upstairs. The
+telegraphist explained the absence of a messenger, so Mr. Martin
+delivered the telegram in person.
+
+Crossing the street, he detected a dead bee. He picked it up, horrified
+at the thought that the Isle of Wight disease might have reached Sussex.
+So it was an absent-minded postmaster who handed the telegram over
+Siddle's counter, inquiring laconically:
+
+"Is there any answer?"
+
+Siddle opened the buff envelope, and read. He glanced sharply at Martin.
+
+"No," he said. "What's wrong with that bee?"
+
+"I don't know. I have my doubts. When I have a moment to spare I'll put
+it under the microscope."
+
+Siddle examined the telegram again. The handwriting was that beloved of
+Civil Service Commissioners. Unquestionably, it was not Doris's. No
+sooner had his friend gone off, still intent on the dead insect, than
+Siddle followed. He knew that the bee would undergo scientific scrutiny
+at once, so gave Martin just enough time to dive into the sitting-room
+before entering the post office.
+
+"Did you receive this telegram a few minutes ago!" he inquired.
+
+The young man became severely official.
+
+"Which telegram?" he said stiffly.
+
+"This one," and Siddle gave him the written message.
+
+"Yes," was the answer.
+
+"Excuse me, but--er--are its contents known to you only?"
+
+"What do you mean, sir? It would cost me my berth if I divulged a word of
+it to anyone."
+
+"I'm sorry. Pray don't take offense. I--I'm anxious that my friends,
+Mr. and Miss Martin, should not hear of it. That is what I really
+have in mind."
+
+The telegraphist cooled down.
+
+"You may be quite sure that neither they nor any other person in
+Steynholme will ever see the duplicate," he said confidentially. "I make
+up a package containing duplicates each evening, and it is sent to
+headquarters. If it will please you, I'll lock the copy now in my desk."
+
+"That is exceedingly good of you," said Siddle gratefully. "You, as a
+Londoner, will understand that such a telegram from--er--Horton is not
+the sort of thing one would like to become known even in the most
+limited circle."
+
+"You can depend on me, sir."
+
+Siddle hastened back to his shop. The telegraphist looked after him.
+
+"Queer!" he mused. "Miss Doris guessed him at once. Phi-ew, I must be
+careful! This village contains surprises."
+
+Doris, watching from an upper room, saw the visitor, and timed him. She
+imagined he had dispatched an answer. Being a woman, she sought
+enlightenment a few minutes later.
+
+"Mr. Siddle came in," she said tentatively.
+
+"Yes," said the specialist, smiling. "And I agree with you, Miss Martin.
+We mustn't talk about telegrams, even among ourselves, unless it is
+necessary departmentally."
+
+Doris was silenced, but she read the riddle correctly. The chemist was
+particularly anxious that no Steynholme resident should be made aware of
+his mother's death. She wondered why.
+
+She was enlightened when Furneaux paid a call about tea-time. She took
+him into the garden. The lawn at The Hollies was empty.
+
+"Well, you entertained an acquaintance yesterday?" he began.
+
+"Yes. Am I to tell you what happened?"
+
+"Not a great deal, I imagine," he said, with a puzzling laugh.
+
+"No, but I annoyed him, as Mr.----"
+
+"No names!" broke in the detective hastily. "Names, especially modern
+ones, destroy romance. Even the Georgian method of using initials, or
+leaving out vowels, lend an air of intrigue to the veriest balderdash."
+
+"But no one can overhear us," was the somewhat surprised comment.
+
+"How true!" said Furneaux. "Pardon me, Miss Martin. Tell the story in
+your own way."
+
+Doris had a good memory. She was invariably letter-perfect in a play
+after a couple of rehearsals, and could prompt others if they faltered.
+The detective listened in silence while she repeated the conversation
+between Siddle and herself. He took no notes. In fact, he hardly ever did
+make any record in a case unless it was essential to prove the exact
+words of a suspected person.
+
+"Good!" he said, when she had finished. "That sounds like the
+complete text."
+
+"I don't think I have left out anything of importance--that is, if a
+single word of it _is_ important."
+
+"Oh, heaps," he assured her. "It's even better than I dared hope. Can you
+tell me if Siddle's mother is dead yet?"
+
+The question found Doris so thoroughly unprepared that she blurted out:
+
+"Have you had a telegram, too, then?"
+
+"No. But Siddle has had one, eh? Don't be vexed. I'm not tricking you
+into revealing post office secrets. I knew she was dying, and, when I saw
+your father take a message to the chemist's shop I simply made an
+accurate guess.... Now, I'm going to scare you, purposely and of malice
+aforethought, because I want you to be a good little girl, and obey
+orders. Mrs. Siddle, senior, now happily deceased, was an epileptic
+lunatic of a peculiarly dangerous type. She suffered from what is classed
+by the doctors as _furor epilepticus_, a form of spasmodic insanity not
+inconsistent with a high degree of bodily vigor and long periods of
+apparently complete mental saneness. Now, if I were not speaking to one
+who has shared her father's studies in bee-life, I would not introduce
+the subject of heredity. But _you_ know, Miss Martin, that such racial
+characteristics are transmitted, or transmissible, I should say, by sex
+opposites. Thus, an epileptic mother is more likely to give her taint to
+a son than to a daughter.... Yes, I mean all that, and more," he went on,
+seeing the look of horror, not unmixed with fear, in Doris's eyes. "There
+must be no more irritating of Siddle, or playing on his feelings--by you,
+at any rate. Treat him gently. If he insists on making love to you, be as
+firm as you like in a non-committal way. I mean, by that, an entire
+absence on your part of any suggestion that you are repulsing him because
+of a real or supposed preference for any other man."
+
+"Do you want me to believe that he is liable to attack me?" demanded the
+girl, her naturally courageous spirit coming to her aid.
+
+"I do," said Furneaux, speaking with marked earnestness.
+
+"Yet you ask me to endure his company if he chooses to force
+himself on me?"
+
+"For a few days."
+
+"But it may be a few years?"
+
+"No. That is not to be thought of. Leave it to me to devise a way.
+Besides, you need not allow him so many opportunities that the strain
+would become unbearable. You are busy, owing to the certain increase of
+work brought about by this murder. Your time will be greatly occupied.
+But, don't render him morbidly suspicious. For instance, no more dinners
+at The Hollies. No more gadding about by night, if you hear weird noises
+on the other side of the river. And you must absolutely deny yourself the
+pleasurable excitement of Mr. Grant's company."
+
+"You are carrying a warning to its extreme limit."
+
+"Exactly."
+
+"And am I to keep this knowledge to myself?"
+
+"In whom would you confide?"
+
+"My father, of course."
+
+"I know you better," and the detective's voice took on a profoundly
+serious note. "Your father would never admit that what he knows to be
+true of bees is equally true of humanity. You can trust the police to
+keep a pretty sharp eye on Siddle, of course, but the present is a
+strenuous period, both for us and for people with maniacal tendencies, so
+accidents may happen."
+
+"You have distressed me immeasurably," said the girl, striving to pierce
+the mask of that inscrutable face.
+
+"I meant to," answered Furneaux quietly. "No half measures for me.
+I've looked up the asylum record of Mrs. Siddle, senior, and it's not
+nice reading."
+
+"There was a Mrs. Siddle, junior, then?"
+
+"A Mrs. Theodore Siddle, if one adopts the conventional usage. Yes. She
+died last month."
+
+"Last month!" gasped Doris, feeling vaguely that she was moving in a maze
+of deceit and subterfuge.
+
+"On May 25th, to be precise. She lived apart from her husband. I have
+reason to believe she feared him."
+
+"Yet--"
+
+She hesitated, hardly able to put her jumbled thoughts into words.
+
+"Yes. That's so," said the detective instantly. "Never mind. It's a
+fairly decent world, taken _en bloc_. I ought to speak with authority. I
+see enough of the seamy side of it, goodness knows. Now, forewarned is
+forearmed. Don't be nervous. Don't take risks. Everything will come right
+in time. Remember, I'm not far away in an emergency. Should I chance to
+be absent if you need advice, send for Mr. Franklin. You can easily
+devise some official excuse, a mislaid letter, or an error in a
+telegram."
+
+"I think I shall feel confident if both of you are near," and the ghost
+of a smile lit Doris's wan features.
+
+"We're a marvelous combination," grinned Furneaux, reverting at once to
+his normal impishness. "I am all brain; he is all muscle. Such an
+alliance prevails against the ungodly."
+
+"Is Mr. Grant in any danger?" inquired Doris suddenly.
+
+"No."
+
+The two looked into each other's eyes. Doris was eager to ask a question,
+which Furneaux dared her to put. The detective won. She sighed.
+
+"Very well," she said. "I'm to behave. Am I to regard myself as a
+decoy duck?"
+
+"A duck, anyhow."
+
+She laughed lightly. Furneaux would vouchsafe no further information, it
+would appear. For a girl of nineteen, Doris was uncommonly gifted with
+clear, analytical reasoning powers.
+
+The detective returned to the Hare and Hounds, and went upstairs. He met
+Peters on the landing.
+
+"The devil!" he cried.
+
+"My _dear_ pal!" retorted the journalist.
+
+"Are you living here?"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Why not, indeed? Where the eagles are there is the carcase."
+
+"Your misquotation is offensive."
+
+"It was so intended."
+
+"Come and have a drink."
+
+"No."
+
+"I say 'yes.' You'll thank me on your bended knees afterwards. The South
+American gent is having the time of his life. I've just been to my room
+for _Whitaker's Almanack_, wherewith a certain Don Walter Hart purposes
+flooring him."
+
+Wally Hart had, indeed, succeeded in running to earth the Argentine
+magnate, and was giving Winter a most uncomfortable quarter of an hour.
+
+"Ha!" shouted Hart, when Furneaux came in with Peters. "Here's the pocket
+marvel who'll answer any question straight off. What is the staple export
+of the Argentine!"
+
+"How often have you been there?" demanded the detective dryly.
+
+"Six times."
+
+"And you've lived there?" This to Winter.
+
+"Yes," glowered the big man, fearing the worst.
+
+"Then the answer is 'fools,'" cackled Furneaux.
+
+Wally laughed. He had remembered, just in time, that he had no right to
+claim acquaintance with the representative of Scotland Yard, and there
+were some farmers present, each of whom had a "likely animal" to offer
+the buyer of blood stock.
+
+"Gad, I think you're right," he said.
+
+"You wanted me to say 'sheep,' I suppose?"
+
+"Got it, at once."
+
+"As though one valuable horse wasn't worth a thousand sheep."
+
+"Just what my friend, Don Manoel Alcorta, of Los Andes ranch, Catamarca,
+always held," put in Winter, drawing the bow at a venture.
+
+Hart cocked an eye at him.
+
+"Sir," he said, "I would take off my hat, if I wore one in Steynholme, to
+any man who claims the friendship of Don Manoel Alcorta, a sincere
+patriot. I suggest that we crack a bottle to his immortal memory."
+
+"My doctor forbids me to touch wine," said Winter mournfully.
+
+"But these bucolic breeders of browns and bays employ wiser medicos,
+I'll go bail. Landlord, a quart of the best, and six out, as they say
+in London."
+
+Six glasses were duly filled with champagne. When it was consumed, Hart
+buttonholed Peters.
+
+"A word with you, scribe," he said. "Good-day, gentlemen. I leave you to
+your nags. Treat Mr. Franklin fairly. The friend of Don Manoel Alcorta
+must be a true man."
+
+Winter heaved a sigh of relief when the professional revolutionist
+had vanished.
+
+"He's a funny 'un," commented one of the farmers.
+
+"A bit touched, I reckon," said another. "Wot's 'e doin' now to the
+other one?"
+
+They looked through the window. The two were standing in the middle of
+the road, and Wally was shaking Peters violently. The argument was not so
+fierce as it appeared to be. Peters had been commanded to bring both
+detectives to dinner that evening; when he demurred, trying to hedge on
+the question of Winter's identity, Hart grabbed him by the shoulder.
+
+"Do as I tell you," he hissed. "Of course, I know now that the big fellow
+is the man Grant heard of a week ago. I was an idiot to take him
+seriously about the Argentine. Bring the pair of 'em, I tell you. We'll
+make a night of it."
+
+"I'll try," said Peters faintly, "but if you stir up that wine so
+vigorously I won't answer for the consequences."
+
+Winter, wishing devoutly that would-be sellers of horseflesh were not so
+numerous in the district, noted the names and addresses of the local men,
+and promised to write when he could make an appointment. Then he escaped
+upstairs, whither Furneaux soon followed. Winter had secured an extra
+bedroom, overlooking the river, which Tomlin had converted into a
+sitting-room. Thus, he held a secure observation post both in front and
+rear of the hotel.
+
+"Well, how did she take it!" inquired the Chief Inspector, when he and
+his colleague were safe behind a closed door.
+
+"Sensible girl," said Furneaux. "By the way, Siddle's mother is dead.
+Telegram came this morning. Things should happen now."
+
+"I don't quite see why."
+
+"No. You're still muddled after floundering in the mud of South America.
+What possessed you to let that cheerful idiot, Wally Hart, put you in
+the cart?"
+
+"How could I help it? I was extracting some really helpful facts about
+Siddle and Elkin from Tomlin and the others when a shock-headed whirlwind
+blew in, and nearly embraced me because I claimed acquaintance with the
+El Dorado bar in Buenos Ayres. From that instant I was lost. Like St.
+Augustine on the gridiron, no sooner was I nicely toasted on one side
+than I was turned on to the other. That grinning penny-a-liner, Peters,
+too, helped as assistant torturer. Wait till he asks me for a 'pointer'
+in this or any other case. He sold me a pup to-day, but I'll land him
+with a full-sized mastiff."
+
+"No, you won't. He's done you a lot of good. You were simply reeking with
+conceit when I met you this morning. It was 'Siddle this' and 'Siddle
+that' until you fairly sickened me. One would have thought I hadn't
+cleared the ground for you, left you with all lines open and yourself
+unknown to the enemy. Sometimes, you make me tired."
+
+"Sorry, Charles," said Winter patronizingly. "I had a bit of luck on
+Sunday, I admit. The chance turn taken by the conversation with Doris,
+with the result that I was able to occupy a strategic position on the
+cliff, and hear every word Siddle uttered, was really fortunate. But,
+isn't that just what men mean when they prate of success? Opportunity
+knocks once at every man's door, says the old saw. The clever man grabs
+hold instantly. The indolent one, often a mere gabbler, opens his eyes
+and his mouth weeks afterwards, and cries, 'Dear me! Was that the
+much-looked-for opportunity?' Of course, Robinson's by-play with the sack
+and rope was merely thrown in by the prodigal hand of Fate."
+
+"Stop!" yelped Furneaux. "Another platitude, and I'll assault you with
+the tongs!"
+
+It was the invariable habit of the Big 'Un and Little 'Un to quarrel like
+cat and dog when the toils were closing in around a suspect. Woe, then,
+to the malefactor! His was a parlous state.
+
+"Let's cool down, Charles!" said Winter, opening a leather case, and
+selecting, with great care, one out of half a dozen precisely similar
+cigars. "We're pretty sure of our man, but we haven't a scrap of evidence
+against him. How, or where, to begin ringing him in I haven't the
+faintest notion. If only he'd kill Grant we'd get him at once."
+
+"But he won't. He trusts to Ingerman playing that part of the game. He's
+as artful as a pet fox. I bought soap, and a pound of sal volatile, but
+he did up each parcel with sealing-wax."
+
+"Sal volatile!" smiled Winter. "I, too, went in for soap, but my
+imagination would not soar beyond a packet of cotton-wool. It was the
+lumpiest thing I could think of."
+
+"And perfectly useless!" sneered Furneaux. "I must say you do fling the
+taxpayers' money about. Now, _my_ little lot will keep the electric bells
+in my flat in order for two years."
+
+"You forget that constant association with you demands that I should
+frequently plug my two ears," retorted Winter.
+
+Furneaux would surely have thrown back the jest had not a knock on the
+door interrupted him.
+
+"Who's there? I'm busy," cried Winter.
+
+"Me-ow!" whined Peters's voice.
+
+"Oh, it's you, Tom. Come in!"
+
+The journalist crept in on tiptoe.
+
+"Hush! We are not observed," he said. "Wally Hart threatens to choke me
+if you two don't dine with him and Grant to-night."
+
+There was silence for a little while. The detectives looked at
+each other.
+
+"At what time?" said Winter, at last.
+
+Peters was astonished, and showed it.
+
+"Why, I assured him it was absolutely imposs.," he cried.
+
+"Well, it isn't. In fact, it suits our plans. I want exercise, and shall
+walk back from Knoleworth. Furneaux will make his own arrangements. Tell
+Grant that I shall drop in without knocking."
+
+"And tell him I shall arrive by parachute," added Furneaux.
+
+"In case of accidents, and there is a shoot-up, with myself as the
+unresisting victim, my front name is James," said Peters.
+
+"The only good point about you," scoffed Winter.
+
+"You're strong on names to-day," tittered the journalist. "Don Manoel
+Alcorta was a superb effort as an authority on gee-gees. Wally tells me
+his donship is the recognized expert south of the line on seismic
+disturbances, and spends his days and nights watching a needle making
+scratches on a sensitive plate."
+
+"He would be useful here in a day or two," said Winter.
+
+"Ah, thanks! Is that a tip?"
+
+"Not for publication. What you must say is that this affair looks like
+baffling the shrewdest wits in Scotland Yard."
+
+"My very phrase--my own ewe lamb. Pardon. I shouldn't have alluded
+to sheep."
+
+"The only known representative of the Yard in Steynholme is Furneaux,"
+smiled the Chief Inspector.
+
+Furneaux was drumming on a window-pane with his finger-tips.
+
+"True," he cackled. "Just to prove it, he now informs you that Siddle,
+finding trade slow, has called on Mr. John Menzies Grant!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+FURNEAUX MAKES A SUCCESSFUL BID
+
+
+The lawn front of The Hollies was not visible from the upper story of the
+Hare and Hounds owing to a clump of pines which had found foothold on the
+cliff, but, through the gap formed by the end of the post office garden,
+the entrance to the house from the Knoleworth road was discernible.
+
+Furneaux's dramatic announcement brought the other two to the window. By
+this time Peters, gifted with a nose for news like a well-trained
+setter's for partridges, had begun to associate the quiet-mannered,
+gentle-spoken chemist with the inner circle of the crime, so waited and
+watched with the detectives for Siddle's reappearance.
+
+At any rate the visitor must have been admitted, because a long quarter
+of an hour elapsed before he came in sight again. He walked out slowly
+into the roadway, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and glanced
+to right and left. Then, turning abruptly, he stared at the dwelling he
+had just quitted. What this slight but peculiar action signified was not
+hard to guess. Furneaux, indeed, put it into words.
+
+"Having warned Grant off Miss Doris Martin, and been cursed for his
+pains, the foreman of the jury does not trouble to await further
+evidence, but arrives at a true and lawful verdict straight off,"
+announced the little man.
+
+"We ought to hear things to-night," said Peters.
+
+"We?" inquired Winter.
+
+"Yes. Didn't I make it clear that I shared in the dinner invitation?"
+
+"No, and I'm--"
+
+"Don't say it!" pleaded the journalist. "If I fell from grace to-day,
+remember my unswerving loyalty since the hour we met on the platform at
+Knoleworth! Haven't I kept close as an oyster? And would any
+consideration on earth move me to publish an accurate and entertaining
+account of the roasting of Chief Inspector Winter by Wally Hart? Think
+what I'm sacrificing--a column of the best."
+
+Winter bent a weighing look on the speaker. There was treason in the
+thought, as King James remarked to the barber who tried to prove his
+loyalty by pointing out how easily he might cut his majesty's throat any
+morning. But Peters maintained the expression of a sphinx, and the big
+man relaxed.
+
+"The conditions are that not a word about this business appears in
+print, either now or in the future until we have a criminal in the
+dock," he said.
+
+"Accepted," said Peters.
+
+Furneaux laughed shrilly, even derisively, but him his colleague treated
+with majestic disdain. Then, the chemist having reentered the village,
+the group broke up, Peters to search his brains for "copy" which should
+be readable yet contain no hint of the new trail, Winter to take train to
+Knoleworth, and Furneaux to tackle Fred Elkin, who, he had ascertained
+earlier, would drive home from a neighboring hamlet about five o'clock.
+
+Elkin had returned when the detective reached the house, a somewhat
+pretentious place, half farm, half villa, and altogether horsey. The
+entrance hall bristled with fox masks and brushes. A useful collection of
+burnished bits and snaffles hung on a side wall. A couple of stuffed
+badgers held two wicker stands for sticks and umbrellas, and whips and
+hunting-crops were ranged on hooks beneath a 12-bore and a rook rifle.
+
+A pert maid-servant took Furneaux's card, blanched when she read it, and
+forgot to close the door of the dining-room. Hence, the detective heard
+Elkin's gruff comments:
+
+"What? _That_ chap? Wants to see me? Not more than I want to see him.
+Show him in."
+
+Furneaux, looking very meek and mild, entered an apartment of the
+carpet-bag upholstery period. A set of six exceedingly good and rare
+sporting prints caught his eye.
+
+"Good day," he said, finding Elkin drinking tea, and eating a boiled
+egg. "You're feeling better, I'm glad to see."
+
+Now, no matter how ungracious a man may be, a courteous solicitude as to
+his health demands a certain note of civility in return.
+
+"Yes," he said. "Sit down. Will you join me?"
+
+"I'll have a cup of tea, with pleasure," said Furneaux.
+
+"Right-o! Just touch that bell, will you?"
+
+The other obeyed, and took a closer look at one of the prints. Yes, the
+date was right, 1841, and the stippling admirable.
+
+"Nice lot of pictures, those," he said cheerfully, when the frightened
+maid, much to her relief, had been told to bring another cup and a fresh
+supply of toast.
+
+"Are they?" Elkin had taken them and some kitchen furniture for a bad
+debt.
+
+"Yes. Will you sell them?"
+
+"Well, I haven't thought about it. What'll you give?"
+
+Furneaux hesitated.
+
+"I can't resist anything in the art line that takes my fancy," he said,
+after a pause of indecision. "What do you say to ten bob each?"
+
+Elkin valued the lot at that figure, but Furneaux was a fool, and should
+be treated as such.
+
+"Oh, come now!" he cried roguishly. "They're worth more than that."
+
+Furneaux reflected again.
+
+"Three pounds is a good deal for six prints," he murmured, "but, to get
+it off my mind, I'll spring to guineas."
+
+"Make it three-ten and they're yours."
+
+"Three guineas is my absolute limit," said Furneaux.
+
+"Done!" cried Elkin. The original debt was under two pounds, so he had
+cleared more than fifty per cent. on the transaction, and was plus a
+number of chairs and a table.
+
+Furneaux counted out the money, wrote a receipt on a leaf torn from his
+pocket-book, and stamped it.
+
+"Sign that," he said, "pocket the cash, send the set to the Hare and
+Hounds for me in a dog-cart now, and the deal is through."
+
+Leaving the table, he went and lifted down each picture carefully.
+Somewhat wonderingly, Elkin rang the bell once more, gave the necessary
+instructions, and the room was cleared of its art. He was quite sure now
+that Furneaux was, as he put it, "dotty." The latter, however, sat and
+enjoyed his tea as though well pleased with his bargain.
+
+"And how are things going in the murder at The Hollies?" inquired the
+horse-dealer, by way of a polite leading up to the visitor's
+unexplained business.
+
+"Fairly well," said the detective. "My chief difficulty was to convince
+certain important people that you didn't kill Miss Melhuish. Once I--"
+
+"Me!" roared Elkin, his pale blue eyes assuming a fiery tint. "_Me!_"
+
+"Once I established that fact," went on the other severely, "a real
+stumbling-block was removed. You see, Elkin, you have behaved throughout
+like a perfect fool, and thus lent a sort of credibility to an otherwise
+absurd notion. Your furious hatred of Mr. Grant, for instance, born of an
+equally fatuous--or, shall I say? fat-headed--belief that Miss Martin
+would marry you for the mere asking, led you into deep waters. It was a
+mistake, too, when you lied to P.C. Robinson as to the time you came home
+on that Monday night. You told him you walked straight here from the Hare
+and Hounds at ten o 'clock. You know you didn't--that it was nearer half
+past eleven when you reached this house. Consider what that discrepancy
+alone might have meant if Scotland Yard failed to take your measure
+correctly. Then add the fact that the murderer wore the hat, wig, and
+whiskers in which you made a guy of yourself while filling the r�le of
+Svengali last winter. Now, I ask you, Elkin, where would you have stood
+with the average British jury when the prosecution established those
+three things: Motive, your jealousy of Grant; time, your unaccounted-for
+disappearance during the hour when the crime was committed; and disguise,
+a clumsy suggestion of Owd Ben's ghost? Really, I have known men brought
+to the scaffold on circumstantial evidence little stronger than that.
+Instead of glaring at me like a cornered rat you ought to drop on your
+knees and thank providence, as manifested through the intelligence of the
+'Yard,' that you are not now in a cell at Knoleworth, ruminating on your
+own stupidity, and in no small jeopardy of your life."
+
+Many emotions chased each other across Fred Elkin's somewhat mean and
+cruel face while Furneaux rated him in this extraordinary manner.
+Surprise, wrath, even fear, had their phases. But, dominating all other
+sensations, was an overpowering indignation at the implied hopelessness
+of his pursuit of Doris Martin.
+
+He literally howled an oath at his torturer. Furneaux was shocked.
+
+"No, no," he protested in a horrified tone. "Don't swear at your
+best friend."
+
+"Friend! By--, I'll make you pay for what you've said. There's a law
+to stop that sort of thing."
+
+"But the law requires witnesses. A slander isn't a slander unless it's
+uttered to your detriment before a third party. How different would be
+Mr. Grant's action against you! Your well-wishers simply couldn't muzzle
+you. Whether before your pot-house cronies or mere strangers, you charged
+him openly with being a murderer. I'm sorry for you, Elkin, if ever you
+come before a judge. He'll rattle more than my three guineas out of you.
+Even now, you don't grasp the extent of your folly. Instead of telling me
+how you spent that hour and a half on the night of the crime you have the
+incredible audacity to threaten me, _me_, the man who has saved you from
+jail. One more word, you miserable swab, and I'll let Robinson arrest
+you. You'll be set free, of course, when I stage the actual villain, but
+a few remands of a week each in custody will thin your hot blood. You
+were with Peggy Smith after leaving the Hare and Hounds, making a fool of
+an honest girl who thinks you mean to wed her. Yet you blather about
+being 'practically engaged' to Doris Martin, a girl who wouldn't let you
+tie her shoe-lace. You're an impudent pup, Fred, and you know it. But you
+stock decent tea, so I'll take another cup. If you're wise, you'll take a
+second one yourself. It's better for you than whiskey."
+
+Elkin, despite all his faults, was endowed with the shrewdness
+inseparable from his business, because no man devoid of brains ever yet
+throve as a horse-dealer. He smothered his rage, thinking he might learn
+more from this strange-mannered detective by seeming complaisance.
+
+"You're a bit rough on a fellow," he growled sulkily, pouring out the
+tea.
+
+"For your good, my boy, solely for your good. Now, own up about Peggy."
+
+"Yes. That's right. She'd prove an alibi, so your torn-fool case breaks
+down when the flag falls."
+
+"Does it? A girl may say anything to save her supposed lover. How will
+the twelve good men and true view Doris Martin's evidence on Wednesday?
+What did _you_ mean, for instance, by your question to the coroner at the
+first hearing?"
+
+"I thought Grant was guilty, and I think so still," came the
+savage retort.
+
+"A nice juryman you are, I must say! May I trouble you to pass the
+sugar?"
+
+"Look here! What are you gettin' at? Damme if I can see through your
+game. What is it?"
+
+"I didn't want to worry poor Peggy. And her father might set about you if
+he knew the facts, so I'm probably saving you a hiding as well as a
+period in jail. The only reliable witness we had as to events in Tomlin's
+place was a commercial traveler, and he is positive that the house closed
+at ten o'clock. However, that's all right. How do you account for the
+marvelous improvement in your health? Dr. Foxton cannot understand your
+illness. He says you are wiry, and have a strong constitution."
+
+"Dr. Foxton jolly near knocked me up," said Elkin. "I took his medicine
+till I was sick as a cat."
+
+"But you took spirits, too."
+
+"That's nothing fresh. Anyhow, I've dropped both, and am picking up
+every hour."
+
+"Since when?"
+
+"Since yesterday morning, if you want to know."
+
+"I do. I'm most interested. Dr. Foxton doesn't compound his own
+prescriptions, does he?"
+
+"No. I get 'em made up at Siddle's."
+
+"Ah. These country chemists often keep drugs in stock till they
+deteriorate, or even set up chemical changes. Have you the bottles?"
+
+"Yes. But what the--"
+
+"Anything left in them?"
+
+"The last two are half full. Still--"
+
+"What a cross-grained chap you are? I buy your pictures, drink your tea,
+rescue you from a positively dangerous position, warn you against
+carrying any farther a most serious libel, yet you won't let me help you
+in a matter affecting your health!"
+
+"Help me? How?"
+
+"Even you, I suppose, realize that Scotland Yard employs skilled
+analysts. Give me your bottles, in strict confidence, of course, and I'll
+tell you what they really contain. Then you can compare the analyses with
+the doctor's prescriptions. The knowledge should be useful, to say the
+least. Siddle's reputation needn't suffer, but, unless I am greatly
+mistaken, you will have the whip hand of him in future."
+
+The prospect was alluring. Elkin would enjoy showing up the chemist, who
+had treated him rather as a precocious infant of late.
+
+"By jing!" he cried, "I'm on that. Bet you a quid--But, no. You'd
+hardly lay against your own opinion. Just wait a tick. I'll bring 'em."
+
+Furneaux stared fixedly at the table while his host was absent. His
+conscience was not pricking him with regard to an unmerited slur on the
+country chemists of Great Britain. All is fair in love and the detection
+of crime, and he simply had to get hold of those bottles by some daring
+yet plausible ruse.
+
+"Now--I wonder!" he muttered, as Elkin's step sounded on the stairs.
+
+"There you are!" grinned the horse-dealer. "Take a dose of the last one.
+It'll stir your liver to some tune."
+
+Furneaux drew the corks out of both bottles, and sniffed the contents.
+Then he tasted, with much tongue-smacking.
+
+"Um!" he said. "Stale laudanum, for a start. I expected as much. Bought
+by the gallon and sold by the drop. Is that the dogcart with my
+pictures?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Hail your man. He can give me a lift."
+
+"But there's lots of things I want to ask you--"
+
+"Probably. I'm here to put questions, not to give information. I've gone
+a long way beyond the official tether already. If you've a grain of
+sense, and I think you're not altogether lacking in that respect, you'll
+keep a close tongue, and act on the tips thrown out. You'll find pearls
+of price among the rubbish-heap of my remarks generally. Good-by. See you
+on Wednesday."
+
+And Furneaux climbed into the cart, holding the pictures so that they
+would not rattle, and perhaps loosen the old gilded frames.
+
+"Drive me to the chemist's" he said to the groom; within five
+minutes, he was explaining his purchase to Siddle, and requesting, as
+a favor, that the latter should wrap the set of prints in brown
+paper, making two parcels, and tying each securely, so that they
+might be dispatched by train.
+
+Siddle examined one, the first of the series, which depicted the
+Aylesbury Steeplechase.
+
+"Rather good," he said. "Where did you pick them up?"
+
+"At Elkin's."
+
+"Indeed. What an unexpected place!"
+
+"That's the only way a poor man can get hold of a decent thing nowadays.
+The dealers grab everything, and sell them as collections."
+
+"Art is not in my line, though anyone can see that these are excellent."
+
+"Yes. But you're looking at 'The Start.' Have a peep at this one,
+'The Finish.' The artist _would_ have his joke. You see that the dark
+horse wins."
+
+"How did you persuade Elkin to part with them?"
+
+"By paying him a tempting price, of course. I'm a weak-minded ass in
+such matters."
+
+The chemist busied himself to oblige the detective, wrapping and tying
+the packages neatly. Furneaux insisted on paying sixpence for the paper,
+string, and labor. There was quite a friendly argument, but he carried
+his point.
+
+The dog-cart then brought him to the station, where he tipped and
+dismissed the man; a little later, he caught a London-bound train.
+
+At half past seven precisely, Winter turned in through the
+Knoleworth-side gate of The Hollies (there were two, the approach to
+the house being semi-circular) and pushed the door open, as it was
+standing ajar.
+
+Grant was waiting in the hall, and greeted him pleasantly.
+
+"Here's a telegram which is meant for you, I fancy," he said.
+
+Winter read:
+
+"Sorry to spoil your party. Compelled to travel to London. Returning
+early to-morrow. F."
+
+"That's pretty Fanny's way," smiled the Chief Inspector. "But there's
+something in the wind, or he would never have hurried off in this
+fashion. He tells me that the only pleasant evening he spent in
+Steynholme was under your roof, Mr. Grant."
+
+"Come along in, Don Jaime!" drawled Hart's voice from the "den," which
+had been cleared of its litter, the lawn being deemed somewhat unsuitable
+for the purposes of a drawing-room on that occasion. It was overlooked
+from too many quarters.
+
+"Ah, we meet now under less uneven conditions, Mr. Hart," said Winter.
+"Do you know that Enrico Suarez is in London?"
+
+Hart, startled for once in his life, gazed at the detective fixedly.
+
+"Since when?" he cried.
+
+"He crossed from Lisbon last week."
+
+Hart took a revolver from his hip pocket, and opened it, apparently
+making sure that it was properly loaded.
+
+"What's the law in England?" he inquired. "Can I shoot first, or must I
+wait till the other fellow has had a pop?"
+
+Winter laughed.
+
+"It's all right," he said. "Suarez is in Holloway, awaiting extradition.
+But I owed you one for the rise you took out of me to-day."
+
+A bell sounded, and Peters came in. He glanced around.
+
+"Where's Furneaux?" he demanded.
+
+"Gone to London. Why this keen interest?" said Winter.
+
+"There's something up. Elkin dropped in at the Hare and Hounds. He was
+simply bursting with curiosity, and had to talk to somebody. So he
+chose me."
+
+"He would," was the dry comment.
+
+"Fact, 'pon me honor. I didn't lead him on an inch. It seems that
+Furneaux bought some prints which caught his eye in Elkin's house, and
+Tomlin says that that hexplains hit."
+
+"Explains what?"
+
+"Furneaux's visit to Siddle, and certain bulky parcels brought in and
+brought out again."
+
+"Queer little duck, Furneaux," said Hart. "Now that my mind is at ease
+about the immediate future of the biggest rascal in Venezuela I can take
+an active part in Steynholme affairs once more. When it's all through
+I'll make a novel of it, dashed if I don't, with the postmaster's
+daughter in the three-color process as a frontispiece."
+
+"But who will be the villain?" said Peters.
+
+Hart waved the negro-head pipe at the other three.
+
+"Draw lots. I am indifferent," he said.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+AN OFFICIAL HOUSEBREAKER
+
+
+No word bearing on the main topic in these men's minds was said during
+dinner. Grant was attentive to his guests, but markedly silent, almost
+distrait. Two such talkers as Hart and Peters, however, covered any gaps
+in this respect. Cigars and pipes were in evidence, and, horrible though
+it may sound in the ears of a _gourmet_, the port was circulating, when
+Winter turned and gazed at the small window.
+
+"Is that where the ghost appears!" he inquired.
+
+"Yes," said Grant. "You know the whole story, of course?"
+
+"Furneaux misses nothing, I assure you."
+
+"He missed a daylight apparition this afternoon, at any rate. I have no
+secrets from my friends, so I may as well tell you--"
+
+"That Siddle called, and implored you to consider Doris Martin's future
+by avoiding her at present," put in the Chief Inspector.
+
+Such shocks were losing some of their effect, on the principle that a man
+hears the burst of the thousandth high-explosive shell with a good deal
+less trepidation than attended the efforts of the first dozen. Still,
+Grant gazed at the speaker in profound astonishment.
+
+"You Scotland Yard men seem to know everything," he said.
+
+"A mere pretense. Try him on sheep-raising in the Argentine, Jack,"
+murmured Hart.
+
+"Wally, this business is developing a very serious side," protested
+Grant. Hart stretched a long arm for the port decanter.
+
+"Come, friend!" he addressed it gravely. "Let us commune! You and I
+together shall mingle joyous memories of
+
+"A draught of the Warm South,
+The true, the blushful Hippocrene."
+
+"We read Siddle's visit aright, it would appear," said Winter quietly.
+
+"Yes. That was his mission, put in a nutshell."
+
+"And what did you say?"
+
+"I told him that, after Wednesday, I would ask Doris Martin to marry me,
+which is the best answer I can give him and all the world."
+
+"Why 'after Wednesday'?"
+
+"Because I shall know then the full extent of the annoyance which
+Ingerman can inflict."
+
+"Did you give Siddle that reason?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Winter frowned.
+
+"You literary gentlemen are all alike," he said vexedly. "You become such
+adepts in analyzing human duplicity in your books that you never dream
+of trying to be wise as a serpent in your own affairs. The author who
+will split legal hairs by way of brightening his work will sign a
+contract with a publisher that draws tears from his lawyer when a dispute
+arises. Why be so candid with a rank outsider, like Siddle?"
+
+"I distrust the man. Doris distrusts him, too."
+
+"So you take him into your confidence."
+
+"No. I merely give him chapter and verse to prove that his interference
+is useless."
+
+"Have you engaged a lawyer for Wednesday"
+
+"No. Why should I? My hands are clean."
+
+"But your clothes may suffer if enough mud is slung at you. Wire to this
+man in the morning, and mention my name--Winter, of course, not
+Franklin."
+
+"Codlin's your friend, not Short," said Hart. "Sorry. It's a time-worn
+jape, but it fitted in admirably."
+
+The detective scribbled a name and address on a card.
+
+"I don't think you need worry about Ingerman," he went on, "though it's
+well to be prepared. A smart solicitor can stop irrelevant statements,
+especially if ready for them. But there must be no more of this
+heart-opening to all and sundry, Mr. Grant. Siddle is your rival. He,
+too, wants to marry Miss Martin, and regards you now as the only
+stumbling-block."
+
+"Siddle! That stick!" gasped Grant.
+
+"Ridiculous, indeed monstrous," agreed Winter, rather heatedly, "but
+nevertheless a candidate for the lady's hand."
+
+Then he laughed. Peters's keen eyes were watching him, and Wally Hart was
+giving more heed to the conversation than was revealed by a fixed stare
+at the negro's head in meerschaum.
+
+"You've bothered me," he went on. "I thought you had more sense. Don't
+you understand that all these bits of gossip reach Ingerman through the
+filter of the snug at the Hare and Hounds?"
+
+"The man's visit was unexpected, and his mission even more so. I just
+blurted out the facts."
+
+"Well, you've rendered the services of a solicitor absolutely
+indispensable now."
+
+Grant, by no means so clear-headed these days as was his wont, followed
+the scent of Winter's red herring like the youngest hound in a pack; but
+Wally Hart and Peters, lookers-on in this chase, harked back to the
+right line.
+
+"May I--" they both broke in simultaneously.
+
+"Place to the fourth estate," bowed Hart solemnly.
+
+"Thanks," said the journalist. "May I put a question, Winter?"
+
+"A score, if you like."
+
+"Totting up the average of the murder cases in which Furneaux and you
+have been engaged, in how many days do you count on spotting your man?"
+
+"Sometimes we never get him."
+
+"Oh, come a bit closer than that."
+
+"Generally, given a clear run, with an established motive, we know who he
+is within eight days."
+
+"Wednesday, in effect?"
+
+"Can't say, this time?"
+
+"Suppose, as a hypothesis, you are convinced of a man's guilt, but can
+obtain little or no evidence?"
+
+"He goes through life a free and independent citizen of this or any other
+country. Arrests on suspicion are not my long suit."
+
+"How does one get evidence?" purred Hart. "It isn't scattered broadcast
+by a clever criminal. And you fellows seem to object to my method, which
+has been the only effectual one so far in this affair."
+
+"If you had shot that specter the other night there would have been the
+deuce to pay."
+
+"But you would now be sure of the murderer?"
+
+"Why do you assume that?"
+
+"Like Eugene Aram, he can't keep away from the scene of his crime."
+
+Winter felt he was skating on thin ice, so hastened to escape.
+
+"Detective work is nearly all guessing," he said sententiously, "yet one
+must beware of what I may term obvious guessing. If cause and effect were
+so closely allied in certain classes of crime my department would cease
+to exist, and the protection of life and property might be left safely to
+the ordinary police. By the way, P. C. Robinson has been rather inactive
+during two whole days. That makes me suspicious. What's he up to? Can you
+throw a light on him, Peters?"
+
+The journalist knew that he was being told peremptorily to cease prying.
+He kicked Hart under the table.
+
+"Hi!" yelled Wally. "What's the matter? Strike your matches on your own
+shin, not mine."
+
+"Peters is announcing that the discussion is now closed," said
+Winter firmly.
+
+"Very well. He needn't emphasize the warning by a hob-nailed boot. When
+my injured feelings have recovered I'll discourse to you of strange folk
+and stranger doings on the banks of the Rio de la Plata, and your stock
+as an Argentine plutocrat will rise one hundred per cent, next time
+you're badgered by a man who knows the country."
+
+"Meanwhile, Robinson is hot-foot on the Elkin trail," laughed Peters.
+"His face was a study to-day when the groom supplied details of the
+picture-buying."
+
+"Furneaux wanted that transaction to be widely known," said Winter. "He
+gave every publicity to it."
+
+"Did he secure a bargain, I wonder?" said Grant.
+
+"Oh, I expect so. He doesn't waste his hard-earned money, even for
+official purposes."
+
+But Winter was well aware of, and kept to himself one phase of the art
+deal, at any rate. Furneaux had persuaded Siddle to fasten two bulky
+packages with string!
+
+He was shaving next morning when his colleague entered, spruce as ever in
+attire, but looking rather weary. The little man flung himself at full
+length on Winter's bed.
+
+"Been up all night," he explained. "Chemical analysis is fascinating but
+slow work--like watching a moth evolve from a grub. Had a fearful job,
+too, to get an analyst to chuck a theater and attend to business. The
+blighter talked of office hours. _Cr� nom_! Ten till four, and an hour
+and a half for lunch! Why can't we run _our_ show on those lines, James!"
+
+Winter finished carefully the left side of his broad expanse of face.
+
+"You came down by the mail, I suppose?" he said casually.
+
+"What a genius you are!" sighed Furneaux. "If _I_ were trembling with
+expectation I could no more put a banal question like that than swallow
+the razor after I was done with it. You might at least have the common
+decency to thank me for leaving you to gorge on rare meats and vintage
+wines while I dallied with the deadly railway sandwich."
+
+Winter scraped the other cheek, his chin, and upper lip.
+
+"Shall I go to the bathroom first, or listen?" he inquired.
+
+"Ah, well, I'm tired, and hiking these frail bones to bed till twelve, so
+I'll give you a condensed version," snapped Furneaux. "Elkin 's illness,
+begun by whiskey and over-excitement, developed into steady poisoning by
+Siddle. The chemist used a rare agent, too--pure nicotine--easy, in a
+sense, to detect, but capable of a dozen reasonable explanations when
+revealed by the post-mortem. But Elkin wasn't to be killed outright, I
+gather. The idea was to upset stomach and brain till he was half crazy.
+As you can read print when it's before your eyes, I needn't go into the
+matter of motive; Elkin's behavior supplies all details."
+
+"How about the knots? Hurry! I hate the feeling of soap drying on my
+skin."
+
+"One running noose and twice two half hitches on each package."
+
+"Good! Charles, we're going to pull off a real twister."
+
+"_We!_ Well, that tikes it, as the girl said when her hat blew off with
+the fluffy transformation pinned to it."
+
+Winter rushed to the bathroom, and Furneaux crept languidly to bed.
+
+Before going to Knoleworth, Mr. Franklin consulted with Tomlin as to a
+suitable dinner, to which the other guests staying in the inn, namely,
+Mr. Peters and the Scotland Yard gentleman--the little man with the
+French name--might be invited. This important point settled, Mr. Franklin
+caught an early train, and was absent all day, being, in fact, closeted
+with Superintendent Fowler and a Treasury solicitor.
+
+Furneaux was sound asleep long after twelve o'clock, and swore at Tomlin
+in French when the landlord ventured to arouse him. Tomlin went
+downstairs scratching his head.
+
+"Least said soonest mended," he communed, "but we may all be murdered in
+our beds if them's the sort of 'tecs we 'ave to look arter us."
+
+However, he cheered up towards night. Ingerman, a lawyer, and some
+pressmen, arriving for the inquest, filled every available room, and the
+kitchen was redolent of good fare. All parties gathered in the
+dining-room, of course, and Ingerman had an eye for Mr. Franklin's party.
+The scraps of talk he overheard were nothing more exciting than the
+prospects of a certain horse for the Stewards' Cup. Peters had the tip
+straight from the stables. A racing certainty, with a stone in hand.
+
+After dinner the financier was surprised when Furneaux approached, and
+tapped him professionally on the shoulder.
+
+"A word with you outside," he said.
+
+Ingerman was irritated--perhaps slightly alarmed.
+
+"Can't we talk here?" he said, in that singularly melodious voice of his.
+
+"Better not, but I shan't detain you more than five minutes."
+
+"Anything my legal adviser might wish to hear?"
+
+"Not from me. Tell him yourself afterwards, if you like."
+
+In the quiet street the detective suddenly linked arms with his
+companion. Probably he smiled sardonically when he felt a telltale quiver
+run through Ingerman's lanky frame.
+
+"You've brought down Norris, I see?" he began.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Meaning to make things hot for Grant tomorrow?"
+
+"Meaning to give justice the materials--"
+
+"Cut the cackle, Isidor. I know you, and it's high time you knew me.
+Grant has retained Belcher. Ah! that gets you, does it? You haven't
+forgotten Belcher. Now, be reasonable! Or, rather, don't run your head
+into a noose. Grant had no more to do with the murder of your wife than
+you had. Call off Norris, and Grant withdraws Belcher. Twig? It's dead
+easy, because the Treasury solicitor will simply ask for another week's
+adjournment, as the police are not ready to go on. In the meantime, you
+pay off Norris, and save your face. Is it a deal?"
+
+"Am I to understand--"
+
+"Don't wriggle! The key of the situation is held by Belcher. Name of a
+pipe! What prompting does Belcher need from me or anybody else after the
+Bokfontein Lands case?"
+
+"But--"
+
+"Isidor, this is the last word. I was at the funeral on Saturday, and met
+your wife's mother and sister. They do love you, don't they?"
+
+Ingerman died game.
+
+"If I have your assurance that Mr. Grant is really innocent of Adelaide's
+death, that is sufficient," he said slowly.
+
+"Well, if it pleases you to put it that way, I'm agreeable. Which is your
+road? Back to the hotel? I'm for a short stroll. Mind you, no wobbling!
+Go straight, and I'll attend to Belcher. But, good Lord! How his eyes
+will sparkle when they light on you to-morrow!"
+
+Neither the redoubtable Belcher, nor the Bokfontein Lands, nor poor
+Adelaide Melhuish's mother and sister may figure further in this
+chronicle. The inquest opened at the appointed hour next day, and was
+closed down again for a week with a celerity that was most disappointing
+both to the jury and the general public. Of three legal luminaries
+present only one, the Treasury man, uttered a few bald words. Belcher and
+Norris did not even announce the names of their clients. Norris noticed
+that Belcher surveyed Ingerman with a grim smile, but thought nothing of
+it until he received a check later in the week. Then he made some
+inquiries, and smiled himself.
+
+The foreman of the jury looked a trifle pinched, though his cheeks bore
+two spots of hectic color. Mr. Franklin, drawn to the court by curiosity,
+happened to glance at him once, and found him gazing at Furneaux in a
+peculiarly thoughtful manner.
+
+Elkin, thriving on a diet of tea and eggs, was also interested in the
+representative of Scotland Yard. He seemed to ignore Grant entirely.
+Doris Martin was not in court. Superintendent Fowler had called about
+half, past nine to tell her she would not be asked to attend that day.
+
+Near Mr. Franklin sat a few village notabilities, who, since they had not
+the remotest connection with anyone concerned in the tragedy, have been
+left hitherto in their Olympian solitude. He listened to their comments.
+
+"As usual, the police are utterly at sea," said one.
+
+"Yes, 'following up important clews,' the newspapers say," scoffed
+another.
+
+"It's a disgraceful thing if a crime like this goes undetected and
+unpunished."
+
+"Which is the Scotland Yard man!"
+
+"The small chap, in the blue suit."
+
+"What? _That_ little rat!"
+
+"Oh, he's sharp. I met a man in the train and he told me--"
+
+Mr. Franklin grinned amiably; Hobbs, the butcher, intercepting his eye,
+grinned back. It is not difficult to imagine what portion of the
+foregoing small talk reached Furneaux subsequently.
+
+Oddly enough, both detectives had missed a brief but illuminating
+incident which took place in the Hare and Hounds the previous night,
+while Winter was finishing a cigar with Peters, and Furneaux was
+bludgeoning Ingerinan into compliance with his wishes.
+
+Elkin's remarkable improvement in health was commented on by Hobbs, and
+Siddle took the credit.
+
+"That last mixture has proved beneficial, then?" he said, eying the
+horse-dealer closely.
+
+"Top-hole," smirked Elkin. "But it's only fair to say that I've chucked
+whiskey, too."
+
+"Did you finish the bottle?"
+
+"Which bottle?"
+
+"Mine, of course."
+
+"Nearly."
+
+"Don't take any more. It was decidedly strong. I'll send a boy early
+to-morrow morning with a first-rate tonic, and you might give him any old
+medicine bottles you possess. I'm running short."
+
+Elkin hesitated a second or two.
+
+"I'll tell my housekeeper to look 'em up," he said. After the inquest he
+communicated this episode to Furneaux as a great joke.
+
+"Queer, isn't it?" he guffawed. "A couple of dozen bottles went back, as
+I'm always getting stuff for the gees, but those two weren't among 'em.
+You took care of that, eh? When will you have the analysis?"
+
+"It'll be fully a week yet," said the detective. "Government offices are
+not run like express trains, and this is a free job, you know. But, be
+advised by me. Stick to plain food, and throw physic to the dogs."
+
+Another singular fact, unobserved by the public at large, was that a
+policeman, either Robinson or a stranger, patrolled the high-street all
+day and all night, while no one outside official circles was aware that
+other members of the force watched The Hollies, or were secreted among
+the trees on the cliffside, from dusk to dawn.
+
+Next morning, however, there was real cause for talk. Siddle's shop was
+closed. Over the letter-box, neatly printed, was gummed a notice:
+
+"Called away on business. Will open for one hour after arrival of 7 p. m.
+train. T. S."
+
+Everyone who passed stopped to read. Even Mr. Franklin joined Furneaux
+and Peters in a stroll across the road to have a look.
+
+"I want you a minute," said the big man suddenly to Furneaux. There was
+that in his tone which forbade questioning, so Peters sheered off, well
+content with the share permitted him in the inquiry thus far.
+
+"That fellow, Hart, is no fool," went on Winter rapidly. "He said last
+night 'How does one get evidence?' It was not easy to answer. Siddle has
+gone to his mother's funeral. What do you think!"
+
+"You'd turn me into a housebreaker, would you?" whined Furneaux bitterly.
+"I must do the job, of course, just because I'm a little one. Well, well!
+After a long and honorable career I have to become a sneak thief. It may
+cost me my pension."
+
+"There's no real difficulty. An orchard--"
+
+"Bet you a new hat I went over the ground before you did."
+
+"Get over it quickly now, and get something out of it, and I'll _give_
+you a new hat. Got any tools?"
+
+"I fetched 'em from town Tuesday morning," chortled Furneaux. "So now
+who's the brainy one?"
+
+He skipped into the hotel, while Winter went to the station to make sure
+of Siddle's departure and destination. Yes, the chemist had taken a
+return ticket to Epsom, where a strip of dank meadow-land on the road to
+Esher marks the last resting-place of many of London's epileptics. On
+returning to the high-street, Winter lighted a cigar, a somewhat common
+occurrence in his everyday life, where-upon Furneaux walked swiftly up
+the hill. A farmer, living near the center of the village, owned a rather
+showy cob. Winter found the man, and persuaded him to trot the animal to
+and fro in front of the hotel. There was a good deal of noise and
+hoof-clattering, and people came to their doors to see what was going on.
+Obviously, if they were watching the antics of a skittish two-year-old in
+the high-street, their eyes were blind to proceedings in the back
+premises. Even the postmaster and his daughter were interested onlookers,
+and a policeman, who might have put a summary end to the display,
+vanished as though by magic.
+
+Luckily, Winter was a good judge of a horse. When the cob was stabled,
+and the farmer came to the inn to have a drink, he was forced to admit a
+tendency to cow hocks, which, it would seem, is held a fatal blemish in
+the Argentine.
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had dodged into a lane and thence to a bridle-path
+which emerged near Bob Smith's forge. When he had traversed, roughly
+speaking, one-half of a rectangle in which the Hare and Hounds occupied
+the center of one of the longer sides, he climbed a gate and followed a
+hedge. Though not losing a second, he took every precaution to remain
+unseen, and, to the best of his belief, gained an inclosed yard at the
+back of Siddle's premises without having attracted attention. He slipped
+the catch of a kitchen window only to discover that the sash was
+fastened by screws also. The lock of the kitchen door yielded to
+persuasion, but there were bolts above and below. A wire screen in a
+larder window was impregnable. Short of cutting out a pane of glass, he
+could not effect an entry on the ground floor.
+
+Nimble as a squirrel, and risking everything, he climbed to the roof of
+an outhouse, and tried a bedroom window. Here he succeeded. When the
+catch was forced, there were no further obstacles. In he went, pausing
+only to look around and see if any curious or alarmed eye was watching
+him. He wondered why every back yard on that side of the high-street was
+empty, not even a maid-servant or woman washing clothes being in sight,
+but understood and grinned when the commotion Winter was creating came in
+view from a front room.
+
+Then he undertook a methodical search, working with a rapid yet
+painstaking thoroughness which missed nothing. From a wardrobe he
+selected an overcoat and pair of trousers which reeked with turpentine.
+They were old and soiled garments, very different from the well-cut black
+coat and waistcoat, with striped cloth trousers, worn daily by the
+chemist. He drew a blank in the remainder of the upstairs rooms, which
+included a sitting-room, though he devoted fully quarter of an hour to
+reading the titles of Siddle's books.
+
+A safe in the little dispensing closet at the back of the shop promised
+sheer defiance until Furneaux saw a bunch of keys resting beside a
+methylated spirit lamp.
+
+"'Twas ever thus!" he cackled, lighting the lamp. "Heaven help us poor
+detectives if it wasn't!"
+
+In a word, since murder will out, Siddle had forgotten his keys!
+Probably, he had gone to the safe for money, and, while writing the
+notice as to his absence, had laid down the keys and omitted to pick
+them up again.
+
+Furneaux disregarded ledgers and account books. He examined a bank
+pass-book and a check-book. In a drawer which contained these and a
+quantity of gold he found a small, leather-bound book with a lock, which
+no key on the bunch was tiny enough to fit. A bit of twisted wire soon
+overcame this difficulty, and Furneaux began to read.
+
+There were quaint diagrams, and surveyor's sketches, both in plan and
+section, with curious notes, and occasional records of what appeared to
+be passages from letters or conversations. The detective read, and
+read, referring back and forth, absorbed in his task, no doubt, but
+evidently puzzled.
+
+At last, he stuffed the book into a pocket, completed his scrutiny of the
+safe, examined the bottles on the shelf labeled "poisons," and took a
+sample of the colorless contents of one bottle marked "C10H14N2."
+
+Then he went to the kitchen, replaced all catches and the lock of the
+door, and let himself out by the way he had come.
+
+Winter saw him from afar, and hastened upstairs to the private
+sitting-room. Furneaux appeared there soon.
+
+"Well?" said the Chief Inspector eagerly.
+
+"Got him, I think," said Furneaux.
+
+Not much might be gathered from that monosyllabic question and its
+answer, but its significance in Siddle's ears, could he have heard, would
+have been that of the passing bell tolling for the dead.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+THE TRUTH AT LAST
+
+
+Not often did Furneaux qualify an opinion by that dubious phrase, "I
+think," which, in its colloquial sense, implies that the thought contains
+a reservation as to possible error.
+
+Winter looked anxious. Both he and his colleague knew well when to drop
+the good-natured banter they delighted in. They were face to face now
+with issues of life and death, dark and sinister conditions which had
+already destroyed one life, threatened another, and might envisage
+further horrors. Small wonder, then, if the Chief Inspector's usually
+cheerful face was clouded, or that his hopes should be somewhat dashed
+when Furneaux seemed to lack the abounding confidence which was his most
+marked characteristic.
+
+"You've got something, I see," he said, trying to speak encouragingly,
+and glancing at the bundle of clothing which Furneaux had wrapped in a
+newspaper before dropping from the bedroom window of Siddle's house.
+
+"Yes, a lot. What to make of it is the puzzle. We either go ahead on the
+flimsiest of evidence or I carry out another housebreaking job this
+afternoon and restore things in status quo. First, the bundle--an old
+covert-coating overcoat and a pair of frayed trousers which probably
+draped Owd Ben's ghost. They've been soaked in turpentine, which, chemist
+or no chemist, is still the best agent for removing stains. We'll put 'em
+under the glass after we've examined the book. Siddle keeps a sort of
+diary, a series of jumbled memoranda. If we can extract nutriment out of
+that we may have something tangible to go upon. Let's begin at the end."
+
+Opening the leather-bound note-book, Furneaux stood with his back to the
+window. Winter, owing to his superior height, could look over the lesser
+man's shoulder. Many an occult document affecting the famous crimes and
+social or dynastic intrigues of the previous decade had these two
+examined in that way, the main advantage of scrutiny in common being that
+they could compare readings or suggested readings without loss of time,
+and with the original manuscript before both pairs of eyes.
+
+In the first instance, there were no dates--only scraps of sentences, or
+comments. The concluding entry in the book was:
+
+"A tactical error? Perhaps. Immovable."
+
+Then, taking the order backward:
+
+"Scout the very notion of such an infamy. You and every scandal-monger in
+S. may do your worst."
+
+"Free to confess that events have opened my eyes to the truth, so, not
+for the first time, out of evil comes good."
+
+"A prig."
+
+"Visit for such a purpose a piece of unheard-of impudence."
+
+These were all on one page.
+
+"Quite clearly a _pr�cis_ of Grant's remarks when Siddle called on
+Monday," said Winter.
+
+At any other time, Furneaux would have waxed sarcastic. Now he
+merely nodded.
+
+"Stops in a queer way," he muttered. "Not a word about the inquest or the
+missing bottles."
+
+The preceding page held even more disjointed entries, which,
+nevertheless, provided a fair synopsis of Doris's spirited words on the
+Sunday afternoon.
+
+"Malice and ignorance."
+
+"Patient because of years."
+
+"Loyal comrade. Shall remain."
+
+"Code."
+
+"No difference in friendship."
+
+"E. hopeless. Contempt."
+
+"Skipping--good."
+
+On the next page:
+
+"Isidor G. Ingerman. Useful. Inquire."
+
+"E.'s boasts? Nonsensical, surely!"
+
+"Why has D. gone?"
+
+Both men paused at that line.
+
+"Detective?" suggested Winter.
+
+"That's how I take it," agreed Furneaux.
+
+Then came a sign: "+10%."
+
+"Elkin's mixture was not 'as before.' It was fortified," grinned
+Furneaux. "That's the exact increase of nicotine. By the way, I have
+a sample. We can take care of him on that charge, without a shadow
+of doubt."
+
+Winter blew softly on the back of his friend's head.
+
+"You're thorough, Charles, thorough!" he murmured. "It's a treat to work
+with you when you get really busy."
+
+Furneaux ran his thumb across the end of several leaves.
+
+"I can tell you now," he said, "that there's nothing of real value in the
+earlier notes. So far as I can judge, they refer either to a sort of
+settlement with his wife or chance phrases used by Doris Martin which
+might imply that she was heart whole and fancy free. There's not a bally
+word dealing with the murder, or that can be twisted into the vaguest
+allusion to it. But here's a plan and section which have a sort of
+significance. I've seen the place, so recognized it, or thought I did. We
+must check it, of course. Here you are! You know the footbridge across
+the river from Bush Walk?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The eastern end is supported on a hollow pier of masonry, in which one
+might tog up unseen. These drawings would be useful as an _Aide
+Memoire_ on a dark night. A false step, with the river in flood, might
+be awkward."
+
+"What's that on the opposite page?"
+
+"I give it up--at present."
+
+This somewhat rare display of modesty on Furneaux's part was readily
+understandable. A series of straight lines and angles conveyed very
+little hint of their purport; but Winter smiled behind his friend's back.
+
+"I've been prowling about this wretched inn longer than you," he said.
+"Look outside, to the left."
+
+"Don't need to, now," cackled Furneaux. "It's the profile of a wall,
+gate, and outhouse along which one could reach the window of the
+club-room. Would you mind stopping grinning like a Cheshire cat?"
+
+"Anything else?"
+
+"Yes. This one: 'S.M.? 1820.' That beats you, eh?"
+
+"Dished completely."
+
+"Doris Martin, as usual, supplies the answer. An old volume of the
+_Sussex Miscellany_, probably that for 1820, contains the full story of
+Owd Ben. I might have mentioned it to you, but focussed on current
+events. Siddle has it among his books, which, by the way, are made up
+largely of scientific and popular criminal records."
+
+"Is that the lot?"
+
+"I'm afraid so. Have a look."
+
+"Just a minute. I want to think."
+
+Winter turned and gazed through the open window. Seldom had a more
+gracious June decked England with garlands. The hour was then high noon,
+and a pastoral landscape was drowned in sunshine. The Chief Inspector cut
+the end off a cigar dreamily but with care.
+
+"Broadmoor--perhaps," he muttered. "But we can't hang him yet, Charles. A
+couple of knots and a theory won't do for the Assizes. We haven't a
+solitary witness. Hardly a night but he goes home at 9.30. If only he had
+killed Grant! But--Adelaide Melhuish!"
+
+In sheer despair he struck a match.
+
+"Well, let's overhaul these duds," said Furneaux savagely. "I'll chance
+the dinner hour for the return visit. Steynholme folk eat at half past
+twelve to the tick, and you can hardly get up another horse show."
+
+There was a knock at the door.
+
+"Let me in, quick!" came Peters's voice, and the handle was tried
+forcibly.
+
+"Go away! I'm busy!" cried Winter.
+
+"This is urgent, devilish urgent," said Peters.
+
+Furneaux snatched up the note-book, and Winter tore off his coat,
+throwing it over the package which reposed in an armchair. Then the Chief
+Inspector unlocked the door, blocking the way aggressively.
+
+"Now, I must say--" he began.
+
+But Peters clutched his shoulder with a nervous hand.
+
+"Siddle has just hurried up the street and entered his shop," he hissed.
+
+The journalist had not only kept his eyes open, but excelled in the art
+of putting two and two together, an arithmetical calculation which, as
+applied to the affairs of life, is not so readily arrived at as many
+people imagine.
+
+"Buncoed! He's missed his keys!" shrilled Furneaux.
+
+"Confound the man! He might at least have attended his mother's funeral!"
+stormed Winter, retrieving his coat.
+
+Thus it happened that Furneaux was the first down the stairs, though the
+three emerged from the door of the inn on each other's heels. A stout
+man, in all likelihood a farmer with horses for sale, was mounting the
+two steps which led to the entrance. His head was down, and his weight
+forward, so he successfully resisted Furneaux's impact, but Peters and
+Winter were irresistible, and he tumbled over with a muffled yell.
+
+At that instant Siddle quitted his shop, and headed straight for the post
+office. In his right hand he carried an automatic pistol. The street was
+wide. Furneaux, absolutely fearless in the performance of his duty, ran
+in a curve so as to bar the chemist's path, and it was then that Siddle
+saw him. The man's face was terrible to behold. His eyes were rolling,
+his teeth gnashing; he had bitten his tongue and cheeks, and his
+stertorous breathing ejected from his mouth foam tinged with blood.
+
+"Ha!" he screamed in a falsetto of fury, "not yet, little man, not yet!"
+
+With that he raised the pistol, and fired point-blank at the detective.
+Furneaux ducked, and seized a small stone, being otherwise quite unarmed.
+He threw it with unerring aim, and, as was determined subsequently,
+struck the hand holding the weapon. Possibly, almost by a miracle, the
+blow caused a faulty pressure, because the action jammed, though the
+pistol itself was most accurate and deadly in its properties.
+
+By this time Winter, sweeping Peters aside, was within ten feet of the
+maniac, who turned and ran into the shop. The door, a solid one, fitted
+with a spring lock, slammed in the Chief Inspector's face, and resisted a
+mighty effort to burst it open. A few yards away stood an empty,
+two-wheeled cart, uptilted, and Winter demanded the help of a few men who
+had gathered on seeing or hearing the hubbub.
+
+"I call on you in the King's name!" he shouted. "We must force that door!
+Then stand clear, all of you!"
+
+He raced to the cart, and, when his object was perceived, willing hands
+assisted in converting the heavy vehicle into a battering-ram. The
+gradient of the hill favored the attack, which was made at an acute
+angle, and the first assault smashed the lock. There were a couple of
+seconds' delay while the cart was backed out, and the detectives rushed
+in, Furneaux leading, because Winter gave his great physical strength to
+the shafts. But the Chief Inspector grabbed his tiny friend by the
+collar as the latter darted around the counter and into the dispensary
+in the rear.
+
+"Two of us can't go abreast, and you'll only get hurt," he said, speaking
+with a calmness that was majestic in the circumstances.
+
+"The nicotine is gone!" yelped Furneaux; both saw that the safe
+stood open.
+
+Behind the dispensary was a small passage, whence the stairs mounted, and
+a door led to the kitchen. That door was closed now, though it was open
+when Furneaux ransacked the house. Therefore, they made that way at once.
+No ordinary lock could resist Winter's shoulder, and he soon mastered
+this barrier. But the kitchen was empty--the outer door locked but
+unbolted. Since it is practically impossible for the strongest man to
+pull a door open, the two made for the window, and tore at screws and
+catch with eager fingers. Furneaux, light and nimble-footed, scrambled
+through first, so it was he who found Siddle lying in the orchard beyond
+the wall of the yard. The unhappy wretch had swallowed nearly the whole
+remaining contents of the bottle of nicotine, or enough to poison a score
+of robust men. He presented a lamentable and distressing spectacle. Some
+of the more venturesome passers-by, who had crowded after the detectives
+and Peters, could not bear to look on, and slunk away in horror.
+
+Furneaux soon brought an emetic, which failed to act. Siddle breathed his
+last while the glass was at his lips.
+
+In that moment of crisis only three men did not lose their heads. Winter
+cleared away the gapers, while Furneaux remained with the body. P.C.
+Robinson came up the hill at a run, and was sent for a stretcher,
+bringing from Hobbs's shop the very one on which the ill-fated Adelaide
+Melhuish was carried from the river bank.
+
+But where was Peters? In the post office, writing the first of a series
+of thrilling dispatches to a London evening newspaper. What journalist
+ever had a more sensational murder-case to supply "copy"? And when was
+"special correspondent" ever better primed for the task? He wrote on, and
+on, till the telegraphist cried halt. Then he hied him to London by
+train, and began the more ambitious "story" for next morning. What he did
+not know he guessed correctly. A fagged but triumphant man was Jimmie
+Peters when he "blew in" to the Savage Club at 1 A.M. to seek sustenance
+and a whiskey and soda before going home.
+
+Furneaux was white and shaken when Winter escorted the stretcher-bearers
+to the orchard.
+
+"Poor devil!" he said, as the men lifted the body. "Foredoomed from
+birth! We can eradicate these diseases from cattle. Why not from men!"
+
+The villagers could not understand him. Already, in some mysterious way,
+the word had gone around that Siddle had murdered the actress, and taken
+his own life to avoid arrest, after shooting at the detective who was hot
+on his trail.
+
+Not until Peters's articles came back to Steynholme did the public at
+large realize that the chemist undoubtedly meant to kill Doris Martin. He
+was going straight to the post office when the way was barred by
+Furneaux. The bullet which missed the latter actually pierced the zinc
+plate of the letter-box, and scored a furrow, inches long, in an oak
+counter which it struck laterally.
+
+The village did not recover its poise for hours. Grant and Hart, to whom
+Bates brought the news about one o'clock, rose from an untasted luncheon
+and hurried to the high-street. Knots of people stared at Grant, some
+sheepishly, others with frank relief, because all who knew him liked him.
+One man, a retired ironmonger and an impulsive fellow, came forward and
+wrung his hand heartily. A few prominent residents followed suit. Grant
+was greatly embarrassed, but managed to endure these awkward if
+well-meant congratulations. There could be no mistaking their intent. He
+had been tried for murder at the bar of public opinion, and was now
+formally acquitted.
+
+Even Fred Elkin, ignorant as yet of his own peril, yielded to the
+influences of the moment and bustled through the crowd.
+
+"Mr. Grant," he cried outspokenly, "I ask your pardon. I seem to have
+made a d--d fool of myself!"
+
+"Easier done than said," chimed in Hart. "But, among all this
+bell-ringing, can anyone tell what has actually happened? Where's
+Peters?"
+
+"In the post office."
+
+The two went in, and found the journalist scribbling against time. Hart
+coolly grabbed a few slips of manuscript, and commenced reading. Grant
+looked about for Doris. She was not visible, but Mr. Martin, pallid and
+nervous, nodded toward the sitting-room. The younger man, taking the
+gesture as a tacit invitation, entered the room.
+
+Doris was sitting there, crying bitterly. Poor girl! She had seen that
+portion of the drama which was enacted in the street, and the shock of it
+was still poignant. She looked up and met her lover's eyes. Neither
+uttered a word, but Grant did a very wise thing. He caught her by the
+shoulders, raised her to her feet, and, after kissing her squarely on the
+lips, gave her a comforting hug.
+
+"It will be all right now, Doris," he whispered tenderly. "Such
+thunderstorms clear the air."
+
+An eminent novelist might have found many more ornate ways of avowing
+his sentiments, but never a more satisfactory one. At any rate, it
+served, so what more need be said?
+
+Certain rills of evidence accumulated into a fair-sized stream before
+night fell. P.C. Robinson, for instance, scored a point by ascertaining
+that Peggy Smith had seen Furneaux dropping from the bedroom window of
+the chemist's shop. She was some hundreds of yards away, and could not be
+positive that some man, perhaps a glazier, had not been there
+legitimately effecting repairs. Still, when she met Siddle hurrying from
+the station, she told him of the incident.
+
+"He never even thanked me," she said, "but broke into a run. The look in
+his eyes was awful."
+
+The girl had, in fact, confirmed his worst fears, and her neighborly
+solicitude had merely hastened the end.
+
+Again, the railway officials showed that Siddle had returned from
+Victoria instead of taking train to the asylum. Furneaux had guessed
+aright. The discovery that his keys had been left behind drove the man
+into a panic of fright.
+
+It took nearly three weeks before the unhappy business was finally
+disposed of. A Treasury solicitor was given the chance of his career by
+the medico-legal disquisition which cleared up an extraordinary record.
+The annals of the disease which predisposed Theodore Siddle to crime
+went back many years. He was a fairly wealthy man by inheritance, and
+adopted the profession of chemistry as a hobby. One fact stood out
+boldly. He was aware of his hereditary taint, and had settled down in
+Steynholme believing that a quiet life, free from care or the
+distractions of a town, would enable him to overcome it. Probably, the
+lawyer held, the man owned two distinct individualities, and the baser
+instincts gradually overpowered the humane ones.
+
+Of course, the whole history of those trying days had to come out in open
+court, and the postmaster's daughter was given a descriptive and
+pictorial boom which many an actress envied. Peters was restored to grace
+when he showed plainly that his articles had kept the fickle barometer of
+public opinion at "set fair," in so far as Grant and Doris were
+concerned.
+
+"But," as Hart drawled during a dinner of reconciliation, "you needn't
+have been so infernally personal about my hat."
+
+Grant and Doris were married before the year was out. Mr. Martin retired
+on a pension, and the young couple decided that they could never
+dissociate The Hollies from the tragic memories bound up with its
+ghost-window and lawn. So the place was sold, and Steynholme knows "the
+postmaster's daughter" no more. Winter and Furneaux week-ended with them
+recently at a pretty little nook in Dorset. Hart, just home from the
+Balkans, traveled from town with the detectives, and Doris, a radiant
+young matron, was as flippant as the best of them.
+
+One evening, when the men were sitting late in the smoking-room, the talk
+turned on the now half-forgotten drama in which the hapless Adelaide
+Melhuish played her last r�le.
+
+"I met Peters in the Savage Club the other night," said Hart, filling the
+negro-head pipe with care while he talked, "and he was chortling about
+his 'psychological study,' as he called it, of that unfortunate chemist.
+He still clings to the theory that your wife was the intended victim,
+Grant. Do you agree with him?"
+
+"Rubbish!" cried Furneaux, before his host could answer. "At best, Peters
+is only a clever ass. Siddle never had the remotest notion of killing
+Miss Doris Martin, as Mrs. Grant was then. We shall never know for
+certain just what happened, but there are elements in the affair which
+give ground for reasonable guesswork. The first thing that impressed
+Winter and me--at least, I suppose I really evolved the idea, though my
+bulky friend elaborated it" (whereat Winter smiled forgivingly, and
+beheaded a fresh Havana) "was the complete noiselessness of the crime.
+Here we had Mr. Grant startled by the face at the window, and actually
+searching outside the house for the ghostly visitant, while Miss Doris
+was gazing at The Hollies from the other side of the river, and not a
+sound was heard, though it was a summer's night, without a breath of
+wind, and at an hour when the splash of a fish leaping in the stream
+would have created a commotion. Now, Miss Melhuish was an active and
+well-built young woman, an actress, too, and therefore likely to meet an
+emergency without instant collapse. Yet she allows herself to be struck
+dead or insensible without cry or struggle! How do you account for it?"
+
+"Go on, Charles; don't be theatrical," jeered Winter. "You've got the
+story pat. Even that simile of the jumping fish is mine."
+
+"True," agreed Furneaux. "I only brought it in as a sop. But, to
+continue, as the tub-thumper says. Isn't it permissible to assume that
+Siddle accompanied the lady, either by prior arrangement or by contriving
+a meeting which looked like mere chance? We know that she went to his
+shop. We know, too, that he was clever and unscrupulous, and any allusion
+to Grant would stir his wits to the uttermost. He would see instantly how
+interested Miss Melhuish was in the owner of The Hollies, while she, a
+smart Londoner, would recognize in Siddle an informant worth all the rest
+of the babblers in Steynholme. At any rate, no matter how the thing was
+brought about, it is self-evident that Siddle brought his intended victim
+into the grounds, and told her of the small uncovered window through
+which she could peer at Grant after Miss Doris had gone. He showed her
+which path to use, and undoubtedly waited for her, and stayed her flight
+when Grant rose from his chair. She was close to him, and wholly
+unafraid, finding in him an ally. They were purposely hidden, in the
+gloom of dense foliage, and remained there until Grant had closed the
+window again. Then, and not till then, did the murderer strike, probably
+stifling her with his free hand. He had the implement in his pocket. The
+rope was secreted among the bushes. He could carry through the whole
+wretched crime in little more than a minute. And his psychology went far
+deeper than Peters gave him credit for. He had weighed up the situation
+to a nicety. No matter who found the body, Mr. Grant was saddled with a
+responsibility which might well prove disastrous, and was almost sure to
+affect his relations with the Martin household. For instance, nothing
+short of a miracle could have stopped Robinson from arresting him on a
+charge of murder."
+
+"You, then, are a miracle?" put in Hart, pointing the pipe at the
+little man.
+
+"To the person of ordinary intelligence--yes."
+
+"After that," said Winter, "there is nothing more to be said. Let's see
+who secures the pocket marvel as a partner at auction."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As a fitting end to the strange story of wayward love and maniacal frenzy
+which found an unusual habitat in a secluded hamlet like Steynholme, a
+small vignette of its normal life may be etched in. The trope is germane
+to the scene.
+
+On a wet afternoon in October Hobbs and Elkin had adjourned to the Hare
+and Hounds. Tomlin was reading a newspaper spread on the bar counter. He
+was alone. The day was Friday, and the last "commercial" of the week had
+departed by the mid-day train.
+
+"Wot's yer tonic?" demanded the butcher.
+
+"A glass of beer," threw Elkin over his shoulder. He had walked to the
+window, and was gazing moodily at the sign of the "plumber and decorator"
+who had taken Siddle's shop. The village could not really support an
+out-and-out chemist, so a local grocer had elected to stock patent
+medicines as a side line.
+
+Tomlin made play with a beer-pump.
+
+"Where's yer own?" inquired Hobbs hospitably.
+
+Elkin came and drank. After an interlude, Tomlin ran a finger down a
+column of the newspaper.
+
+"By the way, Fred, didn't you tell me about that funny little chap,
+Furno, the 'tec, buyin' some pictures of yours?" he said.
+
+"I did. Had him there, anyhow," chuckled Elkin.
+
+"How much did you stick 'im for?"
+
+"Three guineas."
+
+"They can't ha' bin this lot, then, though I've a notion it wur the same
+name, 'Aylesbury Steeplechase.'"
+
+"What are you talking about?"
+
+"This."
+
+Tomlin turned the paper, and Elkin read:
+
+At their monthly art sale on Wednesday Messrs. Brown, Jenkins and Brown
+disposed of an almost unique set of colored prints, by F. Smyth, dated
+1841. The series of six represented various phases of the long defunct
+Aylesbury Steeplechase, "The Start," "The Brook," "The In-and-Out," and
+so on to "The Finish." It is understood that this notable series,
+produced during the best period of the art, and at the very zenith of
+Smyth's fame, were acquired recently by a Sussex amateur at a low price.
+Bidding began at fifty guineas, and rose quickly to one hundred and
+twenty, at which figure Messrs. Carnioli and Bruschi became the owners.
+
+Elkin read the paragraph twice, until the words burnt into his brain.
+
+"No," he said thickly. "They're not mine. No such luck!"
+
+
+
+
+
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Postmaster's Daughter , by Louis Tracy
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Postmaster's Daughter
+
+Author: Louis Tracy
+
+Release Date: November 17, 2003  [eBook #10110]
+
+Language: English
+
+Chatacter set encoding: US-ASCII
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER ***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+The Postmaster's Daughter
+
+by Louis Tracy
+
+Author of "The Terms of Surrender," "The Wings of the Morning,"
+etc., etc.
+
+1916
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER
+
+       I. THE FACE AT THE WINDOW
+
+      II. P. C ROBINSON "TAKES A LINE"
+
+     III. THE GATHERING CLOUDS
+
+      IV. A CABAL
+
+       V. THE SEEDS OF MISCHIEF
+
+      VI. SCOTLAND YARD TAKES A HAND
+
+     VII. "ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS"
+
+    VIII. AN INTERRUPTED SYMPOSIUM
+
+      IX. HE WHOM THE CAP FITS--
+
+       X. THE CASE AGAINST GRANT
+
+      XI. P. C. ROBINSON TAKES ANOTHER LINE
+
+     XII. WHEREIN WINTER GETS TO WORK
+
+    XIII. CONCERNING THEODORE SIDDLE
+
+     XIV. ON BOTH SIDES OF THE RIVER
+
+      XV. A MATTER OF HEREDITY
+
+     XVI. FURNEAUX MAKES A SUCCESSFUL BID
+
+    XVII. AN OFFICIAL HOUSEBREAKER
+
+   XVIII. THE TRUTH AT LAST
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE FACE AT THE WINDOW
+
+
+John Menzies Grant, having breakfasted, filled his pipe, lit it, and
+strolled out bare-headed into the garden. The month was June, that
+glorious rose-month which gladdened England before war-clouds darkened
+the summer sky. As the hour was nine o'clock, it is highly probable that
+many thousands of men were then strolling out into many thousands of
+gardens in precisely similar conditions; but, given youth, good health,
+leisure, and a fair amount of money, it is even more probable that few
+among the smaller number thus roundly favored by fortune looked so
+perplexed as Grant.
+
+Moreover, his actions were eloquent as words. A spacious French window
+had been cut bodily out of the wall of an old-fashioned room, and was now
+thrown wide to admit the flower-scented breeze. Between this window and
+the right-hand angle of the room was a smaller window, square-paned, high
+above the ground level, and deeply recessed--in fact just the sort of
+window which one might expect to find in a farm-house built two centuries
+ago, when light and air were rigorously excluded from interiors. The two
+windows told the history of The Hollies at a glance. The little one had
+served the needs of a "best" room for several generations of Sussex
+yeomen. Then had come some iconoclast who hewed a big rectangle through
+the solid stone-work, converted the oak-panelled apartment into a most
+comfortable dining-room, built a new wing with a gable, changed a
+farm-yard into a flower-bordered lawn, and generally played havoc with
+Georgian utility while carrying out a determined scheme of landscape
+gardening.
+
+Happily, the wrecker was content to let well enough alone after enlarging
+the house, laying turf, and planting shrubs and flowers. He found The
+Hollies a ramshackle place, and left it even more so, but with a new note
+of artistry and several unexpectedly charming vistas. Thus, the big
+double window opened straight into an irregular garden which merged
+insensibly into a sloping lawn bounded by a river-pool. The bank on the
+other side of the stream rose sharply and was well wooded. Above the
+crest showed the thatched roofs or red tiles of Steynholme, which was a
+village in the time of William the Conqueror, and has remained a village
+ever since. Frame this picture in flowering shrubs, evergreens, a few
+choice firs, a copper beech, and some sturdy oaks shadowing the lawn, and
+the prospect on a June morning might well have led out into the open any
+young man with a pipe.
+
+But John Menzies Grant seemed to have no eye for a scene that would have
+delighted a painter. He turned to the light, scrutinized so closely a
+strip of turf which ran close to the wall that he might have been
+searching for a lost diamond, and then peered through the lowermost
+left-hand pane of the small window into the room he had just quitted.
+
+The result of this peeping was remarkable in more ways than one.
+
+A stout, elderly, red-faced woman, who had entered the room soon after
+she heard Grant's chair being moved, caught sight of the intent face. She
+screamed loudly, and dropped a cup and saucer with a clatter on to a
+Japanese tray.
+
+Grant hurried back to the French window. In his haste he did not notice a
+long shoot of a Dorothy Perkins rose which trailed across his path, and
+it struck him smartly on the cheek.
+
+"I'm afraid I startled you, Mrs. Bates," he said, smiling so pleasantly
+that no woman or child could fail to put trust in him.
+
+"You did that, sir," agreed Mrs. Bates, collapsing into the chair Grant
+had just vacated.
+
+Like most red-faced people, Mrs. Bates turned a bluish purple when
+alarmed, and her aspect was so distressing now that Grant's smile was
+banished by a look of real concern.
+
+"I'm very sorry," he said contritely. "I had no notion you were in the
+room. Shall I call Minnie?"
+
+Minnie, it may be explained, was Mrs. Bates's daughter and assistant,
+the two, plus a whiskered Bates, gardener and groom, forming the domestic
+establishment presided over by Grant.
+
+"Nun-no, sir," stuttered the housekeeper. "It's stupid of me. But I'm not
+so young as I was, an' me heart jumps at little things."
+
+Grant saw that she was recovering, though slowly. He thought it best not
+to make too much of the incident; but asked solicitously if he might give
+her some brandy.
+
+Mrs. Bates remarked that she was "not so bad as that," rose valiantly,
+and went on with her work. Her employer, who had gone into the garden
+again, saw out of the tail of his eye that she vanished with a half-laden
+tray. In a couple of minutes the daughter appeared, and finished the
+slight task of clearing the table; meanwhile, Grant kept away from the
+small window. Being a young man who cultivated the habit of observation,
+he noticed that Minnie, too, cast scared glances at the window. When the
+girl had finally quitted the room, he laughed in a puzzled way.
+
+"Am I dreaming, or are there visions about?" he murmured.
+
+Urged, seemingly, by a sort of curiosity, he surveyed the room a second
+time through the same pane of glass. Being tall, he had to stoop
+slightly. Within, on the opposite side of the ledge, he saw the tiny
+brass candlestick with its inch of candle which he had used over-night
+while searching for a volume of Scott in the book-case lining the
+neighboring wall. Somehow, this simplest of domestic objects brought a
+thrill of recollection.
+
+"Oh, dash it all!" he growled good-humoredly, "I'm getting nervy. I must
+chuck this bad habit of working late, and use the blessed hours of
+daylight."
+
+Yet, as he sauntered down the lawn toward the stream, he knew well that
+he would do nothing of the sort. He loved that time of peace between
+ten at night and one in the morning. His thoughts ran vagrom then.
+Fantasies took shape under his pen which, in the cold light of morning,
+looked unreal and nebulous, though he had the good sense to restrain
+criticism within strict limits, and corrected style rather than matter.
+He was a writer, an essayist with no slight leaven of the poet, and had
+learnt early that the everyday world held naught in common with the
+brooding of the soul.
+
+But he was no long-haired dreamer of impossible things. Erect and
+square-shouldered, he had passed through Sandhurst into the army, a
+profession abandoned because of its humdrum nature, when an unexpectedly
+"fat" legacy rendered him independent. He looked exactly what he was, a
+healthy, clean-minded young Englishman, with a physique that led to
+occasional bouts of fox-hunting and Alpine climbing, and a taste in
+literature that brought about the consumption of midnight oil. This
+latter is not a mere trope. Steynholme is far removed from such modern
+"conveniences" as gas and electricity.
+
+At present he had no more definite object in life than to watch the trout
+rising in the pool. He held the fishing rights over half a mile of a
+noted river, but, by force of the law of hospitality, as it were, the
+stretch of water bordering the lawn was a finny sanctuary. Once, he
+halted, and looked fixedly at a dormer window in a cottage just visible
+above the trees on the opposite slope. Such a highly presentable young
+man might well expect to find a dainty feminine form appearing just in
+that place, and eke return the greeting of a waved hand. But the window
+remained blank--windows refused to yield any information that
+morning--and he passed on.
+
+The lawn dipped gently to the water's edge, until the close-clipped turf
+gave way to pebbles and sand. In that spot the river widened and
+deepened until its current was hardly perceptible in fine weather. When
+the sun was in the west the trees and roofs of Steynholme were so
+clearly reflected in the mirror of the pool that a photograph of the
+scene needed close scrutiny ere one could determine whether or not it
+was being held upside down. But the sun shone directly on the water now,
+so the shelving bottom was visible, and Grant's quick eye was drawn to a
+rope trailing into the depths, and fastened to an iron staple driven
+firmly into the shingle.
+
+He was so surprised that he spoke aloud.
+
+"What in the world is that?" he almost gasped; a premonition of evil was
+so strong in him that he actually gazed in stupefaction at a blob of
+water and a quick-spreading ring where a fat trout rose lazily in
+midstream.
+
+Somehow, too, he resisted the first impulse of the active side of his
+temperament, and did not instantly tug at the rope.
+
+Instead, he shouted:--
+
+"Hi, Bates!"
+
+An answering hail came from behind a screen of laurels on the right of
+the house. There lay the stables, and Bates would surely be grooming the
+cob which supplied a connecting link between The Hollies and the railway
+for the neighboring market-town.
+
+Bates came, a sturdy block of a man who might have been hewn out of a
+Sussex oak. His face, hands, and arms were the color of oak, and he moved
+with a stiffness that suggested wooden joints.
+
+Evidently, he expected an order for the dogcart, and stood stock still
+when he reached the lawn. But Grant, who had gathered his wits, summoned
+him with crooked forefinger, and Bates jerked slowly on.
+
+"What hev' ye done to yer face, sir?" he inquired.
+
+Grant was surprised. He expected no such question.
+
+"So far as I know, I've not been making any great alteration in
+it," he said.
+
+"But it's all covered wi' blood," came the disturbing statement.
+
+A handkerchief soon gave evidence that Bates was not exaggerating.
+Miss--or is it Madam?--Dorothy Perkins can scratch as well as look sweet,
+and a thorn had opened a small vein in Grant's cheek which bled to a
+surprising extent.
+
+"Oh, it is nothing," he said. "I remember now--a rose shoot caught me as
+I went back into the dining-room a moment ago. I shouted for you to come
+and see _this_."
+
+Soon the two were examining the rope and the staple.
+
+"Now who put _that_ there?" said Bates, not asking a question but rather
+stating a thesis.
+
+"It was not here yesterday," commented his master, accepting all that
+Bates's words implied.
+
+"No, sir, that it wasn't. I was a-cuttin' the lawn till nigh bed-time,
+an' it wasn't there then."
+
+Grant was himself again. He stooped and grabbed the rope.
+
+"Suppose we solve the mystery," he said.
+
+"No need to dirty your hands, sir," put in Bates. "Let I haul 'un in."
+
+In a few seconds the oaken tint in his face grew many shades lighter.
+
+"Good Gawd!" he wheezed. At the end of the rope was the body of a woman.
+
+There are few more distressing objects than a drowned corpse. On
+that bright June morning a dreadful apparition lost little of its
+grim repulsiveness because the body was that of a young and
+good-looking woman.
+
+If one searched England it would be difficult to find two men of
+differing temperaments less likely to yield to the stress of even the
+most trying circumstance than Grant and Bates, yet, during some agonized
+moments the one, of tried courage and fine mettle, was equally horrified
+and shaken as the other, a gnarled and hard-grained rustic. It was he
+from whom speech might least be expected who first found his tongue.
+Bates, who had stooped, straightened himself slowly.
+
+"By gum!" he said, "this be a bad business, Mr. Grant. Who is she? She's
+none of our Steynholme lasses."
+
+Still Grant uttered no word. He just looked in horror at the poor husk
+of a woman who in life had undoubtedly been beautiful. She was well but
+quietly dressed, and her clothing showed no signs of violence. The
+all-night soaking in the river revealed some pitiful little feminine
+secrets, such as a touch of make-up on lips and cheeks, and the dark
+roots of abundant hair which had been treated chemically to lighten its
+color. The eyes were closed, and for that Grant was conscious of a deep
+thankfulness. Had those sightless eyes stared at him he felt he would
+have cried aloud in terror. The firm, well-molded lips were open, as
+though uttering a last protest against an untimely fate. Of course, both
+men were convinced that murder had been done. Not only were arms and
+body bound in a manner that was impossible of accomplishment by the dead
+woman herself, but an ugly wound on the smooth forehead seemed to
+indicate that she had been stunned or killed outright before being flung
+into the river.
+
+And then, the rope and the staple suggested an outlandish, maniacal
+disposal of the victim. Here was no effort at concealment, but rather a
+making sure, in most brutal and callous fashion, that early discovery
+must be unavoidable.
+
+The bucolic mind works in well-scored grooves. Receiving no assistance
+from his master, Bates pulled the body a little farther up on the strip
+of gravel so that it lay clear of the water.
+
+"I mum fetch t' polis," he said.
+
+The phrase, with its vivid significance, seemed to galvanize Grant into a
+species of comprehension.
+
+"Yes," he agreed, speaking slowly, as though striving to measure the
+effect of each word. "Yes, go for the police, Bates. This foul crime must
+be inquired into, no matter who suffers. Go now. But first bring a rug
+from the stable. You understand? Your wife, or Minnie, must not be told
+till later. They must not see. Mrs. Bates is not so well to-day."
+
+"Not so well! Her ate a rare good breakfast for a sick 'un!"
+
+Bates was recovering from the shock, and prepared once more to take an
+interest in the minor features of existence. Among these he counted
+ability to eat as a sure sign of continued well-being in man or beast.
+
+Grant, too, was slowly regaining poise.
+
+"I hardly know what I am saying," he muttered. "At any rate, bring a rug.
+I'll mount guard till you return with the policeman. There can be no
+doubt, I suppose, that this poor creature is dead."
+
+"Dead as a stone," said Bates with conviction. "Why, her's bin in there
+hours," and he nodded toward the water. "Besides, if I knows anythink of
+a crack on t'head, her wur outed before she went into t'river.... But who
+i' t'world can she be?"
+
+"If you don't fetch that rug I'll go for it myself," said Grant,
+whereupon Bates made off.
+
+He was soon back again with a carriage rug, which Grant helped him to
+spread over the dripping body. Then he hastened to the village, taking a
+path that avoided the house.
+
+The lawn and river bank of The Hollies could only be overlooked from the
+steep wooded cliff opposite, and none but an adventurous boy would ever
+think of climbing down that almost impassable rampart of rock,
+brushwood, and tree-roots. At any rate, when left alone with the ghastly
+evidence of a tragedy, Grant troubled only to satisfy himself that no one
+was watching from the house. Assured on that point, he lifted a corner of
+the rug, and, apparently, forced himself to scrutinize the dead woman's
+face. He seemed to search therein for some reassuring token, but found
+none, because he shook his head, dropped the rug, and walked a few paces
+dejectedly.
+
+Then, hardly knowing what he was about, he relighted his pipe, but had
+hardly put it in his mouth before he knocked out the tobacco.
+
+Clearly, he was thinking hard, mapping out some line of conduct, and
+the outlook must have been dark indeed, judging by his somber and
+undecided aspect.
+
+More than once he looked up at the attic window of the cottage which had
+drawn his eyes before tragedy had come so swiftly to his very feet. But,
+if he hoped to see anyone, he was disappointed, though, in the event, it
+proved that his real fear was lest the person he half expected to see
+should look out.
+
+He was not disturbed in that way, however. Fish rose in the river; birds
+sang in the trees; a water-wagtail skipped nimbly from rock to rock in
+the shallows; honey-laden bees hummed past to the many hives in the
+postmaster's garden. These were the normal sights and sounds of a June
+morning--that which was abnormal and almost grotesque in its horror lay
+hidden beneath the carriage rug.
+
+To and fro he walked in that trying vigil, carrying the empty pipe in one
+hand while, with the other, he dabbed the handkerchief at the cut on his
+face. He was aware of some singular change in the quality of the sunlight
+pouring down on lawn and river and trees. Five minutes earlier it had
+spread over the landscape a golden bloom of the tint of champagne; now it
+was sharp and cold, a clear, penetrating radiance in which colors were
+vivid and shadows black. He was in no mood to analyze emotions, or he
+might have understood that the fierce throbbing of his heart had
+literally thinned the blood in his veins and thus affected even his
+sight. He only knew that in this crystal atmosphere the major issues of
+life presented themselves with a new and crude force. At any rate, he
+made up his mind that the course suggested by truth and honor was the
+only one to follow, and that, in itself, was something gained.
+
+By the time Bates returned, accompanied by the village policeman, and two
+other men carrying a stretcher, Grant was calmer, more self-contained,
+than he had been since that hapless body was dragged from the depths. He
+was not irresponsive, therefore, to the aura of official importance which
+enveloped the policeman; he sensed a certain uneasiness in Bates; he even
+noted that the stretcher was part of the stock in trade of Hobbs, the
+local butcher, and ordinarily bore the carcase of a well-fed pig.
+
+These details were helpful. Naturally, Bates had explained his errand,
+and the law, in the person of the policeman, was prepared for all
+eventualities.
+
+"This is a bad business, Mr. Grant," began the policeman, producing a
+note-book, and moistening the tip of a lead pencil with his tongue. Being
+a Sussex man, he used the same phrase as Bates. In fact, Grant was
+greeted by it a score of times that day.
+
+"Yes," agreed Grant. "I had better tell you that I have recognized the
+poor lady. Her name is Adelaide Melhuish. Her residence is in the
+Regent's Park district of London."
+
+Robinson, the policeman, permitted himself to look surprised. He was, in
+fact, rather annoyed. Bates's story had prepared him for a first-rate
+detective mystery. It was irritating to have one of its leading features
+cleared up so promptly.
+
+"Oh," he said, drawing a line under the last entry in the note-book,
+and writing the date and hour in heavy characters beneath. "Married
+or single?"
+
+"Married, but separated from her husband when last I had news of her."
+
+"And when was that, sir?"
+
+"Nearly three years ago."
+
+"And you have not seen her since?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You didn't see her last night?"
+
+Grant positively started, but he looked at the policeman squarely.
+
+"It is strange you should ask me that," he said. "Last night, while
+searching for a book, I saw a face at the window. It was that window,"
+and four pairs of eyes followed his pointing finger. "The face, I now
+believe, was that of the dead woman. At the moment, as it vanished
+instantly, I persuaded myself that I was the victim of some trick of the
+imagination. Still, I opened the other window, looked out and listened,
+but heard or saw nothing or no one. As I say, I fancied I had imagined
+that which was not. Now I know I was wrong."
+
+"About what o'clock would this be, Mr. Grant?"
+
+"Shortly before eleven. I came in at a quarter past ten, and began to
+work. After writing steadily for a little more than half an hour, I
+wanted to consult a book, and lighted a candle which I keep for that
+purpose. I found the book, and was about to blow out the candle when I
+saw the face."
+
+Robinson wrote in his note-book:--
+
+"Called to The Hollies to investigate case of supposed murder. Body of
+woman found in river. Mr. Grant, occupying The Hollies, says that woman's
+name is Adelaide Melhuish"--at this point he paused to ascertain the
+spelling--"and he saw her face at a window of the house at 10.45 P.M.,
+last night."
+
+"Well, sir, and what next?" he went on.
+
+"It seems to me that the next thing is to have the unfortunate lady
+removed to some more suitable place than the river bank," said Grant,
+rather impatiently. "My story can wait, and so can Bates's. He knows all
+that I know, and has probably told you already how we came to discover
+the body. You can see for yourself that she must have been murdered. It
+is an extraordinary, I may even say a phenomenal crime, which certainly
+cannot be investigated here and now. I advise you to have the body taken
+to the village mortuary, or such other place as serves local needs in
+that respect, and summon a doctor. Then, if you and an inspector will
+call here, I'll give you all the information I possess, which is very
+little, I may add."
+
+Robinson began solemnly to jot down a summary of Grant's words, and
+thereby stirred the owner of The Hollies to a fury which was repressed
+with difficulty. Realizing, however, the absolute folly of expressing any
+resentment, Grant turned, and, without meaning it, looked again in the
+direction of the cottage on the crest of the opposite bank. This time a
+girl was leaning out of the dormer window. She had shaded her eyes with a
+hand, because the sun was streaming into her face, but when she saw that
+Grant was looking her way she waved a handkerchief.
+
+He fluttered his own blood-stained handkerchief in brief acknowledgment,
+and wheeled about, only to find P. C. Robinson watching him furtively,
+having suspended his note-taking for the purpose.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+P.C. ROBINSON "TAKES A LINE"
+
+
+"It will help me a lot, sir," he said, "if you tell me now what you know
+about this matter. If, as seems more than likely, murder has been done, I
+don't want to lose a minute in starting my inquiries. In a case of this
+sort I find it best to take a line, and stick to it."
+
+His tone was respectful but firm. Evidently, P.C. Robinson was not one to
+be trifled with. Moreover, for a sleuth whose maximum achievement
+hitherto had been the successful prosecution of a poultry thief, it was
+significant that the unconscious irony of "a case of this sort" should
+have been lost on him.
+
+"Do you really insist on conducting your investigation while the body is
+lying here?" demanded Grant, deliberately turning his back on the girl in
+the distant cottage.
+
+"Not that, sir--not altogether--but I must really ask you to clear up one
+or two points now."
+
+"For goodness' sake, what are they?"
+
+"Well, sir, in the first place, how did you come to find the body?"
+
+"I walked out into the garden after finishing breakfast a few
+minutes ago, and noticed the rope attached to the staple, just as
+you see it now."
+
+"Did you walk straight here?"
+
+"No. Not exactly. I was--er--curious about the face I saw, or thought I
+saw, last night, and looked into the room through the same window. By
+doing so I scared Mrs. Bates, who was clearing the table, and she
+screamed--"
+
+"Her would, too," put in Bates. "Her'd take 'ee for Owd Ben's ghost."
+
+"You shut up, Bates," said the policeman. "Don't interrupt Mr. Grant."
+
+Grant was conscious of an undercurrent of suspicion in the
+constable's manner. He was wroth with the man, but recognized that he
+had to deal with narrow-minded self-importance, so contrived again to
+curb his temper.
+
+"I am not acquainted with old Ben or his ghost," he said quietly. "I can
+only tell you that I went inside to reassure Mrs. Bates, and then
+strolled slowly to this very spot. Naturally, I could not miss the rope
+and the stable. To my mind, it was not intended that I or anyone else
+should miss them. I regarded them as so peculiar that I shouted for
+Bates. He came at once, and drew the body out of the water."
+
+"And you recognized the dead woman as the one you saw last night?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"At about ten minutes to eleven?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Is it likely, sir, that any other person saw her in these grounds a
+bit earlier?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Well, sir, I can't put it much plainer. Could anybody else have seen her
+here, say about 10.15?"
+
+Grant met the policeman's inquiring glance squarely before he answered.
+
+"It is possible, of course," he said, "but most unlikely."
+
+"Were you alone here at that hour?"
+
+Again Grant sought and held that inquisitive gaze, held it until Robinson
+affected to consult his notes. There was a moment of tense silence. Then
+the reply came with an icy stubbornness that was not to be denied.
+
+"I decline absolutely to be cross-examined about my movements. If you are
+unable or unwilling to order the removal of the body, I'll telegraph to
+the chief of police at Knolesworth, and ask him to act. Further, I shall
+request Dr. Foxton to examine the poor lady's injuries. It strikes me as
+a monstrous proceeding that you should attempt to record my evidence at
+this moment, and I refuse to become a party to it."
+
+"Now, then, Robinson, stop yer Sherlock Holmes work, an' help me to lift
+this poor woman on to the stretcher," said Bates gruffly.
+
+The policeman's red face grew a shade deeper with annoyance, but he had
+the sense to avoid a scene. He was not popular in the village, and was
+well aware that the two rustics pressed into service as stretcher-bearers
+would joyfully retail the fact that he had been "set down a peg or two by
+Mr. Grant."
+
+"I'll do all that's necessary in that way, sir," he said stiffly. "I
+suppose you have no objection to my askin' if you noticed any strange
+footprints on the ground hereabouts?"
+
+"That was the first thing I looked for, both here and outside the
+window--the latter, of course, for another reason. I found none. These
+stones would show no signs. The ground is so dry that even the five men
+now present leave no traces, but I remember seeing in the bed of the
+stream certain marks which, unfortunately, were obliterated when Bates
+hauled the body ashore. They were valueless, however--shapeless
+indentations in the mud and sand."
+
+"Were they wide apart or close together, sir?"
+
+"Quite irregular. No one could judge by the length of the stride whether
+they were made by the feet of a man or a woman, if that is what you have
+in mind ... but, really--"
+
+Grant's impatient motion was not to be misunderstood. Robinson stooped,
+removed the rug, and unfastened the rope, after noting carefully how it
+was tied, a point which he called on the others to observe as well. Then
+he and the villagers went away with their sad burden, the rug being
+requisitioned once more to hide that wan face from the vivid sunshine.
+
+Bates had a trick of grasping a handful of his short whiskers when
+puzzled; he did so now; it seemed to be an unconscious effort to pull his
+jaws apart in order to emit speech.
+
+"I've a sort of idee, sir," he said slowly, "that Robinson saw Doris
+Martin on the lawn with 'ee last night."
+
+Grant turned on his henchman in a sudden heat of anger.
+
+"Miss Martin's name must be kept out of this matter," he growled.
+
+But Sussex is not easily browbeaten when it thinks itself in the right.
+
+"All very well a-sayin' that, sir, but a-doin' of it is a bird of another
+color," argued Bates firmly.
+
+"How did you know that Miss Martin was here?"
+
+"Bless your heart, sir, how comes it that us Steynholme folk know
+everythink about other folk's business? Sometimes we know more'n they
+knows themselves. You've not walked a yard wi' Doris that the women's
+tittle-tattle hasn't made it into a mile."
+
+No man, even the wisest, likes to be told an unpalatable truth. For a few
+seconds, Grant was seriously annoyed with this village Solon, and nearly
+blurted out an angry command that he should hold his tongue. Luckily,
+since Bates was only trying to be helpful, he was content to say
+sarcastically:
+
+"Of course, if you are so well posted in my movements last night, you can
+assure the coroner and the Police that I did not strangle some strange
+woman, tie a rope around her, and throw her in the river."
+
+"Me an' my missis couldn't help seein' you an' Doris a-lookin' at the
+stars through a spyglass when us were goin' to bed," persisted Bates. "We
+heerd your voices quite plain. Once 'ee fixed the glass low down, an'
+said, 'That's serious. It's late to-night.' An' I tell 'ee straight, sir,
+I said to the missis:--'It will be serious, an' all, if Doris's father
+catches her gallivantin' in our garden wi' Mr. Grant nigh on ten
+o'clock.' Soon after that 'ee took Doris as far as the bridge. The window
+was open, an' I heerd your footsteps on the road. You kem' in, closed the
+window, an' drew a chair up to the table. After that, I fell asleep."
+
+Perturbed and anxious though he was, Grant could hardly fail to see that
+Bates meant well by him. The mental effort needed for such a long speech
+said as much. The allusion to Sirius, amusing at any other time, was now
+most valuable, because an astronomical almanac would give the hour at
+which that brilliant star became visible. Other considerations yielded at
+once, however, to the fear lest Robinson and his note-book were already
+busy at the post office. Without another word, he hurried away by the
+side-path through the evergreens, leaving Bates staring after him, and,
+with more whisker-pulling, examining the rope and staple, which, by the
+policeman's order, were not to be disturbed.
+
+Grant reached the highroad just as Robinson and the men with the
+stretcher were crossing a stone bridge spanning the river about a hundred
+yards below The Hollies. A slight, youthful, and eminently attractive
+female figure, walking swiftly in the opposite direction, came in sight
+at the same time, and Grant almost groaned aloud when the newcomer stood
+stock still and looked at the mournful procession. He, be it remembered,
+was somewhat of an idealist and a poet; it grieved his spirit that those
+two women, the quick and the dead, should meet on the bridge. He took it
+as a portent, almost a menace, he knew not of what. He might have
+foreseen that unhappy eventuality, and prevented it, but his brain
+refused to work clearly that morning. A terrible and bizarre crime had
+bemused his faculties. He seemed to be in a state of waking nightmare.
+
+He was stung into impetuous action by seeing the policeman halt and
+exchange some words with the girl. He began to run, with the quite
+definite if equally mad intent of punching Robinson into reasonable
+behavior. He was saved from an act of unmitigated folly by the girl
+herself. She caught sight of him, apparently broke off her talk with the
+policeman abruptly, and, in her turn, took to her heels.
+
+Thus, on that strip of sun-baked road, with its easy gradient to the
+crown of the bridge, there was the curious spectacle offered by two men
+jogging along with a corpse on a stretcher, a young man and a young
+woman running towards each other, and a discomfited representative of
+the law, looking now one way and now the other, and evidently undecided
+whether to go on or return. Ultimately, it would seem, Robinson went
+with the stretcher-bearers, because Grant and the girl saw no more of
+him for the time.
+
+Grant had received several shocks since rising from the breakfast-table,
+but it was left for Doris Martin, the postmaster's daughter, to
+administer not the least surprising one.
+
+Though almost breathless, and wide-eyed with horror, her opening words
+were very much to the point.
+
+"How awful!" she cried. "Why should any-one in Steynholme want to kill a
+great actress like Adelaide Melhuish?"
+
+Now, the name of the dead woman was literally the last thing Grant
+expected to hear from this girl's lips, and the astounding fact
+momentarily banished all other worries.
+
+"You knew her?" he gasped.
+
+"No, not exactly. But I couldn't avoid recognizing her when she asked for
+her letters, and sent a telegram."
+
+"But--"
+
+"Oh, Robinson told me she was dead. I see now what is puzzling you."
+
+"It is not quite that. I mean, why didn't you tell me she was in
+Steynholme? Has she been staying here any length of time?"
+
+The girl's pretty face crimsoned, and then grew pale.
+
+"I--had no idea--she was--a friend of yours, Mr. Grant," she stammered.
+
+"She used to be a friend, but I have not set eyes on her during the past
+three years--until last night."
+
+"Last night!"
+
+"After you had gone home. I was doing some work, and, having occasion to
+consult a book, lighted a candle, and put it in the small window near the
+bookcase. Then I fancied I saw a woman's face, _her_ face, peering in,
+and was so obsessed by the notion that I went outside, but everything was
+so still that I persuaded myself I was mistaken."
+
+"Oh, is that what it was?"
+
+Grant threw out his hands in a gesture that was eloquent of some feeling
+distinctly akin to despair.
+
+"You don't usually speak in enigmas, Doris," he said. "What in the world
+do you mean by saying:--'Oh, is that what it was?'"
+
+The girl--she was only nineteen, and never before had aught of tragic
+mystery entered her sheltered life--seemed to recover her
+self-possession with a quickness and decision that were admirable.
+
+"There is no enigma," she said calmly. "My room overlooks your lawn.
+Before retiring for the night I went to the window, just to have another
+peep at Sirius and its changing lights, so I could not help seeing you
+fling open the French windows, stand a little while on the step, and go
+in again."
+
+"Ah, you saw that? Then I have one witness who will help to dispel that
+stupid policeman's notion that I killed Miss Melhuish, and hid her body
+in the river at the foot of the lawn, hid it with such care that the
+first passerby must find it."
+
+Every human being has three distinct personalities. Firstly, there is the
+man or woman as he or she really is; secondly, there is the much superior
+individual as assessed personally; thirdly, and perhaps the most
+important in the general scheme of things, there is the same
+individuality as viewed by others. For an instant, the somewhat idealized
+figure which John Menzies Grant offered to a pretty and intelligent but
+inexperienced girl was in danger of losing its impressiveness. But, since
+Grant was not only a good fellow but a gentleman, his next thought
+restored him to the pedestal from which, all unknowing, he had nearly
+been dethroned.
+
+"That is a nice thing to say," he cried, with a short laugh of sheer
+vexation. "Here am I regarding you as a first-rate witness in my behalf,
+whereas my chief worry is to keep you out of this ugly business
+altogether. Forgive me, Doris! Never before have I been so bothered.
+Honestly, I imagined I hadn't an enemy in the world, yet someone has
+tried deliberately to saddle me with suspicion in this affair. Not that I
+would give real heed to that consideration if it were not for the unhappy
+probability that, strive as I may, your name will crop up in connection
+with it. What sort of fellow is this police constable? Do you think he
+would keep his mouth shut if I paid him well?"
+
+Grant was certainly far from being in his normal state of mind, or he
+would have caught the tender gleam which lighted the girl's eyes when she
+understood that his concern was for her, not for himself. As it was,
+several things had escaped him during that brief talk on the sunlit road.
+
+On her part, Doris Martin was now in full control of her emotions, and
+she undoubtedly took a saner view of a difficult situation.
+
+"Robinson is a vain man," she said thoughtfully. "He will not let go the
+chance of notoriety given him by the murder of a well-known actress. Was
+she really murdered? Robinson said so when I met him on the bridge."
+
+"I'm afraid he is justified in that belief, at any rate."
+
+"Well, Mr. Grant, what have we to conceal? I was in your garden at a
+rather late hour, I admit, but one cannot watch the stars by day, and a
+big telescope with its tripod is not easily carried about. Of course,
+father will be vexed, because, as it happens, I did not tell him I was
+coming out. But that cannot be helped. As it happens, I can fix the time
+you opened your window almost to a minute, because the church clock had
+chimed the quarter just before you appeared."
+
+Grant, however, was not to be soothed by this matter-of-fact reasoning.
+
+"I am vexed at the mere notion of your name, and possibly your portrait,
+appearing in the newspapers," he protested. "Miss Melhuish was a
+celebrated actress. The press will make a rare commotion about her death.
+Look at the obvious questions that will be raised. What was she doing
+here? Why was she found in the river bordering the grounds of my house?
+Don't you see? I had to decide pretty quickly whether or not I would
+admit any previous knowledge of her. I suppose I acted rightly?"
+
+"Why hide anything, Mr. Grant? Surely it is always best to tell
+the truth!"
+
+He looked into those candid blue eyes, and drew from their limpid depths
+an element of strength and fortitude.
+
+"By Jove, Doris, small wonder if a jaded man of the world, such as I was
+when I came to Steynholme, found new faith and inspiration in friendship
+with you," he said gratefully. "But I am wool-gathering all the time this
+morning, it would seem. Won't you come into the house? If we have to
+discuss a tragedy we may as well sit down to it."
+
+"No," she said, with the promptitude of one who had anticipated the
+invitation. "I must hurry home. There are accounts to be made up. And
+Robinson and others will be telegraphing to Knoleworth and London. I must
+attend to all that, because dad gets flustered if several messages are
+handed in at the same time."
+
+"Come and have tea, then, about four o'clock. The ravens will have
+fled by then."
+
+"The ravens?"
+
+"The police, you dear child, and the reporters, and the
+photographers--the flock of weird fowl which gathers from all points of
+the compass when the press gets hold of what is called 'a first-rate
+story,' By midday I shall be in the thick of it. But, thank goodness,
+they will know nothing to draw them your way until the inquest takes
+place, and not even then if _I_ can manage it."
+
+"Don't mind me, Mr. Grant. You must not keep anything back on my account.
+I'll try and come at four. But I may be very busy in the office. By the
+way, you ought to know. Miss Melhuish came here on Sunday evening. She
+arrived by the train from London. I--happened to notice her as she passed
+in the Hare and Hounds 'bus. She took a room there, at the inn, I mean,
+and came to the post office twice yesterday. When I heard her name I
+recognized her at once from her photographs. And--one more thing--I
+guessed there was something wrong when I saw you, and Robinson, and
+Bates, and the other men standing near a body lying close to the river.
+That is why I came out. Now I really must go. Good-by!"
+
+She hastened away. Grant stood in the road and looked after her.
+Apparently she was conscious that he had not stirred, because, when she
+reached the bridge, she turned and waved a hand to him. She was
+exceedingly graceful in all her movements. She wore a simple white linen
+blouse and short white skirt that morning, with brown shoes and stockings
+which harmonized with the deeper tints of her Titian red hair. As she
+paused on the bridge for a second or two, silhouetted against the sky,
+she suggested to Grant's troubled mind the Spirit of Summer.
+
+Returning to the house by way of the main gate, which gave on to the
+highway, he bethought him of Mrs. Bates and Minnie. They must be
+enlightened, and warned as to the certain influx of visitors. He resolved
+now to tackle a displeasing task boldly. Realizing that the worst
+possible policy lay in denying himself to the representatives of the
+press, who would simply ascertain the facts from other sources, and
+unconsciously adopt a critical vein with regard to himself, he determined
+to go to the other extreme, and receive all comers.
+
+Of course, there would be reservations in his story. That is what every
+man decides who faces a legal inquiry as a novice. It is a decision too
+often regretted in the light of after events.
+
+Meanwhile, P. C. Robinson was hard at work. In his own phrase, he "took a
+line," and the trend of his thoughts was clearly demonstrated when a
+superintendent motored over from Knoleworth in response to a telegram. He
+told how the body had been found, and then went into details gathered in
+the interim.
+
+"Miss Melhuish hadn't been in the village five minutes," he said, "before
+she asked Mr. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds, where The Hollies
+was, and how long Mr. Grant had lived in the village. She went for a walk
+in the direction of his house almost at once. Tomlin watched her until
+she crossed the bridge. That was on Sunday evening."
+
+Superintendent Fowler allowed his placid features to show a flicker of
+surprise. In that rural district an actual, downright murder was almost
+unknown. Even a case of manslaughter, arising out of a drunken quarrel
+between laborers at fair-time, did not occur once in five years.
+
+"Oh, she came here on Sunday, did she?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, sir. Yesterday, too, she spoke of Mr. Grant to Hobbs, the butcher,
+and Siddle, the chemist."
+
+The two were closeted in the sitting-room of Robinson's cottage, which
+was situated on the main road near the bridge. It faced the short, steep
+hill overhanging the river. A triangular strip of turf formed the village
+green, and the houses of Steynholme clustered around this and a side road
+climbing the hill. From door and windows nearly every shop and residence
+in the village proper could be seen. In front of the Hare and Hounds had
+gathered a group of men, and it was easy to guess the topic they were
+discussing. The superintendent, who did not know any of them, had no
+difficulty in identifying Hobbs, who looked a butcher and was dressed
+like one, or Tomlin, who was either born an innkeeper or had been coached
+in the part by a stage expert. A thin, sharp-looking person, pallid and
+black-haired, wearing a morning coat and striped trousers, must surely be
+Siddle, while a fourth, the youngest there, and of rather sporting guise,
+was apparently a farmer of a horse-breeding turn.
+
+"Who is that fellow in the leggings?" inquired the superintendent
+irrelevantly. He was looking through the window, and Robinson considered
+that the question showed a lack of interest in his statement, though he
+dared not hint at such a thing.
+
+"He's a Mr. Elkin, sir," he said. "As I was saying--"
+
+"How does Mr. Elkin make a living?" broke in the other.
+
+"He breeds hacks and polo ponies," said Robinson, rather shortly.
+
+"Ah, I thought so. Well, go on with your story."
+
+Robinson was irritated, and justly so. His superior had put him off his
+"line." He took it up again sharply, leaving out of court for the moment
+the various rills of evidence which, in his opinion, united into a
+swift-moving stream.
+
+"The fact is, sir," he blurted out, "there is an uncommonly strong case
+against Mr. John Menzies Grant."
+
+"Phew!" whistled the superintendent.
+
+"I think you'll agree with me, sir, when you hear what I've gathered
+about him one way and another."
+
+Robinson was sure of his audience now. Quite unconsciously, he had
+applied the chief canon of realism in art. He had conveyed his effect by
+one striking note. The rest of the picture was quite subsidiary to the
+bold splurge of color evoked by actually naming the man he suspected of
+murdering Adelaide Melhuish.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE GATHERING CLOUDS
+
+
+Thus, it befell that Grant was not worried by officialdom until long
+after his housekeeper and her daughter had recovered from the shock of
+learning that they were, in a sense, connected at first hand with a
+ghastly and sensational crime.
+
+Like Bates and their employer, neither Mrs. Bates nor Minnie had heard or
+seen anything overnight which suggested that a woman was being foully
+done to death in the grounds attached to the house. As it happened,
+Minnie's bedroom, as well as that occupied by her parents, overlooked the
+lawn and river. Grant's room lay in a gable which commanded, the
+entrance. He had chosen it purposely because it faced the rising sun. The
+other members of the household, therefore, though in bed, had quite as
+good an opportunity as he, working in the dining-room beneath, of having
+their attention drawn to sounds disturbing the peace of the night in a
+quiet and secluded spot. Moreover, none of them was asleep. Minnie Bates,
+in particular, said that the "grandfather's clock" in the hall struck
+twelve before she "could close an eye."
+
+At last, just as Grant was rising from an almost untasted luncheon, Mrs.
+Bates, with a voice of scare, announced "the polis," and P.C. Robinson
+introduced Superintendent Fowler. This time Grant did not resent
+questions. He expected them, and had made up his mind to give full and
+detailed answers. Of course, the finding of the body was again described
+minutely. The superintendent, a man of experience, one whose manner was
+not fox-like and irritating like his subordinate's, paid close attention
+to the face at the window.
+
+"There seems to be little room for doubt that Miss Melhuish did enter
+your grounds about a quarter to eleven last night," he said thoughtfully.
+"You recognized her at once, you say?"
+
+"I imagined so. Until this horrible thing became known I had persuaded
+myself that the vision was a piece of sheer hallucination."
+
+"Let us assume that the lady actually came here, and looked in.
+Evidently, her face was sufficiently familiar that you should know
+instantly who this unusual visitor was. I understand, though, that you
+had not the least notion she was staying in Steynholme?"
+
+"Not the least."
+
+"How long ago is it since you last saw her?"
+
+"Nearly three years."
+
+"You were very well acquainted with her, then, or you could not have
+glanced up from your table, seen someone staring at you through a
+window, and said to yourself, as one may express it:--'That is Adelaide
+Melhuish'."
+
+"We were so well acquainted that I asked the lady to be my wife."
+
+"Ah," said the superintendent.
+
+His placid, unemotional features, however, gave no clew to his
+opinions. Not so P. C. Robinson, who tried to look like a judge,
+whereas he really resembled a bull-terrier who has literally, not
+figuratively, smelt a rat.
+
+Despite his earlier good resolutions, Grant was horribly impatient of
+this inquisition. He admitted that the superintendent was carrying
+through an unpleasant duty as inoffensively as possible, but the attitude
+of the village policeman was irritating in the extreme. Nothing would
+have tended so effectively to relieve his surcharged feelings as to
+supply P. C. Robinson then and there with ample material for establishing
+a charge of assault and battery.
+
+"That is not a remarkable fact, if regarded apart from to-day's
+tragedy," he said, and there was more than a hint of soul-weariness in
+his voice. "Miss Melhuish was a very talented and attractive woman. I
+first met her as the outcome of a suggestion that one of my books should
+be dramatized, a character in the novel being deemed eminently suitable
+for her special role on the stage. The idea came to nothing. She was
+appearing in a successful play at the time, and was rehearsing its
+successor. Meanwhile, I--fell in love with her, I suppose, and she
+certainly encouraged me in the belief that she might accept me. I did
+eventually propose marriage. Then she told me she was married already.
+It was a painful disillusionment--at the time. I only saw her, to speak
+to, once again."
+
+"Did she reveal her husband's name?"
+
+"Yes--a Mr. Ingerman."
+
+The superintendent looked grave. That was a professional trick of his. He
+had never before in his life heard of Mr. Ingerman, but encouraged the
+notion that this gentleman was thoroughly, and not quite favorably, known
+to him. Sometimes it happened that a witness, interpreting this sapient
+look by the light of his or her personal and intimate knowledge, would
+blurt out certain facts, good or bad as the case might be, concerning the
+person under discussion.
+
+But Grant remained obstinately silent as to the qualities of this
+doubtful Ingerman, so Mr. Fowler scribbled the name in a note-book, and
+was particular as to whether it ended in one "n" or two.
+
+Still, he carried other shots in his locker. In fact, Mr. Fowler, had he
+taken in youth to nicer legal subtleties than handcuffs and summonses,
+would have become a shrewd lawyer.
+
+"We'll leave Mr. Ingerman for the moment," he said, implying, of course,
+that on returning to him there might be revelations. "I gather that you
+and Miss Melhuish did not agree, shall I put it? as to the precise
+bearing of the marriage tie on your love affair?"
+
+"I'm afraid I don't quite follow your meaning," and Grant's tone
+stiffened ominously, but his questioner was by no means abashed.
+
+"I have no great acquaintance with the stage or its ways, but I have
+always understood that divorce proceedings among theatrical folk were,
+shall we say? more popular than, in the ordinary walks of life," said
+Mr. Fowler.
+
+Grant's resentment vanished. The superintendent's calm method, his
+interpolated apologies, as it were, for applying the probe, were
+beginning to interest him.
+
+"Your second effort is more successful, superintendent," he said dryly.
+"Miss Melhuish did urge me to obtain her freedom. It was, she thought,
+only a matter of money with Mr. Ingerman, and she would be given material
+for a divorce."
+
+"Ah," murmured Fowler again, as though the discreditable implication
+fitted in exactly with the life history of a noted scoundrel in a written
+_dossier_ then lying in his office. "You objected, may I suggest, to that
+somewhat doubtful means of settling a difficulty?"
+
+"Something of the kind."
+
+Assuredly, Grant did not feel disposed to lay bare his secret feelings
+before this persuasive superintendent and an absurdly conceited village
+constable. Love, to him, was an ideal, a blend of mortal passion and
+immortal fire. But the flame kindled on that secret altar had scorched
+and seared his soul in a wholly unforeseen way. The discovery that
+Adelaide Melhuish was another man's wife had stunned him. It was not
+until the fire of sacrifice had died into parched ashes that its earlier
+banality became clear. He realized then that he had given his love to a
+phantom. By one of nature's miracles a vain and selfish creature was
+gifted in the artistic portrayal of the finer emotions. He had worshiped
+the actress, the mimic, not the woman herself. At any rate, that was how
+he read the repellent notion that he should bargain with any man for the
+sale of a wife.
+
+"You might be a trifle more explicit, Mr. Grant," said the
+superintendent, almost reproachfully.
+
+"In what direction? Surely a three-years-old love affair can have little
+practical bearing on Miss Melhuish's death?"
+
+"What, then, may I ask, could bear on it more forcibly? The lady
+admittedly visits you, late at night, and is found dead in a river
+bordering the grounds of your house next morning, all the conditions
+pointing directly to murder. Moreover--it is no secret, as the truth must
+come out at the inquest--she had passed a good deal of her time while in
+Steynholme, unknown to you, in making inquiries concerning you, your
+habits, your surroundings, your friends. Surely, Mr. Grant, you must see
+that the history of your relations with this lady, though, if I may use
+the phrase, perfectly innocent, may possibly supply that which is at
+present lacking--a clew, shall I term it, to the motive which inspired
+the man, or woman, who killed her?"
+
+P.C. Robinson was all an eye and an ear for this verbal fencing-match.
+It was not that he admired his superior's skill, because such finesse
+was wholly beyond him, but his suspicious brain was storing up Grant's
+admissions "to be used in evidence" against him subsequently. His own
+brief record of the conversation would have been:--"The prisoner, after
+being duly cautioned, said he kept company with the deceased about
+three years ago, but quarreled with her on hearing that she was a
+married woman."
+
+The superintendent seldom indulged in so long a speech, but he was
+determined to force his adversary's guard, and sought to win his
+confidence by describing the probable course to be pursued by the
+coroner's inquest. But Grant, like the dead actress, had two sides to his
+nature. He was both an idealist and a stubborn fighter, and ideality had
+been shattered for many a day by that grewsome object hauled in that
+morning from the depths of the river.
+
+"I am willing to help in any shape or form, but can only repeat that
+Miss Melhuish and I parted as described. I should add that I have never,
+to my knowledge, met her husband."
+
+"He may be dead."
+
+"Possibly. You may know more about him than I."
+
+"Even then, we have not traveled far as yet."
+
+Fowler was puzzled, and did not hesitate to show it. He believed, not
+without reasonable cause, that this young man was concealing some element
+in the situation which might prove helpful in the quest for the murderer.
+He resolved to strike off along a new track.
+
+"I am informed," he went on, speaking with a deliberateness meant to
+be impressive, "that you did entertain another lady as a visitor
+last night."
+
+Grant allowed his glance to dwell on Robinson for an instant. Hitherto he
+had ignored the man. Now he surveyed him as if he were a viper.
+
+"It will be a peculiarly offensive thing if the personality of a helpless
+and unoffending girl is brought into this inquiry," he cried. "'Brought
+in' is too mild--I ought to say 'dragged in.' As it happens, astronomy is
+one of my hobbies. Last evening, as the outcome of a chat on the subject,
+Doris Martin, daughter of the local postmaster, came here to view Sirius
+through an astronomical telescope. There is the instrument," and he
+pointed through P.C. Robinson to a telescope on a tripod in a corner of
+the room. The gesture was eloquent. The burly policeman might have been a
+sheet of glass. "As you see, it is a solid article, not easily lifted
+about. It weighs nearly a hundred-weight."
+
+"Why is it so heavy?"
+
+The superintendent had a knack of putting seemingly irrelevant questions.
+Robinson had been disconcerted by it earlier in the day, but Grant seemed
+to treat the interruption as a sensible one.
+
+"For observation purposes an astronomical telescope is not of much use
+unless the movement of the earth is counteracted," he said. "Usually, the
+dome of an observatory swings on a specially contrived axis, but that is
+a very expensive structure, so my telescope is governed by a clockwork
+attachment and moves on its own axis."
+
+Mr. Fowler nodded. He was really a very well informed man for a country
+police-officer; he understood clearly.
+
+"Miss Martin came here about a quarter to ten," continued Grant, "and
+left within three-quarters of an hour. She did not enter the house. She
+was watching Sirius while I explained the methods whereby the distance of
+any star from the earth is computed and its chemical analysis
+determined--"
+
+"Most instructive, I'm sure," put in the superintendent.
+
+He smiled genially, so genially that Grant dismissed the notion that the
+other might, in vulgar parlance, be pulling his leg.
+
+"Well, that is the be-all and end-all of Miss Martin's presence. It would
+be cruel, and unfair, if a girl of her age were forced into a distasteful
+prominence in connection with a crime with which she is no more related
+than with Sirius itself."
+
+The older man shook his head in regretful dissent.
+
+"That is just where you and I differ," he said. "That very point leads us
+back to your past friendship with the dead woman."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Surely you see, Mr. Grant, that Miss Melhuish might be, probably was,
+watching your star-gazing, especially as your pupil chanced to be, shall
+I say, a remarkably attractive young lady ... No, no," for Grant's anger
+was unmistakable--"It does no good to blaze out in protest. An unhappy
+combination of circumstances must be faced candidly. Here are you and a
+pretty girl together in a garden at a rather late hour, and a woman whom
+you once wanted to marry spying on you, in all likelihood. I've met a few
+coroner's juries in my time, and not one of them but would deem the
+coincidence strange, to put it mildly."
+
+"What in Heaven's name are you driving at?"
+
+"You must not impute motives, sir. I am seeking them, not
+supplying them."
+
+"But what am I to say?"
+
+"Perhaps you will now tell me just how Miss Melhuish and you parted."
+
+The fencers were coming to close quarters. Even P. C. Robinson had to
+admit that his "boss" had cornered the suspect rather cleverly.
+
+Grant realized that there was no room for squeamishness in this affair.
+If he did not speak out now, his motives might be woefully misunderstood.
+
+"We parted in wrath and tears," he said sadly. "Miss Melhuish could not,
+or did not, appreciate my scruples. She professed to be in love with me.
+She even went so far as to threaten suicide. I--hardly believed in her
+sincerity, but thought it advisable to temporize, and asked for a few
+days' delay before we came to a final decision. We met again, as I have
+said, and discussed matters in calmer mood. Ultimately, she professed
+agreement with my point of view, and we parted, ostensibly to remain good
+friends, but really to separate for ever."
+
+"Thank you. That's better. What _was_ your point of view, Mr. Grant?"
+
+"Surely I have made it clear. I could not regard my wife as purchasable.
+The proposed compact was, I believe, illegal. But that consideration did
+not sway me. I had been dreaming, and thought I was roaming in an
+enchanted garden. I awoke, and found myself in a morass."
+
+The superintendent nodded again. Singularly enough, Grant's somewhat
+high-flown simile appeared to satisfy his craving for light.
+
+"Do you mind telling me--is there another woman?" he demanded, with one
+of those rapid transitions of topic in which he excelled.
+
+"No," said Grant.
+
+"You see what I am aiming at. Let us suppose that Miss Melhuish never, in
+her own mind, abandoned the hope that some day the tangle would
+straighten itself. Women are constituted that way. If her husband is now
+dead, and she became free, she might wish to renew the old ties, but,
+being proud, would want to ascertain first whether or not any other woman
+had come into your life."
+
+"I follow perfectly," said Grant, with some bitterness. "She would be
+consumed with jealousy because my companion in the garden last night
+happened to be a charming girl of nineteen."
+
+"It is possible."
+
+"So she went off and got someone to kill her, and tie her body with a
+rope, and arrange a dramatic setting whereby it would be patent to the
+meanest intelligence that I was the criminal?"
+
+Mr. Fowler smiled, and looked fixedly at P.C. Robinson.
+
+"No, no," he said, quite good-humoredly. "That would be carrying realism
+to extremes. Still, I am convinced, Mr. Grant, that this mystery is bound
+up in some way with your romance of three years ago. At present, I admit,
+I am working in the dark."
+
+He rose. Apparently, the interview was at an end. But, while pocketing
+his note-book, he said suddenly:--
+
+"The inquest will open at three o'clock tomorrow. You will be present, of
+course, Mr. Grant?"
+
+"I suppose it is necessary."
+
+"Oh, yes. You found the body, you know. Besides, you may be the only
+person who can give evidence of identity. In fact, you and the doctor
+will be the only witnesses called."
+
+"Dr. Foxton?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Has he made a post-mortem?"
+
+"He is doing so now. You see, there is clear indication that this
+unfortunate lady was struck a heavy blow, perhaps killed, before she was
+put in the river."
+
+"Good Heavens! Somehow, I was so stunned that I never thought of looking
+for signs of any injury of that sort."
+
+Grant's horror-stricken air was so spontaneous that it probably justified
+the severe test of that unexpected disclosure. He was so unnerved by it
+that the two policemen had gone before he could frame another question.
+
+Once they were in the open road, and well away from The Hollies,
+Robinson ventured to open his mouth.
+
+"He's a clever one is Mr. Grant," he said meaningly. "You handled him a
+bit of all right, sir, but he didn't tell you everything he knew, not by
+long chalks."
+
+The superintendent walked a few yards in silence. Even when he spoke, his
+gaze was introspective, and seemed to ignore his companion.
+
+"I'm inclined to agree with you, Robinson," he said, speaking very
+slowly. "We have a big case in our hands, a very big case. We must tread
+warily. You, in particular, mixing with the village folk, should listen
+to all but say nothing. Don't depend on your memory. Write down what you
+hear and see. People's actual words, and the exact time of an occurrence,
+often have an extraordinarily illuminating effect when weighed
+subsequently. But don't let Mr. Grant think you suspect him. There is no
+occasion for that--yet."
+
+Mr. Fowler could be either blunt or cryptic in speech at will. In one
+mood he was the straightforward, outspoken official; in another the
+potential lawyer. P.C. Robinson, though unable to describe his chief's
+erratic qualities, was unpleasantly aware of them. He was not quite
+sure, for instance, whether the superintendent was encouraging or
+warning him, but, being a dogged person, resolved to "take his own
+line," and stick to it.
+
+Grant passed a distressful day. Work was not to be thought of, and
+reading was frankly impossible. His mind dwelt constantly on the tragedy
+which had come so swiftly and completely into his ordered life. He could
+not wholly discard the nebulous theory suggested by Superintendent
+Fowler, but the more he surveyed it the less reasonable it seemed. The
+one outstanding fact in a chaos of doubt was that someone had
+deliberately done Adelaide Melhuish to death. The murderer had been
+actuated by a motive. What was that motive? Surely, in a place like
+Steynholme no man could come and go without being seen, and the murderer
+must be a stranger to the district, because it was ridiculous to imagine
+that he was one of the residents.
+
+Yet that was exactly what a dunderheaded policeman believed. P.C.
+Robinson had revealed himself by many a covert glance and prick-eared
+movement. Grant squirmed uneasily at the crass conceit, as there was no
+denying that circumstances tended towards a certain doubt, if no more, in
+regard to his own association with the crime.
+
+The admission called for a fierce struggle with his pride, but he forced
+himself to think the problem out in all its bearings, and the folly of
+adopting the legendary policy of the chased ostrich became manifest.
+What, then, should he do? He thought, at first, of invoking the aid of a
+barrister friend, who could watch the inquest in his behalf.
+
+Nevertheless, he shrank from that step, which, to his super-sensitive
+nature, implied the need of legal protection, and he fiercely resented
+the mere notion of such a thing. But something must be done. Once the
+murderer was laid by the heels his own troubles would vanish, and the
+storm raised by the unhappy fate of Adelaide Melhuish would subside into
+a sad memory.
+
+He was wrestling with indecision when a newspaper reporter called. Grant
+received the journalist promptly, and told him all the salient facts,
+suppressing only the one-time prospect of a marriage between himself and
+the famous actress.
+
+The reporter went with him to the river, and scrutinized the marks, now
+rapidly becoming obliterated, of the body having been drawn ashore.
+
+"The rope and iron staple, I understand, were taken from the premises of
+a man who lets boats for hire on the dam quarter of a mile away," he
+said casually.
+
+Grant was astounded at his own failure to make any inquiry whatsoever
+concerning this vital matter. He laughed grimly.
+
+"You can imagine the state of my mind," he said, "when I assure you
+that, until this moment, it never occurred to me even to ask where these
+articles came from or what had become of them."
+
+"I can sympathize with you," said the journalist. "A brutal murder seems
+horribly out of place in this environment. It is a mysterious business
+altogether. I wonder if Scotland Yard will take it up."
+
+Grant surprised him by clapping him on the back.
+
+"By Jove, my friend, the very thing! Of course, such an investigation
+requires bigger brains than our local police are endowed with. Scotland
+Yard _must_ take it up. I'll wire there at once. If necessary, I'll pay
+all expenses."
+
+The newspaper man had his doubts. The "Yard," he said, acted in the
+provinces only if appealed to by the authorities directly concerned. But
+Grant was not to be stayed by a trifle like that. He hurried to the post
+office, hoping that Doris Martin might walk back with him.
+
+The girl and her father were busy behind the counter when he entered. He
+noticed that Doris was rather pale. She was about to attend to him, but
+Mr. Martin intervened. It struck Grant that the postmaster was purposely
+preventing his daughter from speaking to him.
+
+For some inexplicable reason, he felt miserably tongue-tied, and was
+content to write a message to the Chief Commissioner of Police, London,
+asking that a skilled detective should be sent forthwith to Steynholme.
+
+Mr. Martin read it gravely, stated the cost, and procured the requisite
+stamps. In the event, Grant quitted the place without exchanging a word
+with Doris, while her father, usually a chatty man, said not a syllable
+beyond what was barely needed.
+
+As he passed down the hill and by the side of the Green he was aware of
+being covertly watched by many eyes. He saw P.C. Robinson peering from
+behind a curtained window. Siddle, the chemist, came to the shop door,
+and looked after him. Hobbs, the butcher, ceased sharpening a knife and
+gazed out. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds Inn, surveyed him from
+the "snug."
+
+These things were not gracious. Indeed, they were positively maddening.
+He went home, gave an emphatic order that no one, except Miss Martin, if
+she called, was to be admitted and savagely buried himself in a treatise
+on earth-tides.
+
+But that day of events had not finished for him yet. He had, perforce,
+eaten a good meal, and was thinking of going to the post office in order
+to clear up an undoubted misapprehension in Mr. Martin's mind, when
+Minnie Bates came with a card.
+
+"If you please, sir," said the girl, "this gentleman is very pressing.
+He says he's sure you'll give him an interview when you see his name."
+
+So Grant looked, and read:--
+
+
+MR. ISIDOR G. INGERMAN
+
+_Prince's Chambers, London, W._
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+A CABAL
+
+
+Grant stared again at the card. A tiny silver bell seemed to tinkle a
+sort of warning in a recess of his brain. The name was not engraved in
+copper-plate, but printed in heavy type. Somehow, it looked ominous. His
+first impression was to bid Minnie send the man away. He distrusted any
+first impression. It was the excuse of mediocrity, a sign of weakness.
+Moreover, why shouldn't he meet Isidor G. Ingerman?
+
+"Show him in," he said, almost gruffly, thus silencing shy intuition, as
+it were. He threw the card on the table.
+
+Mr. Ingerman entered. He did not offer any conventional greeting, but
+nodded, or bowed. Grant could not be sure which form of salutation was
+intended, because the visitor promptly sat down, uninvited.
+
+Minnie hesitated at the door. Her master's callers were usually cheerful
+Bohemians, who chatted at sight. Then she caught Grant's eye, and went
+out, banging the door in sheer nervousness.
+
+Still Mr. Ingerman did not speak. If this was a pose on his part, he
+erred. Grant had passed through a trying day, but he owned the muscles
+and nerves of an Alpine climber, and had often stared calmly down a wall
+of rock and ice which he had just conquered, when the least slip would
+have meant being dashed to pieces two thousand feet below.
+
+There was some advantage, too, in this species of stage wait. It enabled
+him to take the measure of Adelaide Melhuish's husband, if, indeed, the
+visitor was really the man he professed to be.
+
+At first sight, Isidor G. Ingerman was not a prepossessing person.
+Indeed, it would be safe to assume that if, by some trick of fortune, he
+and not Grant were the tenant of The Hollies, P.C. Robinson would have
+haled him to the village lock-up that very morning. It was not that he
+was villainous-looking, but rather that he looked capable of villainy. He
+was a tall, slender, rather stooping man, with a decidedly well-molded,
+if hawk-like, face. His aspect might be described as saturnine. Possibly,
+when he smiled, this morose expression would vanish, and then he might
+even win a favorable opinion. He had brilliant black eyes, close set, and
+an abundant crop of black hair, turning gray, which, in itself, lent an
+air of distinction. His lips were thin, his chin slightly prominent. He
+was well dressed, and managed a hat, stick, and gloves with ease.
+Altogether, he reminded Grant of a certain notable actor who is
+invariably cast for the role of a gentlemanly scoundrel, but who, in
+private life, is a most excellent fellow and good citizen. Oddly enough,
+Grant recognized in him, too, the type of man who would certainly have
+appealed to Adelaide Melhuish in her earlier and impressionable years.
+
+Meanwhile, the visitor, finding that the clear-eyed young man seated in
+an easy chair (from which he had not risen) could seemingly regard him
+with blank indifference during the next hour, thought fit to say
+something.
+
+"Is my name familiar to you, Mr. Grant?" he inquired.
+
+The voice was astonishingly soft and pleasant, and the accent agreeably
+refined. Evidently, there were surprising points about Mr. Ingerman. Long
+afterwards, Grant learned, by chance, that the man had been an actor
+before branching off into that mysterious cosmopolitan profession known
+as "a financier."
+
+"No," said Grant. "I have heard it very few times. Once, about three
+years ago, and today, when I mentioned it to the police."
+
+The other man's sallow cheeks grew a shade more sallow. Grant supposed
+that this slight change of color indicated annoyance. Of course, the
+association of ideas in that curt answer was intolerably rude. But Grant
+had been tried beyond endurance that day. He was in a mood to be brusque
+with an archbishop.
+
+"We can disregard your confidences, or explanations, to the
+police," said Ingerman smoothly. "Three years ago, I suppose, my
+wife spoke of me?"
+
+"If you mean Miss Adelaide Melhuish--yes."
+
+"I do mean her. To be exact, I mean the lady who was murdered outside
+this house last night."
+
+Grant realized instantly that Isidor G. Ingerman was a foeman worthy of
+even a novelist's skill in repartee. Thus far, he, Grant, had been merely
+uncivil, using a bludgeon for wit, whereas the visitor was making play
+with a finely-tempered rapier.
+
+"Now that you have established your identity, Mr. Ingerman, perhaps you
+will tell me why you are here," he said.
+
+"I have come to Steynholme to inquire into my wife's death."
+
+"A most laudable purpose. I was given to understand, however, that at one
+time you took little interest in her living. I have not seen Mrs.
+Ingerman for three years--until last night, that is--so there is a
+chance, of course, that husband and wife may have adjusted their
+differences. Is that so?"
+
+"Until last night!" repeated Ingerman, almost in a startled tone. "You
+admit that?"
+
+Grant turned and pointed.
+
+"I saw, or fancied I saw, her face at that window," he said. "She
+looked in on me about ten minutes to eleven. I was hard at work, but
+the vision, as it seemed then, was so weird and unexpected, that I went
+straight out and searched for her. Perhaps 'searched' is not quite the
+right word. To be exact, I opened the French window, stood there, and
+listened. Then I persuaded myself that I was imagining a vain thing,
+and came in."
+
+"What was she doing here?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"She arrived in Steynholme on Sunday evening, I am told."
+
+"I heard that, too."
+
+"You imply that you did not meet her?"
+
+"No need to imply anything, Mr. Ingerman. I did not meet her. Beyond
+the fanciful notion that I had seen her ghost last night, the first I
+knew of her presence in the village was when I recognized her dead body
+this morning."
+
+"Strange as it may sound, I am inclined to believe you."
+
+Grant said nothing. He wanted to get up and pitch Ingerman into the road.
+
+"But who else will take that charitable view?" purred the other, in
+that suave voice which so ill accorded with his thin lips and slightly
+hooked nose.
+
+"I really don't care," was the weary answer.
+
+"Not at the moment, perhaps. You have had a trying day, no doubt. My
+visit at its close cannot be helpful. But--"
+
+"I am feeling rather tired mentally," interrupted Grant, "so you will
+oblige me by not raising too many points at once. Why should you imagine
+that conversation with you in particular should add to my supposed
+distress?"
+
+"Doesn't it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why, then, may I ask, do you so obviously resent my questions? Who has
+so much right to put them as I?"
+
+Grant found that he must bestir himself. Thus far, the honors lay with
+this rather sinister-looking yet quiet-mannered visitor.
+
+"I am sorry if anything I have said lends color to that belief," he
+answered. "Candidly, I began by assuming that you forfeited any legal
+right years ago to interfere in behalf of Miss Melhuish, living or dead.
+Let us, at least, be candid with each other. Miss Melhuish herself told
+me that you and she had separated by mutual consent."
+
+"Allow me to emulate your candor. The actual fact is that you weaned my
+wife's affections from me."
+
+"That is a downright lie," said Grant coolly.
+
+Ingerman's peculiar temperament permitted him to treat this grave
+insult far more lightly than Grant's harmless, if irritating, reference
+to the police.
+
+"Let us see just what 'a lie' signifies," he said, almost judicially. "If
+a lady deserts her husband, and there is good reason to suspect that she
+is, in popular phrase, 'carrying on' with another man, how can the
+husband be lying if he charges that man with being the cause of the
+domestic upheaval?"
+
+"In this instance a hypothetical case is not called for. Three years ago,
+Mr. Ingerman, you had parted from your wife. Your name was never
+mentioned. Apparently, none in my circle had even heard of you. Miss
+Melhuish had won repute as a celebrated actress. I met her, in a sense,
+professionally. We became friends. I fancied I was in love with her. I
+proposed marriage. Then, and not until then, did the ghost of Mr."--Grant
+bent forward, and consulted the card--"Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman intrude."
+
+"So marriage was out of the question?"
+
+"If you expect an answer--yes."
+
+Ingerman rested the handle of his stick against his lips.
+
+"That isn't how the situation was represented to me at the time," he said
+thoughtfully.
+
+Grant was still sore with the recollection of the way in which the
+superintendent of police had forced him to confess the pitiful scheme
+whereby a woman in love had sought to gain her ends. He refused to sully
+her memory a second time that day, even to gain the upper hand in this
+troublesome controversy.
+
+"I neither know nor care what representations may have been made to you,"
+he retorted. "I merely tell you the literal truth."
+
+"Possibly. Possibly. It was not I who used the word 'lie,' remember. But
+if you are ungracious enough to refuse to withdraw the offensive phrase,
+let it pass. We are not in France. This deadly business will be fought
+out in the law courts. I am here to-night of my own initiative. I thought
+it only fair and reasonable that you and I should meet before we are
+brought face to face at a coroner's inquest, and, it may be, in an Assize
+Court.... No, no, Mr. Grant. Pray do not put the worst construction on my
+words. _Someone_ murdered my wife. If the police show intelligence and
+reasonable skill, _someone_ will be tried for the crime. You and I will
+certainly be witnesses. That is what I meant to convey. The doubt in my
+mind was this--whether to be actively hostile or passively friendly to
+the man who, next to me, was interested in the poor woman now lying dead
+in a wretched stable of this village."
+
+The almost diabolical cleverness of this long speech, delivered without
+heat and with singularly adroit stress on various passages, was revealed
+by its effect on Grant. He was at once infuriated and puzzled. Ingerman
+was playing him as a fisherman humors a well-hooked salmon. The simile
+actually occurred to him, and he resolved to precipitate matters by
+coming straightway to the landing-net.
+
+"Is your friendship purchasable?" he inquired, making the rush without
+further preamble.
+
+"My wife was, I was led to believe," came the calm retort.
+
+Grant threw scruples to the wind now. Adelaide Mulhuish was being
+defamed, not by him, but by her husband.
+
+"We are at cross purposes," he said, weighing each word. "Your wife, who
+knew your character fairly well, I am convinced, thought that you were
+open to receive a cash consideration for your connivance in a divorce."
+
+"She had told me plainly that she would never live with me again. I was
+too fair-minded a man to place obstacles in the way when she wished to
+regain her freedom."
+
+"So it was true, then. What was the price? One thousand--two? I am not a
+millionaire."
+
+"Nor am I. As a mere matter of pounds, shillings, and pence, it was a
+serious matter for me when my wife's earnings ceased to come into the
+common stock."
+
+"My first, if rather vague, estimate of you was the correct one. You are
+a good bit of a scoundrel, and, if I guess rightly, a would-be
+blackmailer."
+
+"You are talking at random, Mr. Grant. The levying of blackmail connotes
+that the person bled desires that some discreditable, or dangerous, fact
+should be concealed."
+
+"Such is not my position."
+
+"I--I wonder."
+
+"I can relieve you of any oppressive doubt. I informed the police some
+few hours ago that you have appeared already in a similar role."
+
+"Oh, you did, did you?" snarled Ingerman, suddenly abandoning his pose,
+and gazing at Grant with a curiously snakelike glint in his black eyes.
+
+"Yes. It interested them, I fancied."
+
+Grant was sure of his man now, and rather relieved that the battle of
+wits was turning in his favor.
+
+"So you have begun already to scheme your defense?"
+
+"Hadn't you better go?" was the contemptuous retort.
+
+"You refuse to answer any further questions?"
+
+"I refuse to buy your proffered friendship--whatever that may mean."
+
+"Have I offered to sell it?"
+
+"I gathered as much."
+
+Ingerman rose. He was still master of himself, though his lanky body was
+taut with rage. He spoke calmly and with remarkable restraint.
+
+"Go through what I have said, and discover, if you can, the slightest
+hint of any suggested condonation of your offenses, whether avowed or
+merely suspected. I shall prove beyond dispute that you came between me
+and my wife. Don't hug the delusion that your three years' limit will
+save you. It will not. I wish you well of your attempt to prove that I
+was a consenting party to divorce proceedings. I came here to look you
+over. I have done so, and have arrived at a very definite opinion. I,
+also, have been interviewed by the police, and any unfavorable views they
+may have formed concerning me as the outcome of your ex parte statements
+are more than counteracted by the ugly facts of a ghastly murder. You
+were here shortly before eleven o'clock last night. My wife was here,
+too, and alive. This morning she was found dead, by you. At eleven
+o'clock last night I was playing bridge with three city men in my flat.
+When the news of the murder reached me to-day my first thought, after the
+shock of it had passed, was:--'That fellow, Grant, may be innocently
+involved in a terrible crime, and I may figure as the chief witness
+against him.' I am not speaking idly, as you will learn to your cost.
+Yet, when I come on an errand of mercy, you have the impudence to charge
+me with blackmail. You are in for a great awakening. Be sure of that!"
+
+And Isidor G. Ingerman walked out, leaving Grant uncomfortably aware that
+he had not seen the last of an implacable and bitter enemy.
+
+It was something new and very disturbing for a writer to find himself in
+the predicament of a man with an absolutely clear conscience yet
+perilously near the meshes of the criminal law. He had often analyzed
+such a situation in his books, but fiction diverged so radically from
+hard fact that the sensation was profoundly disconcerting, to say the
+least. He did not go to the post office. He was not equal to any more
+verbal fire-works that evening. So he lit a pipe, and reviewed Ingerman's
+well-rounded periods very carefully, even taking the precaution to jot
+down exact, phrases. He analyzed them, and saw that they were capable of
+two readings. Of course, it could not be otherwise. The plausible rascal
+must have conned them over until this essential was secured. Grant even
+went so far as to give them a grudging professional tribute. They held a
+canker of doubt, too, which it was difficult to dissect. Their veiled
+threats were perplexing. While their effect, as apart from literal
+significance, was fresh in his mind, he made a few notes of different
+interpretations.
+
+He went to bed rather early, but could not sleep until the small hours.
+Probably his rest, such as it was, would have been even more disturbed
+had he been able to accompany Ingerman to the Hare and Hounds Inn.
+
+A small but select company had gathered in the bar parlor. The two hours
+between eight and ten were the most important of the day to the landlord,
+Mr. Tomlin. It was then that he imparted and received the tit-bits of
+local gossip garnered earlier, the process involving a good deal of play
+with shining beer-handles and attractively labeled bottles.
+
+But this was a special occasion. Never before had there been a
+Steynholme murder before the symposium. Hitherto, such a grewsome topic
+was supplied, for the most part, by faraway London. To-night the
+eeriness and dramatic intensity of a notable crime lay at the very doors
+of the village.
+
+So Tomlin was more portentous than usual; Hobbs, the butcher, more
+assertive, Elkin, the "sporty" breeder of polo ponies, more inclined to
+"lay odds" on any conceivable subject, and Siddle, the chemist, a
+reserved man at the best, even less disposed to voice a definite opinion.
+
+Elkin was about twenty-five years of age, Siddle looked younger than his
+probable thirty-five years, while the others were on the stout and
+prosperous line of fifty.
+
+They were discussing the murder, of course, when Ingerman entered, and
+ordered a whiskey and soda. Instantly there was dead silence. Looks and
+furtive winks were exchanged. There had been talk of a detective being
+employed. Perhaps this was he. Mr. Tomlin knew the stranger's name, as he
+had taken a room, but that was the extent of the available information.
+
+"A fine evenin', sir," said Tomlin, drawing a cork noisily. "Looks as
+though we were in for a spell o' settled weather."
+
+"Yes," agreed Ingerman, summing up the conclave at a glance. "Somehow,
+such a lovely night ill accords with the cause of my visit to
+Steynholme."
+
+"In-deed, sir?"
+
+"Well, you and these other gentlemen may judge for yourselves. It will
+be no secret tomorrow. I am the husband of the lady who was found in the
+river outside Mr. Grant's residence this morning."
+
+Sensation, as the descriptive reporters put it. Mr. Tomlin was dumbly but
+unanimously elected chairman of the meeting, and was vaguely aware of his
+responsibilities. He drew himself a fresh glass of bitter.
+
+"You don't tell me, sir!" he gasped. "Well, the idee! The pore lady's
+letters were addressed to Miss Adelaide Melhuish. Perhaps you don't know,
+sir, that she stayed here!"
+
+"Oh, yes. I was told that by the local police-constable. Have I, by any
+chance, been given her room?"
+
+"No, sir. Not likely. It's locked, and the police have the key till the
+inquest is done with."
+
+"As for the name," explained Ingerman, in his suave voice, "that was a
+mere stage pseudonym, an adopted name. My wife was a famous actress, and
+there is a sort of tacit agreement that a lady in the theatrical
+profession shall be known to the public as 'Miss' rather than 'Mrs.'"
+
+"Well, there!" wheezed Tomlin. "Who'd ever ha' thought it?"
+
+The landlord was not quite rising to the occasion. He was, in fact,
+stunned by these repeated shocks. So Hobbs took charge.
+
+"It's a sad errand you're on, sir," he said. "Death comes to all of us,
+man an' beast alike, but it's a terrible thing when a lady like Miss--
+Mrs. ----"
+
+"Ingerman is my name, but my wife will certainly be alluded to by the
+press as Miss Melhuish."
+
+"When a lady like Miss Melhuish is knocked on the 'ead like a--"
+
+Mr. Hobbs hesitated again. He also felt that the situation was rather
+beyond him.
+
+"But my wife was flung into the river and drowned," said Ingerman sadly.
+
+"No, sir. She was killed fust. It was a brutal business, so I'm told."
+
+"Do you mean that she was struck, her skull battered?" came the demand,
+in an awed and soul-thrilling whisper.
+
+"Yes, sir. An' the wust thing is, none of us can guess who could
+ha' done it."
+
+"Lay yer five quid to one, Hobbs, that the police cop the scoundrel afore
+this day fortnight," cried Elkin noisily.
+
+Then Mr. Siddle put in a mild word.
+
+"Gentlemen," he said, "let me remind you that we four will probably be
+jurors at the inquest."
+
+That was a sobering thought. Elkin subsided, and Hobbs looked critically
+at the remains of a gill of beer.
+
+Ingerman took stock of the chemist. He might easily induce the others to
+believe that Grant was the real criminal, but the quiet man in the black
+morning-coat and striped cloth trousers was of finer metal. He knew
+instantly that if he could persuade this one "probable juror" of Grant's
+guilt, the remainder would follow his lead like a flock of sheep.
+
+But there was no need to hurry. Next day's inquest would be a mere
+formality. The real struggle would begin a week or a fortnight later.
+
+"You have said a very wise thing, sir," he murmured appreciatively. "Even
+my feelings must be kept under better control. But this is no ordinary
+murder. Before it is cleared up there will be astounding revelations.
+Mark the word--astounding."
+
+Hobbs, whose heavy cheeks were of a brick-red tint, almost startled the
+conclave by a sudden outburst which gave him an apoplectic appearance.
+
+"You're too kind'earted, Siddle," he cried. "Wot's the use of talkin'
+rubbish. We all know where the body was found. We all know that Doris
+Martin an' Mr. Grant were a'sweet-'eartin' in the garden--"
+
+"Look here, Hobbs, just keep Doris Martin's name out of it!" shouted
+Elkin, smiting the table with his fist till the glasses danced.
+
+"Gentlemen!" protested Siddle gently.
+
+"It's all dashed fine, but I'm not--" blustered Elkin. He yielded to
+Ingerman's outstretched hand.
+
+"I seem to have brought discord into a friendly gathering," came the
+mournful comment. "Such was far from being my intent. Landlord, the round
+is on me, with cigars. Now, let us talk of anything but this horror. If I
+forget myself again, pull me up short, and fine me another round."
+
+Siddle half rose, but thought better of it. Evidently, he meant to use
+his influence to stop foolish chatter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE SEEDS OP MISCHIEF
+
+
+Ingerman was a shrewder judge of human nature than the village chemist.
+As well try to stem the flowing tide as stop tongues from wagging when
+such a theme offered.
+
+Tomlin created a momentary diversion by clattering in the bar. After this
+professional interlude, Ingerman ignored his own compact.
+
+"I'm sure you local residents will be interested, at least, in hearing
+something of my wife's career," he said. "There never was a more lovable
+and gracious woman, and no couple could be more united than she and I
+till some three years ago. Then came a break. She was independent of me,
+of course. She was a celebrity, I a mere nobody, best known, if at all,
+as 'Miss Melhuish's husband.' Nevertheless, we were devoted to each other
+until, to her and my lasting misfortune, a certain author wrote a book
+which, when dramatized, contained a part for which my wife's stage
+presence and talents seemed to be peculiarly suited."
+
+Siddle stirred uneasily, but the others were still as partridges in
+stubble. Ingerman did not intend to alarm the shy bird of the
+covey, however.
+
+"I name no names," he said solemnly. "Nor am I telling you anything that
+will not be thoroughly exposed before the coroner and elsewhere. From
+that unhappy period dated our estrangement. My wife fell under a fatal
+influence which lasted, practically unchecked, until the day, if not the
+very hour, of her death. Do I blame her? No--a thousand times no! You see
+me, a plain man, considerably her senior. _I_ had not the gift of writing
+impassioned love passages in which she could display her artistic genius.
+When I came home from the City, tired after the day's work, _she_ was
+just beginning hers. You know what London fashionable life is--the
+theater, a supper, a dance, some great lady's 'reception,' and the rest
+of it. Ah, me! The stage, and literature, and the arts generally are not
+for poor fellows moiling in a City office. You gentlemen, I take it, are
+all happily married--"
+
+"I'm not," said Elkin, "but I'll lay you long odds I will be soon."
+
+For some reason, this remark produced a certain uneasiness among his
+friends. Tomlin stared at the ash of one of the cigars "stood" by this
+talkative Londoner; Hobbs, whose glass had reached a low level again,
+examined the dregs almost fiercely; and Siddle seemed to be about to say
+something, but, with his usual restraint, kept silent. Then Ingerman made
+a very shrewd guess, and wondered who Doris Martin was, and what Hobbs's
+cryptic allusion had meant.
+
+"Good luck to you, sir," he said, "but--take no offense--don't marry an
+actress. There's an old adage, 'Birds of a feather flock together.' I
+would go farther, and interpolate the word 'should.' If Adelaide Melhuish
+had never met me, but had married the man who could write her plays, this
+tragedy in real life would never have been."
+
+"D--n him," muttered Elkin fiercely. "He's done for now, anyhow. He'll
+turn no more girls' heads for a bit."
+
+"An' five minutes since you yapped at me like a vicious fox-terrier for
+'intin' much the same thing," chortled Hobbs.
+
+Siddle stood up.
+
+"You ain't goin', Mr. Siddle?" went on the butcher. "It's 'ardly 'arf
+past nine."
+
+"I have some accounts to get out. It's near the half year, you know," and
+Siddle vanished unobtrusively.
+
+Hobbs shook his head, and gazed at Elkin as though the latter was a
+refractory bullock.
+
+"Siddle's a fair-minded chap," he said. "He can't stand 'earin' any of us
+'angin' a man without a fair trial."
+
+Ingerman had marked the chemist for more subtle treatment when an
+opportunity arose, or could be made. At present, he was not sorry such a
+restraining influence was removed. The next half hour should prove a
+golden one if well utilized. He was right. Before the inn was cleared,
+what between Elkin's savage comments and the other men's thinly-veiled
+allusions, he knew all that Steynholme could tell with regard to Grant
+and Doris Martin.
+
+Grant's first thought next morning was of the girl who had been thrust so
+prominently into his life by the death of another woman. That was,
+perhaps, the strangest outcome of the tragedy. Doris was easily the
+prettiest and most intelligent girl in the village, a rare combination in
+itself, even among young ladies of much higher social position than a
+postmaster's daughter. But her father was a self-educated man, whose life
+had been given to books, whose only hobby was the culture and study of
+bees. He had often refused promotion, solely because his duties at
+Steynholme were light, and permitted of many free hours. In his only
+child he found a quick pupil and a sympathetic helper. Of her own accord
+she took to poetry and music. In effect, had Doris Martin attended the
+best of boarding-schools and training colleges, she would have received a
+smattering of French and a fair knowledge of the piano or violin,
+whereas, after more humble tuition, it might fairly be said of her that
+few girls of her age had read so many books and assimilated their
+contents so thoroughly. From her mother she inherited her good looks and
+a small yearly income, just sufficient to maintain a better wardrobe
+than her father's salary would permit.
+
+Grant, newly settled in Steynholme, found the postmaster and his daughter
+intellectually on a par with himself, and this claim could certainly not
+be made on behalf of the local "society" element. The three became
+excellent friends. Naturally, the young people spent a good deal of time
+together. But there had been no love-making--not a hint or whisper of it!
+
+And now, by cruel chance, their names were linked by scandal in its most
+menacing form, since there was no gainsaying the fact that Doris's
+star-gazing on that fatal Monday night was indissolubly bound up with the
+death of Adelaide Melhuish.
+
+For the first time, then, the notion peeped up in Grant's mind that the
+whirligig of existence might see Doris his wife. But the conceit
+resembled the Gorgon's teeth, which, when sown in the ground, sprang
+forth as armed men. The very accident which revealed a not unpleasing
+possibility had established a grave obstacle in the way of its ultimate
+realization. Already there was a cloud between him and the Martins,
+father and daughter. To what a tempest might not that cloud develop when
+the questionings and innuendoes of the inquest established an aura of
+suspicion and intrigue around a perfectly innocent meeting in the garden
+of The Hollies!
+
+Grant ate his breakfast in wrath. In wrath, too, he glanced through the
+morning newspapers, and saw his own name figuring large in the "story" of
+the "alleged" murder. The reporters had missed nothing. They had even got
+hold of the "peculiar coincidence" of his (Grant's) glimpse of a face at
+the window. His play was recalled, and Adelaide Melhuish's success in the
+title-role. Then Mr. Isidor G. Ingerman was introduced. He was described
+as "a man fairly well known in the City." That was all. The press could
+say nothing as yet of marital disagreements, nor was any hint concerning
+Doris Martin allowed to appear. But these journalistic fire-works were
+only held in reserve. "Dramatic and sensational developments" were
+promised, and police activity in "an unexpected direction" fore-shadowed.
+
+All of which, of course, was mere journalistic paraphrasing of
+circumstances already known to the writers, and none the less galling to
+Grant on that account.
+
+And there was no answer from the Commissioner of Police at Scotland Yard.
+True, the overnight telegram might have reached the Department after
+office hours. Grant, like most members of the general public, held the
+vague belief that Government officials do very little work. Still, one
+might reasonably expect better things from the institution which was
+supposed to safeguard law-abiding citizens.
+
+Calm analysis of Ingerman's nebulous threats had revealed a hostile
+force not to be despised. Possibly, the man was already in league with
+that narrow-minded village constable, so every passing hour made more
+urgent the need of a trained intelligence being brought to bear on the
+mystery of Adelaide Melhuish's killing. Grant racked his brains to
+discover who could possibly have a motive for committing the crime.
+Naturally, his thoughts flew to Ingerman. Surely that sinister-looking
+person should be forced to give an account of himself instead of, as was
+probable, being allowed to instill further nonsense into the suspicious
+mind of P.C. Robinson.
+
+There were two morning deliveries of London letters in Steynholme, one at
+eight and another at half past ten. Grant waited until the postman had
+left a publisher's circular (the only letter for The Hollies by the
+second mail). Then, in a fever of impatience, he jammed on a hat and went
+out. He would wait no longer. He would telegraph Scotland Yard again,
+and, incidentally, demand an audience at the post office.
+
+No sooner had he entered the highroad than he saw P.C. Robinson on guard.
+That important person was standing on the bridge, apparently taking the
+air. He was nibbling the chin-strap of his helmet; both thumbs were
+locked in his belt. From that strategic position three roads came under
+observation.
+
+It was a fine morning, and Grant's sense of humor was not proof against
+this open espionage. He smiled, and determined to take a rise out of
+"Sherlock," as Bates had christened the policeman.
+
+The bridge lay a hundred yards to the left. The road was straight until
+it curved around the house and its shrubberies, so the view was blocked
+on that side. Grant filled and lighted a pipe with a deliberateness meant
+to be provoking, glancing several times doubtfully at P.C. Robinson, who,
+of course, was grandly unaware of his presence. Then he strolled off to
+the right, and, when hidden, took to his heels for a hundred yards
+sprint. Turning into a winding bridle-path tucked between hedges of thorn
+and hazels, he walked to a point where it crossed a patch of furze. At a
+little distance a hand-bridge spanned the river, and gave access to the
+eastern end of the village by a steep climb of the wooded cliff. The
+path, in fact, was a short cut to that part of Steynholme.
+
+He sat on a hump of rock, and waited. It was a boyish trick, but very
+successful. Within three minutes, at the utmost, P.C. Robinson hurried
+past, using a stalking, stealthy stride which was distinctly ludicrous.
+
+The eyes of the two men met, but Grant alone was prepared.
+
+"Hello, Robinson!" he cried cheerfully. "What's the rush? Surely our
+rural peace has not been disturbed again?"
+
+Robinson knew he had been "sold," but rose to the occasion.
+
+"Excuse me, Mr. Grant," he puffed. "Can't wait now. Have an appointment.
+I'll see you later."
+
+Honor demanded that he should not relax that swift pace. Unhappily, the
+path up the cliff was visible throughout from Grant's rock, so, on
+reaching the summit, Robinson was a-boil in more ways than one.
+Moreover, peeping through the first screen of trees that offered, he
+had the mortification of seeing the man who had befooled him go back
+the way he came.
+
+Purple-faced with heat and anger, the policeman forgot his surroundings,
+and glowered at Grant with real fury. So he heard no one approaching
+along the main road until he was hailed a second time with, "Hello,
+Robinson!"
+
+He turned sharply. This was Mr. Elkin.
+
+"Good morning!" he said. "Have you seen the superintendent?"
+
+"What? Mr. Fowler? No. Is _he_ here so early?"
+
+"I must have missed him."
+
+"Well, you'll hardly find him on Bush Walk," which was the name of the
+path.
+
+"You never can tell," came the dark answer.
+
+At any rate, the policeman elected to abandon his self-imposed vigil, and
+the two walked together into the village.
+
+"My! You look as though you'd run a mile," commented Elkin.
+
+"This murder has kept me busy," growled the other, frankly mopping
+his forehead.
+
+"Ay, that's so. And it isn't done with yet, by a long way. Pity you
+weren't in the Hare and Hounds last night. You'd have heard something.
+There's a chap staying there, name of Ingerman--"
+
+"I've met him. The dead woman's husband."
+
+"Oh, perhaps you've got his yarn already?"
+
+"It all depends what he said to you."
+
+"Well, he hinted things. Unless I'm greatly mistaken, you'll soon be
+making an arrest."
+
+"I believe I could put my hand on the murderer this very minute," said
+Robinson vindictively.
+
+Elkin laughed, somewhat half-heartedly.
+
+"Lay you fifty to one against the time," he said. "I'm the only one near
+enough for that limit, you know."
+
+The policeman realized that he had allowed annoyance to shake his wits.
+He looked at Elkin rather sharply, and noticed that the horse-breeder
+seemed to be nervous and ill.
+
+"I didn't quite mean that I could grab my man this minute," he said,
+"but, if I can guess him, it amounts to nearly the same thing. What have
+you been doing to yourself, Mr. Elkin? You look peeky to-day."
+
+"Too much whiskey and tobacco. I'll call at Siddle's for a 'pick-me-up.'
+Am I wanted for the jury?"
+
+"Yes. I left a notice at your place last evening."
+
+"I didn't get it."
+
+"Been away?"
+
+"No. Fact is, I went home late, and didn't bother about letters this
+morning. What time is the inquest?"
+
+"Three o'clock, in the club-room of the Hare and Hounds."
+
+"Will that fellow, Grant, be there?"
+
+"Rather. Dr. Foxton warned him yesterday."
+
+"Good! What about Doris Martin? Will she be a witness?"
+
+"Not to-day."
+
+They were entering the village, and could see down the long, wide slope
+of the hill. Grant had just come into sight at its foot.
+
+Both men scowled at the distant figure, but neither passed any comment.
+They parted, the policeman walking straight on, Elkin bearing to the
+left. The chemist's shop stood exactly opposite the post office, so
+Elkin, arriving first, was aware of his unconscious rival's destination.
+
+He had not answered Mr. Siddle's greeting, but gazed moodily through a
+barricade of specifics piled in the window. Then he swore.
+
+"What's wrong now?" inquired the chemist quietly.
+
+"That Grant. Got a nerve, hasn't he?"
+
+"I can't say, unless you explain."
+
+"He's just gone into the post office."
+
+"Why shouldn't he? He wants stamps, may be; plenty of 'em, I
+should imagine."
+
+"Oh, you're a fish, Siddle. You aren't crazy about a girl, like I am. The
+sooner Grant's in jail the better I'll be pleased."
+
+"If you take my advice, which you won't, I know, you will not utter that
+sort of remark publicly."
+
+"Can't help it. Bet you a fiver I'm engaged to Doris Martin within a
+week."
+
+Mr. Siddle took thought.
+
+"Why so quickly?" he asked, after a pause.
+
+"I'll catch her on the hop, of course. If she's engaged to me it'll help
+her a lot when this case comes into court."
+
+"I cannot believe that Doris would accept any man for such a reason."
+
+"I'm not 'any man.' She knows I'm after her. Will you take my bet,
+even money?"
+
+"No. I don't bet."
+
+"Well, you needn't put a damper on me. In fact, you can't. Have you that
+last prescription of Dr. Foxton's handy? My liver wants a tonic."
+
+The chemist thumbed a dog-eared volume, read an entry carefully, and
+retired to a dispensing counter in the rear of the shop.
+
+"Shall I send it?" came his voice.
+
+"No. I'll wait. Give me a dose now, if you don't mind."
+
+For some reason, Fred Elkin was not himself that day. He was moody, and
+fretful as a sick colt. But he had diagnosed his ailment and its cause
+accurately; a discreet doctor was probably aware of his failings, and had
+considered them in the "mixture."
+
+The post office was not busy when Grant entered. A young man, a stranger,
+was seated at the telegraphist's desk, tapping a new instrument. The G.
+P. O., forewarned, had lent an expert to deal with press messages.
+
+Mr. Martin, sorting some documents, came forward when he saw Grant. His
+kindly, somewhat pre-occupied face was long as a fiddle.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. Martin," said Grant.
+
+"Good morning. What can I do for you?" was the stiff reply. Grant was in
+no mind to be rebuffed, however.
+
+"I must have a word with you in private," he said.
+
+"I'm sorry--but my time is quite full."
+
+"I'm sorry, too, but the matter is urgent."
+
+The click of the sounder became less businesslike. There was an element
+in the tone of each voice that drew the London telegraphist's attention.
+Martin, usually the mildest-mannered man in Sussex, was obviously ill at
+ease. But he simply could not hold out against Grant's compelling gaze.
+
+"Come into the back room," he said nervously. "Call me if I'm needed," he
+added, nodding to his assistant.
+
+Grant did not hesitate an instant when the postmaster reached the "back
+parlor" through another door. The open window, draped in clematis, gave
+a delightful glimpse of The Hollies. A window-box of mignonette filled
+the air with its delicate perfume. Grant hoped that Doris would be there,
+but the only signs of her recent presence were a hat and an open book on
+the table.
+
+"Now, Mr. Martin," he said gravely, "you and I should have a serious
+talk. It is idle to deny that gossip is spreading broadcast certain
+malicious and absurd rumors which closely concern Doris and myself. To me
+these things are of slight consequence. To a girl of your daughter's age
+they are poisonous. If you, her father, know the whole truth, you can
+regulate your actions so as to defeat the scandalmongers. That is why I
+am here to-day. That is why I came here yesterday, but your attitude took
+me aback, and I was idiot enough to go without a word of explanation. I
+was too shaken then to see my clear course, and follow it regardless of
+personal feelings. This morning I am master of myself, and I insist that
+you listen now while I tell you exactly what occurred on Monday night."
+
+"Surely--these matters--are--for the authorities," stammered the
+older man.
+
+"What? Your daughter's good name?"
+
+Mr. Martin reddened. His agitation was pitiful.
+
+"That is hardly in question, sir," he said brokenly.
+
+"I am speaking of the tongue of slander. Heaven help and direct me! I
+would suffer death rather than see Doris subjected to the leers and
+innuendoes of every lout in the village."
+
+Grant's earnestness could hardly fail to impress his friend. But Martin
+had either made up his mind or been warned not to discuss the murder, and
+adhered loyally to that line of conduct. He retreated toward the door
+leading to the post office proper.
+
+"It is too late to interfere now," he said.
+
+"What on earth do you mean?" demanded Grant, yielding to a gust of anger.
+
+"The whole--of the circumstances--are being inquired into by the police,"
+came the hesitating answer.
+
+"Has that prying scoundrel, Robinson, dared to cross-examine Doris?"
+
+"He came here, of course, but Scotland Yard has taken up the inquiry."
+
+"A detective--here?"
+
+"Yes. He is with Doris in the garden at this moment."
+
+Grant knew the topography of the house. Without asking permission, he
+tore through yet a third door leading to a kitchen and scullery, nearly
+upsetting a tiny maid who had her ear or eye to the key-hole, and raced
+into the garden in which the postmaster kept his bees.
+
+Doris, standing with her hands behind her back, was looking at The
+Hollies, and deep in conversation with an alert and natty little man who
+was evidently absorbed in what she was saying.
+
+Grant, in a whirl of fury, was only conscious that Doris's companion was
+slight, almost diminutive, of frame, very erect, and dressed in a
+well-fitting blue serge suit, neat brown boots and straw hat, when the
+two heard his footsteps.
+
+Doris was flustered. Her Romney face held a look of scare.
+
+"Oh, here is Mr. Grant!" she said, striving vainly to speak with
+composure.
+
+The little man pierced Grant with an extraordinarily penetrating glance
+from very bright and deeply-recessed black eyes.
+
+"Ah, Mr. Grant, is it!" he chirped pleasantly. "Good morning! So _you're_
+the villain of the piece, are you?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+SCOTLAND YARD TAKES A HAND
+
+
+It was a singular greeting, to say the least, and the person who uttered
+it was quite as remarkable as his queer method of expressing himself
+seemed to indicate.
+
+Grant, though in a fume of hot anger, had the good sense to choke back
+the first impetuous reprimand trembling on his lips. In fact, wrath
+quickly subsided into blank incredulity. He saw before him, not the
+conventional detective who might be described as a superior Robinson--not
+even the sinewy, sharp-eyed, and well-spoken type of man whom he had once
+heard giving evidence in a famous jewel-robbery case--but rather one whom
+he would have expected to meet in the bar of a certain well-known
+restaurant in Maiden Lane, a corner of old London where literally all the
+world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.
+
+During his theatrical experiences he had come across scores of such men,
+dapper little fellows, wizened of face yet curiously youthful in manner;
+but they, each and all, were labeled "low comedian." Certainly, a rare
+intelligence gleamed from this man's eyes, but that is an attribute not
+often lacking in humorists who command high salaries because of their
+facility in laughter-making. This man, too, had the wide, thin-lipped,
+mobile mouth of the actor. His ivory-white, wrinkled forehead and cheeks,
+the bluish tint on jaws and chin, his voice, his perky air, the very tilt
+of his straw hat, were eloquent of the footlights. Even his opening
+words, bizarre and cheerfully impertinent, smacked of "comic relief."
+
+"I figure prominently in this particular 'piece,'" snapped Grant. "May I
+ask your name, sir?"
+
+"A wise precaution with suspicious characters," rejoined the other,
+smiling. Grant was suddenly reminded of a Japanese grinning at a joke,
+but he bent over a card which the stranger had whisked out of a waistcoat
+pocket. He read:
+
+MR. CHARLES F. FUENEAUX,
+
+_Criminal Investigation Department_,
+
+NEW SCOTLAND YARD, S.W.
+
+He could not control himself. He gazed at Mr. Charles F. Furneaux with a
+surprise that was not altogether flattering.
+
+"Did the Commissioner of Police send _you_ in response to my
+telegram?" he said.
+
+"That is what lawyers call a leading question," came the prompt retort.
+"And I hate lawyers. They darken understanding, and set honest men at
+loggerheads."
+
+"But it happens to be very much to the point at this moment."
+
+"Well, Mr. Grant, if you really press for an answer, it is 'Yes' and
+'No.' The Commissioner received a certain telegram, but he may have acted
+on other grounds. Even Commissioners can be creatures of impulse, or
+expediency, just as the situation demands.
+
+"You are here, at any rate."
+
+"That is what legal jargon terms an admitted fact."
+
+"Then you had better begin by assuming that I am no villain."
+
+"It is assumed. It couldn't well be otherwise after the excellent
+character you have been given by this young lady."
+
+"She, at least, will speak well of me, I do believe," said Grant, with a
+strange bitterness, for his heart was sore because of the seeming
+defection of his friend, the postmaster. "What I actually had in mind was
+the stupidity of the local policeman, who is convinced that I am both a
+criminal and a fool."
+
+"The two are often synonymous," said Furneaux dryly. "But I acquitted you
+on both counts, Mr. Grant, on hearing, and even seeing, how you spent
+Monday evening."
+
+Grant, who had cooled down considerably, found a hint of badinage in
+this comment.
+
+"You have evidently been told that Miss Martin and I were star-gazing in
+the garden of my house," he said. "It happens to be true."
+
+"Oh, yes. There was a very fine cluster of small stars in Canis Major,
+south of Sirius, that night."
+
+"You know something about the constellations, then?" was the
+astonished query.
+
+"Enough for the purposes of Scotland Yard," smirked Furneaux, who had
+checked P.C. Robinson's one-sided story by referring to Whitaker's
+Almanack. "It may relieve your mind if I tell you that I have never seen
+a real live astronomer in the dock. Venus and Mars are often in trouble,
+but their devoted observers seldom, if ever."
+
+Grant warmed to this strange species of detective, though, if pressed for
+an instant decision, he would vastly have preferred that one of more
+orthodox style had been intrusted with an inquiry so vital to his own
+happiness and good repute. Eager, however, to pour forth his worries into
+any official ear, he brought back the talk to a definite channel.
+
+"Will you come to my place?" he asked. "I have much to say. Let me assure
+you now, in Miss Martin's presence, that she is no more concerned in this
+ghastly business than any other young lady in the village."
+
+"But she is interested. And _you_ are. And I am. Why not discuss matters
+here, for the present, I mean? We have a glorious view of your house and
+grounds. We can see without being seen. None can overhear. I advise both
+of you to go thoroughly into this matter here and now."
+
+Furneaux spoke emphatically. Even Doris put in a timid plea.
+
+"Perhaps that would be the best thing to do," she said. "Mr. Furneaux has
+been most sympathetic. I am sure he understands things already in a way
+that is quite wonderful to me."
+
+The very sound of her voice was comforting. Grant might have argued with
+the detective, but could not resist Doris. Without further demur he went
+through the whole story, giving precise details of events on the Monday
+night. Then the recital widened out into a history of his relations with
+Adelaide Melhuish. He omitted nothing. Doris gasped when she heard
+Superintendent Fowler's version of the view a coroner's jury might take
+of her presence in the garden of The Hollies at a late hour. But Grant
+did not spare her. He reasoned that she ought to be prepared for an
+ordeal which could not be avoided. He was governed by the astute belief
+that his very outspokenness in this respect would weaken the inferences
+which the police might otherwise draw from it.
+
+Furneaux uttered never a word. He was a first-rate listener, though his
+behavior was most undetective-like, since he hardly looked at Grant or
+the girl, but seemed to devote his attention almost exclusively to the
+scenic panorama in front.
+
+However, when Grant came to the somewhat strenuous passage-at-arms of
+the previous night between Ingerman and himself, the little man broke
+in at once.
+
+"Isidor G. Ingerman?" he cried. "Is he a tall, lanky, cadaverous,
+rather crooked person, with black hair turning gray, and an absurdly
+melodious voice?"
+
+"You have described him without an unnecessary word," said Grant.
+
+Furneaux clicked his tongue in a peculiar fashion.
+
+"Go on!" he said. "It's a regular romance--quite in your line, Mr. Grant,
+of course, but none the less enthralling because, as you so happily
+phrased Miss Martin's lesson in astronomy, it happens to be true."
+
+Grant was scrupulously fair to Ingerman. He admitted the "financier's"
+adroitness of speech, and made clear the fact that if the visit had the
+levying of blackmail for its object such a possible outcome was only
+hinted at vaguely. Being a novelist, one whose temperament sought for
+sunshine rather than gloom in life, he wound up in lighter vein. The ruse
+which tricked P.C. Robinson into a breathless scamper of nearly a mile on
+a hot day in June was described with gusto. Doris, who knew the village
+constable well, laughed outright, while Furneaux cackled shrilly. None
+who might be watching the little group in that delightful garden, with
+its scent of old-world flowers and drone of bees, could have guessed that
+a grewsome tragedy formed their major theme.
+
+The girl was the first to realize that even harmless merriment was in ill
+accord with the presence of death, for the body of Adelaide Melhuish lay
+within forty yards of the place where they stood.
+
+"May I leave you now?" she inquired. "Father may be wanting help in
+the office."
+
+"I shan't detain you more than a few seconds," said Furneaux briskly. "On
+Monday evening you two young people parted at half past ten. How do you
+fix the time?"
+
+Doris answered without hesitation:
+
+"The large window of Mr. Grant's study was open, and we both heard a
+clock in the hall chime the half-hour. I said, 'Goodness me, is that half
+past ten?' and started for home at once. Mr. Grant came with me as far as
+the bridge. When I reached my room, in exactly five minutes after leaving
+The Hollies, I stood at the open window--that window"--and she pointed to
+a dormer casement above the sitting-room--"and looked out. It was a
+particularly fine night, mild, but not very clear, as a slight mist often
+rises from the river after a hot day in summer. I may have been there
+about ten minutes, no longer, when I saw the study window of The Hollies
+thrown open, and Mr. Grant's figure was silhouetted by the lamp behind
+him. He seemed to be listening for something, so I, who must have heard
+any unusual sound, listened too. There was nothing. I could hear the
+ripple of the river beneath the bridge, so everything was very still.
+After a minute, or two, perhaps--no longer--Mr. Grant went in, and closed
+the window. Then I went to bed."
+
+"Did Mr. Grant draw any blind or curtains?"
+
+"There are muslin curtains attached to each side of the window. One
+cannot see into the room from a distance."
+
+Furneaux measured an imaginary line drawn from Doris's bedroom to the
+edge of the cliff, and prolonged it.
+
+"Nor can you see the river or foot of the lawn from your room," he
+commented.
+
+"No. In winter I can just make out the edge of the lawn. When the trees
+are in leaf, all the lower part is hidden."
+
+"You had actually retired to rest about eleven, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"So if Mr. Grant came out again you would not know?" Doris blushed
+furiously, but her reply was unfaltering.
+
+"I would have known during the next half-hour, at least," she said. "An
+inclined mirror hangs in my room. I use it sometimes for adjusting a hat.
+The square of light from Mr. Grant's room is reflected in it, and any
+sudden increase in the illumination caused by opening the window or
+pulling the curtains aside would certainly have caught my eye."
+
+"You have an unshakable witness in Miss Martin," said Furneaux, stabbing
+a finger at Grant. "Now, I'll hurry off. You and I, Mr. Grant, meet at
+Philippi, otherwise known as the crowner's quest."
+
+Any benevolent intent he may have had in leaving these young people
+together was, however, frustrated by Doris, whose composure seemed to
+have fled since her statement about the mirror. She resolutely
+accompanied the detective, and Grant had to follow. All three passed into
+the post office, Doris using the private door. Mr. Martin looked up from
+his desk when they appeared, and requested his daughter to check a bundle
+of postal orders. The pretext was painfully obvious, but Grant was not so
+wishful now to clear up matters with Doris's father, as the girl herself
+might be trusted to pass on an accurate account of the affair from
+beginning to end.
+
+He was about to reach the street quick on Furneaux's heels when the
+little man turned suddenly.
+
+"By the way, don't you want a shilling's worth of stamps?" he said.
+
+Grant smiled comprehension, and went back to the counter, where Doris
+herself served him. She did not try to avoid his glance, but rather met
+it with a baffling serenity oddly at variance with her momentary loss of
+self-possession in the garden.
+
+When he entered the street the detective had vanished.
+
+He walked down the hill at a rapid pace, disregarding the eyes peeping
+at him through open doorways, over narrow window-curtains, and covertly
+staring when people passed in the roadway. The sensitive side of his
+temperament shrank from this thinly-veiled hostility. He was by way of
+being popular in Steynholme, yet not a soul spoke to him. Before he
+reached the bridge, the other side of him, the man of action, of cool
+resource in an emergency, rose in rebellion against the league of silly
+clodhoppers. Back he strode to the post office and dashed off a
+telegram. It ran:
+
+"Walter Hart, Savage Club, Adelphi, London. Come here and help to
+lay a ghost."
+
+He signed it in full, name and address. Doris was gone, but her father
+received it, and read the text in a bewildered way.
+
+"I find myself deserted by my Steynholme friends so I am trying to import
+one stanch one," said Grant, almost vindictively.
+
+Martin murmured the cost, and Grant stormed out again. This time, passing
+the Hare and Hounds, he looked at door and windows. He caught a face
+scowling at him over a brown wire blind bearing the words "Wines and
+Spirits" on it in letters of dull gold. It was a commonplace type of
+face, small-featured, ginger-moustached, and crowned by a billy-cock hat
+set at a rakish angle. Its most marked characteristic was the positive
+hatred which glowed in the sharp, pale-blue eyes. Grant wondered who this
+highly censorious young man might be. At any rate, he meant to ascertain
+whether or not the critic was susceptible of satire at his own expense.
+He walked up to the window, elevated his eyebrows at the frowning person
+within, pretended to read the words on the screen, looked again at the
+man inside, and shook his head gravely in the manner of one who has
+accurately determined cause and effect.
+
+Fred Elkin was quick-witted enough to appreciate Grant's unspoken
+comment. He was also unmannerly enough to put out his tongue. Then Grant
+laughed, and turned on his heel.
+
+Mr. Siddle, quietly observant of recent comings and goings, was standing
+at the door of the shop, and missed no item of this dumb show. He raised
+both hands in silent condemnation of Elkin's childishness, whereupon the
+horse-dealer jerked a thumb toward Grant's retreating figure, and went
+through a rapid pantomime of the hanging process. His crony disapproved
+again, and went in. Now, both those men were on the jury panel, so, to
+all appearance, Grant would be judged by at least one deadly enemy, whose
+animosity might or might not be fairly balanced by the chemist's
+impartial mind.
+
+The tenant of The Hollies actually dreaded the loneliness of his
+dwelling now, though it was that very quality which had drawn him to
+Steynholme a year earlier. Work or reading was equally out of the
+question that day. He sought the industrious Bates, who was trenching
+celery in the kitchen garden.
+
+"Have 'ee made out owt about un, sir?" inquired that hardy individual,
+pausing to spit on the handle of his spade.
+
+"No," said Grant. "The thing is a greater mystery than ever."
+
+"I'm thinkin' her mun ha' bin killed by a loony," announced Bates.
+
+"Something of the kind, no doubt. But why are the little less dangerous
+loonies of Steynholme united in the belief that I am the guilty one?"
+
+"Ax me another," growled Bates.
+
+"Who is spreading this rumor? Robinson?"
+
+"'E dussen't, sir. 'E looks fierce, but 'e'll 'old 'is tongue. T'super
+will see to that."
+
+"Someone is talking. That is quite certain."
+
+"There's a chap in the 'Are an' 'Ounds--kem 'ere last night."
+
+"Ingerman?"
+
+"Ay, sir, that's the name. 'E's makin' a song of it, I hear."
+
+"Anybody else?"
+
+"Fred Elkin is gassin' about. Do 'ee know un? Breeds 'osses at Mount
+Farm, a mile that-a-way," and Bates pointed to the west.
+
+Grant hazarded a guess, and described the face of condemnation seen at
+the inn. Bates nodded.
+
+"That's un," he said. Then he drove the spade into the rich loam. "They
+do say," he added, apparently as an after-thought, "as Fred Elkin is
+mighty sweet on Doris, but her'll 'ave nowt to do wi' un."
+
+Grant whistled softly. This explanation threw light on a dark place.
+
+"The plot thickens," he said. "Mr. Elkin becomes more interesting than he
+looks. Are there other disappointed swains in the offing?"
+
+"What's that, sir?"
+
+"Has Miss Martin any other suitors?"
+
+"Lots of 'em 'ud be after her like wasps round a plum-tree if she'd give
+'em 'alf a chance. But _you_ put a stopper on 'em."
+
+Bates was blunt of speech, though a philosopher withal.
+
+"Elkin is my only serious rival, then?" laughed Grant, passing off as a
+joke a thrust which was shrewder than the gardener knew.
+
+"'E 'as plenty of brass, but I reckon nowt on 'im," was the
+contemptuous answer.
+
+"Well, he is not a likely person to kill a woman he had never before
+seen. Miss Martin will marry whom she chooses, no doubt. The present
+problem is to find out who murdered Miss Melhuish. Now, had _I_ been the
+victim you would be thinking hard, Bates."
+
+"I tell 'ee, sir, it wur a loony."
+
+Nor was Bates to be moved from that opinion. He held to it, through thick
+and thin, for many days.
+
+Grant wandered into the front garden. His eyes rose involuntarily to the
+distant post office, and he noticed at once that the dormer window was
+closed. Yet Doris shared his own love of fresh air, and that window had
+always been open till that very hour. Somehow, this simple thing seemed
+to shut him out of her life. He walked to the river, and gazed at the
+spot where the body was drawn ashore. In the absence of rain the water
+ran clear as gin, and the marks made by the feet of Adelaide Melhuish's
+murderer were still perceptible. If only those misshapen blotches could
+reveal their secret! If only some Heaven-sent ray of intuition would
+enable him to put the police on the track of the criminal! Theoretically,
+a novelist and essayist should be a first-rate detective, yet, brought
+face to face with an actual felony, here was one who perforce remained
+blind and dumb.
+
+Yet he was not blameworthy for failing to solve a mystery which was
+rapidly establishing a record for bewildering elements. Wherein he did
+err most lamentably was in his reading of a woman's heart.
+
+No answering telegram came from his friend in London. The day wore
+slowly till it was time to attend the inquest. He found a crowd gathered
+in front of the Hare and Hounds. Superintendent Fowler was there, and
+quite a number of policemen, whose presence was explained when a buzz of
+excitement heralded Grant's arrival. He decided not to stand this sort of
+persecution a moment longer.
+
+Before the superintendent could interfere, he leaped on to a set of stone
+mounting-steps which stood opposite the door. Instantly, seeing that he
+was about to speak, the angry murmuring of the mob was hushed. He looked
+into a hundred stolid faces, and stretched out his right hand.
+
+"I cannot help feeling," he said, in slow, incisive accents which carried
+far, "that a set of peculiar circumstances has led you Steynholme folk to
+suspect me of being responsible, in some way, for the death of the lady
+whose body was found in the river near my house. Now, I want to tell you
+that I am not only an innocent but a much-maligned man. The law of the
+land will establish both facts in due season. But I want to warn some of
+you, too, I shall not trouble to issue writs for libel. If any blackguard
+among you dares to insult me openly, I shall smash his face."
+
+He knew when to stop. Superintendent Fowler's nudge was not called
+for, as the orator simply met the scrutiny of all those eyes without
+another word.
+
+Curiously enough, the sense of justice is inherent in every haphazard
+gathering of the public. Grant's soldierly bearing, his calm defiance of
+hostile opinion, the outspoken threat which he so plainly meant, won
+instant favor. Someone shouted, "Hear, hear!" and the crowd applauded.
+From that moment he had little to complain of in the attitude of the
+community as a whole. There were subtle and dangerous enemies to be
+fought and conquered, but Steynholme looked on, keen to learn of any new
+sensation, of course, but placidly content that the final verdict should
+be left in the hands of the authorities.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+"ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS"
+
+
+The inquest was surprisingly tame after the stirring events which had
+led up to it. Indeed, save for two incidents, the proceedings were
+almost dull.
+
+The coroner, a Knoleworth solicitor named Belcher, prided himself on
+conducting this _cause celebre_ with as little ostentation as he would
+have displayed over an ordinary inquiry. Messrs. Siddle, Elkin, Tomlin
+and Hobbs, with eight other local tradesmen and farmers, formed the
+jurors, and the chemist was promptly elected foreman; no witnesses were
+ordered out of court; the formalities of "swearing in" the jury and
+"viewing" the body were carried through rapidly. Almost before Grant had
+time to assimilate these details Superintendent Fowler, who marshalled
+the evidence, called his name. The coroner's officer tendered him a
+well-thumbed Bible, while the coroner himself administered the oath.
+
+Grant eyed the somewhat soiled volume, and opened it before putting it to
+his lips. The action probably did not please the jury. Elkin nudged
+Tomlin, and sniggered at the rest of his colleagues, as much as to say:
+"What did I tell you? The cheek of him!"
+
+Elkin, by the way, looked ill. When his interest flagged for an instant
+his haggard aspect became more noticeable.
+
+Ingerman was there, of course. Furneaux sat beside Mr. Fowler. A
+stranger, whom Grant did not recognize, proved to be the County Chief
+Constable. There was a strong muster of police, and the representatives
+of the press completely monopolized the scanty accommodation for the
+public. To Grant's relief, Doris Martin was not in attendance.
+
+He told the simple facts of the finding of Adelaide Melhuish's corpse. A
+harmless question by the coroner evoked the first "scene" which set the
+reporters' pencils busy.
+
+"Did you recognize the body!" inquired Mr. Belcher.
+
+"I did."
+
+"Then you can give the jury her name?"
+
+Before Grant could answer, Ingerman sprang up, his sallow face livid
+with passion.
+
+"I protest, sir, against this man being permitted to identify my
+wife," he said.
+
+He was either deeply moved, or proved himself an excellent actor. His
+flute-like voice vibrated with an intense emotion. Thus might Mark Antony
+have spoken when vowing that Brutus was an honorable man.
+
+"Who are you?" demanded the coroner sharply.
+
+"Isidor George Ingerman, husband of the deceased lady," came the
+clear-toned reply.
+
+"Well, sit down, sir, and do not interrupt the court again," said
+the coroner.
+
+"I demand, sir, that you note my protest."
+
+"Sit down! Were you any other person I would have you removed. As it is,
+I am prepared to regard your feelings to the extent of explaining that
+the witness is not identifying the body but relating a fact within his
+own knowledge."
+
+Ingerman bowed, and resumed his seat.
+
+For some reason, Grant stared blankly at Furneaux. The latter did not
+meet his glance, but put a finger on those thin lips. It might, or might
+not, be a warning to repress any retort he had in mind. At any rate,
+obeying a nod from the coroner, he merely said:
+
+"She was a well-known actress, Miss Adelaide Melhuish."
+
+Mr. Belcher's pen hesitated a little. Then it scratched on. Undoubtedly,
+he was himself exercising the restraint he meant to impose on others.
+
+"You are quite sure?" he said, after a pause.
+
+"Quite."
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Grant. Wait here until you sign your deposition. Of
+course, you are aware that this inquiry will stand adjourned, and the
+whole matter will be gone into fully at a later date."
+
+"So I have been informed, sir."
+
+Ingerman was the next witness. _He_, like a good democrat, kissed the
+cover of the Bible. The coroner began by giving him some advice.
+
+"This is a purely formal inquiry, to permit of a death certificate being
+issued. You will oblige me, therefore, by answering my questions without
+introducing any extraneous subject."
+
+Ingerman adhered to these instructions. Having already shot a
+carefully-prepared bolt, he meant avoiding any further conflict with
+the authorities. His evidence was brief and to the point. The deceased
+was his wife. They were married at a London registrar's office on a
+given date, six years ago. His wife acted under her maiden name. There
+was no family.
+
+The court was well lighted by four long windows in the eastern wall,
+which each witness faced, so Grant was free to study his avowed enemy at
+leisure. He thought he made out a crafty underlook in Ingerman which he
+had failed to detect the previous night. That slow, smooth voice seemed
+to weigh each syllable. Such a man would never blurt out an unconsidered
+admission. He was a foe to be reckoned with. The subtle malignancy of
+that well-timed outburst was proof positive in that respect.
+
+The jury, apparently, attached much weight to his words. On some faces
+there was an expectancy which merged into marked disappointment when his
+evidence came to an end. The foreman alone displayed the judicial
+attitude warranted by the oath he had taken. Somehow, Grant had faith in
+Mr. Siddle. The man looked intellectual. When spoken to in his shop his
+manner was invariably reserved. But that was his general repute in
+Steynholme--a quiet, uninterfering person, who had come to the village a
+young man, yet had never really entered into its life. For instance, he
+neither held nor would accept any public office. At first, people
+wondered how he contrived to eke out a living, but this puzzle was solved
+by his admitted possession of a small annuity.
+
+Dr. Foxton, general practitioner, who held undisputed sway in the
+district, told how he had conducted an autopsy on the body of the
+deceased. He found a deep, incised wound on the back of the skull, a
+wound which would have caused death in any event. The instrument used
+must have been a heavy and blunt one. Miss Melhuish was dead or dying
+when thrown into the river. The body was well nourished, and the vital
+organs sound. Undoubtedly she had been murdered.
+
+Bates followed, and evoked a snigger by the outspokenness of blunt
+Sussex.
+
+"I hauled 'um in," he said, "an' knew it wur a dead 'un by the feel of
+the rope."
+
+The coroner was not curious. He merely wished to put on record the time
+and manner in which Mr. Grant summoned assistance.
+
+Then P. C. Robinson entered the box, and contrived to bring about the
+second "incident."
+
+He told how, "from information received," he went to The Hollies, and
+found Mr. Grant standing near the river with a dead body at his feet.
+
+"One side of Mr. Grant's face was covered with blood," he went on.
+
+If the policeman was minded to create a sensation, he certainly
+succeeded. A slight hum ran through the court, and then all present
+seemed to restrain their breathing lest a word of the evidence should be
+lost. The mention of "blood" in a murder case was a more adroit dodge
+than Robinson himself guessed, perhaps. Few of his hearers troubled to
+reflect that a smudge of fresh gore on Grant's cheek could hardly have
+any bearing on the death of a woman whose body had admittedly lain all
+night in the river. It sufficed that Robinson had introduced a touch of
+the right color into the inquiry. Even the coroner was worried.
+
+"Well!" he said testily.
+
+"I took down his statement, sir," said the witness, well knowing that he
+had wiped off Grant's morning score in the matter of Bush Walk.
+
+"Never mind his statement. That must await the adjourned hearing. What
+did you do with the body?"
+
+"Took it to the stable of the Hare and Hounds, sir."
+
+"Where it was viewed recently by the jury?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"It is the body identified by Mr. Ingerman as that of his wife?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"That will do.... Superintendent Fowler, will this day week at ten
+o'clock suit you?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said the superintendent.
+
+"Then the inquest stands adjourned until that day and hour. Gentlemen of
+the jury, you must be here punctually."
+
+"Can't we ask any questions?" cried Elkin, in an injured tone.
+
+"No. You cannot," snapped the coroner emphatically.
+
+After a few formalities, which included the reading and signing of the
+depositions, the courthouse emptied. The whole thing was over in half an
+hour. Grant, determined to have a word with the representative of
+Scotland Yard, went openly to Furneaux, and asked him to come to The
+Hollies and join him in a cup of tea.
+
+"No," was the curt answer. "I'm busy. I'll see you later."
+
+It was difficult to reconcile the detective's present stand-off manner
+with his earlier camaradie, to say nothing of the seemingly friendly hint
+conveyed by the signal to pass no comment on Ingerman's interruption.
+
+Rather sick at heart, Grant went out into the sunshine. He was
+snap-shotted a dozen times by press photographers. One man, backing
+impudently in front of him in order to secure a sharp focus, tripped over
+the raised edge of a cartway into a yard, and sat down violently.
+
+The onlookers laughed, but Grant helped the photographer to rise.
+
+"If you want a really good picture of the Steynholme murderer, come to my
+place, and I'll give you one," he said.
+
+The pressman was grateful, because Grant's action had tended to mitigate
+his discomfiture.
+
+"No one but a fool thinks of you as a murderer, Mr. Grant," he said.
+"What I really want is a portrait of 'the celebrated' author in whose
+grounds the body was found."
+
+"Come along, then, and I'll pose for you."
+
+The photographer was surprised, but joyfully accepted the gifts the gods
+gave. He could not guess that his host was pining for human
+companionship. He could not fathom Grant's disappointment, on reaching
+The Hollies, at finding no telegram from a trusted friend, Walter Hart.
+And he was equally unconscious of the immense service he rendered by
+compelling his host to talk and act naturally. He enlightened Grant, too,
+in the matter of inquests.
+
+"Next week there will be a gathering of lawyers," he said. "The police
+will be represented, probably by the Treasury, if the case is thought
+sufficiently important. That chap, Ingerman, too, will employ a
+solicitor, I expect, judging from his attitude to-day. In fact, any one
+whose interests are affected ought to secure legal assistance. One never
+knows how these inquiries twist and turn."
+
+"Thank you," said Grant, smiling at the journalist's tact. "I'll order
+tea to be got ready while you're taking your pictures. By the way, what
+sort of detective is Mr. Charles F. Furneaux?"
+
+"A pocket marvel," was the enthusiastic answer. "Haven't you heard of him
+before? Well, you wouldn't, unless you followed famous cases
+professionally. He seldom appears in the courts--generally manages to
+wriggle out of giving direct evidence. But I've never known him to fail.
+He either hangs his man or drives him to suicide. If I committed a crime,
+and was told that Furneaux was after me, I'd own up and save trouble,
+because I wouldn't have the ghost of a chance of winning clear."
+
+"He strikes one as too flippant for a detective."
+
+"Yes. Lots of people have thought that, and they're either disappearing
+in quicklime beneath some corridor of a prison, or doing time at
+Portland. I wonder if Winter also is coming down on this job."
+
+"Who is 'Winter'?"
+
+"The Chief Inspector at the 'Yard.' A big, cheerful-looking fellow--from
+his appearance might be a gentleman-farmer and J. P., with a taste for
+horses and greyhounds. He and Furneaux are called the Big 'Un and the
+Little 'Un, and each is most unlike the average detective. But Heaven
+help any wrong-doer they set out to trail! They'll get him, as sure as
+God made little apples."
+
+"Then the sooner Mr. Winter visits Steynholme the better I shall be
+pleased. This tragedy is becoming a perfect nightmare. You heard that
+fat-headed policeman speak of my face being covered with blood. He did it
+purposely. I made a fool of him this morning, so he paid me out, the
+literal truth being that a branch of that Dorothy Perkins rose there
+caught my cheek as I entered this room on Tuesday morning--before I
+discovered the body--and broke the skin. I suppose the cut is visible
+still? I saw it to-day while shaving."
+
+"Yes," said the other, chortling over the "copy" his colleagues were
+missing. "The mark is there right enough. Queer how inanimate objects
+like a rose-tree can make mischief. I remember a case in which a chestnut
+in a man's pocket sent him to penal servitude. There was absolutely no
+evidence against him, except a possible motive, until that chestnut was
+found and proved to be one of a particular species, grown only in a
+certain locality."
+
+"How fortunate that the Dorothy Perkins is popular!" laughed Grant. "Will
+your paper publish photographs of the principals in this affair?"
+
+"I expect so. I've a fine collection--the jury, all in a row--and you,
+making that speech to the mob."
+
+"Oh! Will that appear?"
+
+"By Jove, yes, sir. It was wired off before the inquest opened."
+
+Grant reddened slightly. His own impetuous action had blurted out to the
+whole world that which Steynholme was only thinking. No wonder Furneaux
+had warned him to go slow. Perhaps the little man was annoyed because of
+his challenge to the village crowd? Well, be it so. He meant, and would
+live up to, every word of it!
+
+The afternoon dragged after the pressman's departure. What Grant really
+hungered for was a heart-to-heart talk between Doris Martin and himself.
+But, short of a foolish attempt to carry the post office by storm, he saw
+no means of realizing his desire. He must, perforce, await the less
+troubled hours of the morrow or next day. Doris would surely give her
+father an exact account of the conversation between Grant, Furneaux, and
+herself that morning, and that greatly perplexed man could hardly fail to
+see how unjust was the tittle-tattle of the village.
+
+So, avoiding Mrs. Bates, whose fell intent it was to ask him what he
+wanted for dinner, he struck off along the road to Knoleworth, walked
+eight miles in two hours, and reached The Hollies about seven o'clock,
+rather inclined for a meal and much more contented with life.
+
+Minnie announced that a gentleman "who brought a bag" had been awaiting
+him since half-past five, and was now asleep on the lawn! A glance at the
+aforesaid bag, still reposing in the entrance hall, sent Grant quickly
+into the garden. A long, broad-shouldered person was stretched on a
+wicker chair, and evidently enjoying a nap. A huge meerschaum pipe and
+tobacco pouch lay on the grass. The newcomer's face was covered by a
+broad-brimmed, decidedly weather-beaten slouch hat, which, legend had it,
+was purchased originally in South America in the early nineties, and had
+won fame as the only one of its kind ever worn in the Strand.
+
+"Hullo! Wally! Glad to see you!" shouted Grant joyously.
+
+The sleeper stirred.
+
+"No, not another drop!" he muttered. "You fellows must have heads of
+triple brass and stomachs of leather!"
+
+"Get up, you rascal, or I'll spill you out of the chair!" said Grant.
+
+A lazy hand removed the hat, and a pair of peculiarly big and bright eyes
+gazed up into his.
+
+"Oh, it's you, is it?" drawled a quiet voice. "Why the blazes did you
+send for me? And, having sent, why wake me out of the best sleep I've
+had for a week?"
+
+"But why didn't you let me know you were coming? I would have met
+the train."
+
+"I did. Here's the telegram. That pink-cheeked maid of yours nearly had a
+fit when I opened it to show her that I was expected."
+
+"You wired from Victoria, I suppose?"
+
+"Would you have preferred Charing Cross, or the Temple? Isn't Victoria
+respectable?"
+
+Grant laughed as they shook hands. Hart was the most casual adventurer in
+existence. His specialty was revolutions. Wherever the flag of rebellion
+was raised against a government, thither went Walter Hart post-haste by
+train, steamer, or on horseback. He had been sentenced to death five
+times, and decorated by successful Jack Cades twice as often.
+
+"I'm a sort of outlaw. That's why I sought your help," explained Grant.
+
+"I know all about you, Jack," said Hart slowly, picking up the pipe and
+filling it from the pouch. The meerschaum was carved to represent the
+head of a grinning negro, and was now ebon black from use.
+
+"I felt like a pint of Sussex ale after a hot journey in the train, so
+hied me to the village inn, where several obliging gentlemen told me your
+real name. Two of them, Ingerman and Elkin, apparently make a hobby of
+enlightening strangers as to your right place in society."
+
+"I must interview Elkin."
+
+"Not worth while, my boy. Ingerman is the crafty one. I thought I might
+be doing you more harm than good, or I would have given him a thick ear
+this afternoon ... Oh, by the way, what time is it?"
+
+"Seven o'clock."
+
+"A little fellow named Furneaux is coming here to dinner at seven-thirty.
+Said he would drop in by the back door, and mutter 'Hush! I'm Hawkshaw,
+the detective.' He resembles a cock-sparrow, so I asked him why he didn't
+fly in through an attic window. He took my point at once, and remarked
+that he wanted none of my lip, or he would ask me officially what became
+of Don Ramon de Santander's big pink pearl. It's a queer yarn. There was
+a bust-up in Guatemala--"
+
+"Look here, Wally," broke in Grant anxiously. "Are you serious? Did
+Furneaux really say he was coming here?"
+
+"He did, and more--he expressed a partiality for a chicken roasted on a
+spit. You have a spit in your kitchen, he says, and a pair of chickens in
+your larder."
+
+"How did you contrive to meet him?"
+
+"You're a poor guesser, Jack. _He_ met _me_. 'That you, Mr. Hart?' he
+said. 'Mr. Grant's house is the first on the right across the bridge.
+Tell him'--and the rest of it."
+
+"Have you warned Mrs. Bates?"
+
+"Mrs. Bates being?"
+
+"My housekeeper."
+
+"No, sir. If she's anything like your housemaid, I'm glad I didn't, or
+I should have been chucked into the road. I had the deuce of a job to
+reach the lawn. Had I ordered dinner I might now have been in the
+village lockup."
+
+Grant hurried away, and placated Mrs. Bates after a stormy
+interlude. Precisely at 7.30 p. m. Minnie came and said that "Mr.
+Hawkshaw" had arrived.
+
+"Bring him out here," said Grant. "Fetch some sherry and glasses, and
+give us five minutes' notice before dinner is served."
+
+"Please, sir," tittered Minnie, "the gentleman prefers to stay indoors.
+He said his complexion won't stand the glare."
+
+"Very well," smiled Grant, rising. "Put the sherry and bitters on the
+sideboard."
+
+"Say," murmured Hart, "is this chap really a detective?"
+
+"Yes. He stands high at Scotland Yard."
+
+"Never more than five feet four, I'll swear. But I wouldn't have missed
+this for a pension. I have a revolver in my hip pocket, of course. One
+would feel lonely without it, even in England. But I hope you can stage a
+few knives and daggers, and a red light. I can cut masks out of a strip
+of black velvet. That girl will have a piece stowed away somewhere."
+
+The two entered the dining-room study, where the table was now laid for
+dinner. Furneaux was seated on the edge of a chair in the darkest
+corner. His eyes gleamed at them strangely.
+
+"Can you trust Bates?" he said to Grant.
+
+It was a wholly unexpected question, and Grant answered sharply:
+
+"Of course, I can."
+
+"Tell him to make sure that no one trespasses on your lawn between now
+and ten o'clock. Close that window, draw the blind and curtains, and
+block that small window, the one through which you saw the ghost."
+
+"Ye gods!" cackled Hart ecstatically.
+
+"Why all these precautions?" demanded Grant, rather amused now.
+
+"I'm supposed to be on the very verge of arresting you, and it would
+weaken the faith of my allies if I were seen drinking your wines and
+eating your chicken."
+
+"By the way, how did you know I had chickens in store, and a spit on
+which to roast them?"
+
+"I looked you over at five-thirty this morning, having traveled from
+London by the mail train. I must lecture you on your inefficient
+window-catches, Mr. Grant. Several self-respecting burglars of my
+acquaintance would give your house the go-by as being too easy. And, one
+other matter. I suggest that any man who mentions the Steynholme murder
+again before the coffee arrives shall be fined a sovereign for each
+offense, such fine, or fines, to form a fund for the relief of his
+hearers. _Cre nom d'un pipe_! Three intelligent men can surely discuss
+more interesting topics while they eat!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+AN INTERRUPTED SYMPOSIUM
+
+
+"Have a cigarette," said Grant to Furneaux, when the blinds were drawn, a
+lamp lighted, and the sherry dispensed.
+
+"Thank you."
+
+The self-invited guest took one. He sniffed it, broke the paper wrapping,
+and crumbled some of the tobacco between finger and thumb.
+
+"Ah, those Greeks!" he said sadly. "They simply can't go straight. This
+brand of Turk used to be made of a tobacco grown on a slope above
+Salonica. A strip of sun-baked soil built up a reputation which is now
+being bartered for filthy lucre by the use of Egyptian 'fillings.'"
+
+"You're a connoisseur, Mr. Hawknose--try these," said Hart, proffering
+a case, from which the detective drew a cigarette, throwing the other
+one aside.
+
+"Why 'Hawknose'?" he inquired.
+
+"A blend. First syllable of Hawkshaw and second of Furneaux--the latter
+Anglicized, of course."
+
+"And vulgarized."
+
+"You prefer Furshaw, perhaps?"
+
+"Either effort is feeble for a man who can write about South America,
+and be lucid. Do you smoke this stuff, may I ask?" While talking, he had
+smelt and destroyed the second cigarette.
+
+"If it's a fair question, what the devil do _you_ smoke?" cried Hart.
+
+"Nothing. I'm a non-smoker. My profession demands a clear intellect, not
+a brain atrophied by nicotine."
+
+"Piffle! Carlyle and Bismarck were smokers."
+
+"Who reads Carlyle now-a-days? And what modern German pays heed to
+Bismarck's dogmas? Look at that pipe of yours. It was once a pure ivory
+white. Now it is black--soiled by tobacco juice. Your lungs are slowly
+emulating it, and your wits will cloud in time. Read Tolstoi, Mr. Hart.
+He will teach you how nicotine deadens the conscience."
+
+"At last I know why I smoke like a Thames tug," laughed Hart, "but I'm
+blest if I can understand why _you_ make such a study of the vile weed."
+
+"Most criminals are addicted to the habit. I classify them by their brand
+of tobacco. For instance, a clever forger would never descend to thick
+twist, while a swell mobsman would turn with horror from a woodbine."
+
+Minnie entered, and nodded, whereupon Grant led the others upstairs to
+wash. From the bathroom he looked out over a darkening landscape. Doris's
+dormer window was open. She was leaning on the sill, but he could not
+tell whether or not her eyes were turned his way. Her attitude was
+pensive, disconsolate, curiously forlorn for a girl normally
+high-spirited. He was on the point of signaling to her when he remembered
+Furneaux's presence. There was something impish, almost diabolically
+clever, in that little man's characteristics which induced wariness.
+
+The dinner was a marvel, considering the short notice given to the cook.
+Luckily, Mrs. Bates, a loyal soul, had resolved to tempt her employer's
+appetite that evening. Village gossip had it that the police were about
+to arrest him, and she was determined he should enjoy at least one good
+meal before being haled to prison. Hence, the materials were present.
+The rest was a matter of quantities, and Sussex seldom stints itself in
+that respect.
+
+The chatter round the table was light and amusing. The three were well
+matched conversationally. Furneaux evidently held the opinion once
+expressed by a notable Walrus--that the time had come
+
+To talk of many things:
+Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
+Of cabbages--and kings.
+
+He was in excellent form, and the others played up to him. Hart's slow
+drawl was ever trenchant and witty, and Grant forgot his woes in
+congenial company. As for the mercurial detective himself, it might be
+said of him as of the school-master of Auburn:
+
+And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,
+That one small head could carry all he knew.
+
+It was he who dropped them with a bounce from the realm of fancy to the
+unpleasing region of ugly fact. No sooner had Minnie cleared the table,
+and brought in the coffee, than he whisked around on Grant as though
+hitherto he had been only awaiting an opportunity of scarifying him.
+
+"Now," he said, propping an elbow on the table, and supporting his chin
+on a clenched fist, "the embargo is off the Steynholme affair. _You_
+didn't kill Adelaide Melhuish, Mr. Grant. Who did?"
+
+"I wish I could tell you," was the emphatic answer.
+
+"Do you suspect anybody? You needn't fear the libel law in confiding your
+secret thought to me, and I assume that Mr. Hart is trustworthy--where
+his friends are concerned?"
+
+"Why that unkind differentiating clause, my pocket Vidocq?" put in Hart.
+
+"Because two Kings and a baker's dozen of Presidents have, at various
+times, sent most unflattering reports to this country about you."
+
+"I must have annoyed 'em most damnably."
+
+"You had. I congratulate you, but Heaven only knows where I may convoy
+you some day on an extradition warrant....Proceed, Mr. Grant."
+
+"I assure you, on my honor, that the only reasonable suggestion I can
+make is that put forward by my gardener to-day," said Grant. "He thinks
+that the murder must have been committed by a lunatic. I can offer no
+other hypothesis."
+
+"Your gardener may be right. But what lunatic, barring yourself and the
+horse-coper, Elkin, is in love with Doris Martin?"
+
+Like Elkin the previous night, Grant struck the table till things
+rattled.
+
+"Keep her name out of it," he cried fiercely. "You are a man of the
+world, not a suspicious idiot of the Robinson type. You heard to-day the
+full and true explanation of her presence here on Monday night. It was a
+sheer accident. Why harp on Doris Martin rather than any member of the
+Bates family?"
+
+"Who, may I ask, is Doris Martin?" put in Hart.
+
+"The Steynholme postmaster's daughter," said Furneaux. "A remarkably
+pretty and intelligent girl. If her father was a peer she would be the
+belle of a London season. As it is, her good looks seem to have put a
+maggot in more than one nut in this village."
+
+Hart waved the negro's head in the air.
+
+"The lunatic theory for mine," he declared. "If one woman's lovely face
+could bring a thousand ships to Ilion, why should not another's drive men
+to madness in Steynholme?"
+
+"Well phrased, sir," cackled Furneaux delightedly. "I'll wangle that in
+on a respected colleague of mine, who is a whale at deducing a
+proposition from given premises, but cannot induce a general fact from
+particular instances to save his life ... Now, stifle your romantic
+frenzy, Mr. Grant, and listen to me. If you were minded to instruct me in
+the art of writing good English, I would sit at your feet an attentive
+disciple. When I, Furneaux, of the 'Yard,' lay down a first principle in
+the investigation of crime, I expect deference on your part. I tell you
+unhesitatingly that if Doris Martin didn't exist, Adelaide Melhuish would
+be alive now. That, as a thesis, is nearly as certain a thing as that the
+sun will rise to-morrow. I go farther, and hazard the guess, not the
+fixed belief, though my guesses are usually borne out by events, that if
+Doris Martin had not been in this garden at half past ten on Monday
+night, Adelaide Melhuish would not have been killed some twenty minutes
+later. It is useless for you to fume and rage in vain effort to disprove
+either of these presumptive facts. You are simply beating the air. This
+mystery centers in and around the postmaster's daughter. Come, now, you
+are a reasonable person. Admit the cold, hard truth, and then give play
+to your fancy."
+
+"Sir," said Hart, brandishing his pipe again, "I suggest that you and I,
+here and now, form a mutual admiration society."
+
+"It is a cruel and bitter thing that an innocent girl should be dragged
+into association with a foul crime," said Grant stubbornly. "I am not
+disputing the force of your acumen, Mr. Furneaux. My only desire is to
+shield the good name of a very charming young lady."
+
+"What's done can't be undone," countered the detective, well knowing that
+Grant confessed himself beaten.
+
+"But what is all the bother about? You heard from Miss Martin's own lips
+absolutely the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Put her in the
+witness-box, and what more can she tell you?"
+
+"I am not worrying about her appearance in the witness-box," said
+Furneaux dryly. "Long before that stage is reached I shall be hunting a
+star burglar, or, perhaps, looking into the Foreign Office _dossier_ of
+our worthy friend here, as to-day's papers hint at trouble in Venezuela.
+No, sir. The county police will get all the credit. P.C. Robinson will be
+swanking about then, telling the yokels what _he_ did. I, with Olympic
+nod, say, 'There's your man!' and the handcuffs' brigade do the rest. So
+far as I can foresee, Miss Martin's name may be spared any undue
+prominence in this inquiry. I go even farther, and promise that anything
+I can do in that way shall be done."
+
+"That is very kind and considerate of you," said Grant gratefully.
+
+"Don't halloo till you're out of the wood." said Furneaux, sitting back
+suddenly and nursing his left knee with clasped hands. "I can't control
+other people's actions, you know. What I insist on to-night is that you
+shall envisage this affair in its proper light. We have a long way to
+travel before counsel rises with his smug 'May it please you, me lud,
+and gentlemen of the jury.' But, having persuaded you to agree that,
+willy nilly, Miss Doris is the hub of our little universe for the hour,
+I now swear you and this fire-eater in as assistants. There must be no
+more speeches, no punching of heads, very little love-making, and that
+by order--"
+
+"Has the postmaster's daughter a delectable sister, O Liliputian cop?"
+demanded Hart.
+
+"No. Two of 'em would have caused a riot long since. Mr. Grant will do
+all, and more than all, necessary in that direction."
+
+Grant leaned forward. He spoke very earnestly.
+
+"I want you to believe me when I tell you," he said, "that I never gave
+serious thought to the notion of marrying Miss Martin until such a
+possibility was suggested last night by that swab, Ingerman."
+
+"Ah, Ingerman! You kept a record of what he said, I gather?"
+
+"Yes, here it is."
+
+Grant rose, and went to a writing-desk with nests of drawers which stood
+against the wall on the left of the door. He never used it for its
+primary purpose. When the table was laid for meals, Minnie or her mother
+had orders to remove all papers and books to the top of the desk. The
+house contained no other living-room of size. The hall was spacious; a
+smoking den next the dining-room had degenerated into a receptacle of
+guns, fishing-rods, golf-clubs, Alpenstocks, skis and other such sporting
+accessories. The remainder of the ground-floor accommodation was given up
+to the Bateses.
+
+Unlocking a drawer, Grant produced a notebook, which he handed to
+Furneaux. The detective laid it on the table. He was sitting with
+his back to the large window. Hart faced him. Grant's chair was
+between the two.
+
+"By the way, as you're on your feet, Mr. Grant," said Furneaux, "you
+might just show me exactly where you were standing when you saw the face
+at the window."
+
+"For the love of Mike, what's this?" gurgled Hart. "'The face at the
+window'; 'the postmaster's daughter.' How many more catchy cross-heads
+will you bring into the story?"
+
+"Poor Adelaide Melhuish undoubtedly came here on Monday night and looked
+in at me while I was at work," said Grant sadly. "You know the history of
+my calf love three years ago, Wally."
+
+"Shall I ever forget it? You bored me stiff about it. Then, when the
+crash came, you walked me off my legs in the Upper Engadine. Ugh! That
+night on the Forno glacier. It gives me a chill to think of it now.
+Furneaux, pass the port. Your name is wrongly spelt. It should be
+fourneau, not Furneaux. A little oven. Hot stuff. Got me?"
+
+"My _dear_ Hart, you flatter me," retorted the detective instantly.
+
+"How long am I to pose here?" snapped Grant.
+
+"Sorry," said Furneaux. "These interruptions are banal. Is that where
+you were?"
+
+"Yes. I had my hand outstretched for a book. It's dark in this
+corner. When I want to find a book I light a candle, which is always
+placed on the ledge of the window for the purpose. The blind was not
+drawn that night. It seldom is. I had the book in my hand, and had
+found the required passage when I chanced to look at the window and
+saw _her_ face."
+
+"Do you mind reconstructing the scene. This lamp was on the table,
+I suppose?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, pull up the blind, light your candle, and find the book. Act the
+whole incident, in fact."
+
+Grant obeyed. He held the candlestick until he had picked out the
+particular volume; then he placed it in the recess of the window, and
+searched through the pages of the book.
+
+Furneaux bent forward so as to watch the rehearsal and catch the effect
+of the light externally. The hour was not so late as when Adelaide
+Melhuish, or her ghost, gazed in through one of those narrow panes, but
+the night was dark enough to lend the necessary _vraisemblance_. Hart,
+deeply interested, looked on with rapt, eager eyes. For a full minute
+the tableau remained thus. Then, with a rapidity born of many a close
+'scape in wild lands, Hart drew a revolver from a hip pocket, and fired
+at the window.
+
+He alone was in a position to see through all parts of it. Grant was
+still thumbing a small brown volume in the manner of one who knew that a
+certain passage would be found therein but was ignorant of its exact
+place in the text. Furneaux, intent on his every movement, had only a
+side-long view of the window, which, it will be remembered, formed a tiny
+rectangle in a thick wall.
+
+The revolver was a heavy-caliber weapon, and the explosion blew out the
+lamp. The flame of the candle flickered, owing either to the passage of
+the bullet or the disturbance of the air. But it burnt steadily again
+within the fifth part of a second, and they all saw a starred hole in the
+center pane of glass of the second tier from the bottom.
+
+"What fool's game are you playing?" shrilled Furneaux, nevertheless
+active as a wildcat in his spring to the French window, there to snatch
+at the blind and turn the knob which controlled a lever bolt.
+
+"Laying another ghost--one with whiskers," said Hart coolly. "I got him,
+too, I think."
+
+"You must be mad, mad!" shrieked the detective, tearing open the window,
+and vanishing.
+
+"For Heaven's sake, Wally, no more shooting!" cried Grant, running
+after Furneaux.
+
+Minnie and her mother appeared at the dining-room door. Finding the place
+in semi-obscurity, and reeking with gunpowder, they screamed loudly.
+
+"You Steynholme folk are all on the jump," said Hart. "Cheer up, fair
+dames! Thunder relieves the atmosphere, you know, and one live cartridge
+is often more effective than an ocean of talk."
+
+"Bub-bub-but who's shot, sir?" gasped Minnie.
+
+"A ghost, a most scoundrelly apparition, with fearsome eyes, offensive
+whiskers, and a hat which is a base copy of mine."
+
+"Owd Ben!" sighed Mrs. Bates, collapsing straightway in a faint.
+
+Luckily, Minnie caught her mother and broke her fall, because the
+housekeeper was large and solid, and might have been seriously injured
+otherwise. Hart was distressed by this development, but, being eminently
+a ready person in an emergency, he rose to the occasion by extracting the
+empty case from the revolver, and holding it to the poor woman's
+nostrils, while supporting her with an arm and a knee.
+
+"This is far more effective than burnt brown paper, Minnie," he said.
+"Now, don't get excited, but mix some brandy and water, and we'll have
+your mother telling us who Owd Ben is, or was, before Hawk-eye comes back
+to disturb us. Judging by the noises I hear, he's busy outside."
+
+"That's father!" shrieked Minnie hysterically.
+
+"Good Lord! Has your father--"
+
+For an instant, Hart was nearly alarmed, but Grant's voice came
+authoritatively:
+
+"It's all right, Bates. Let go, I tell you!"
+
+"Phew!" said Hart. "I was on the point of confusing your respected dad
+with Owd Ben ... That's it, ma! Sniff hard! As a cook you're worth your
+weight in gold, which is some cook."
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux, seeing that no dead body was stretched on the strip
+of grass beneath the window, dashed into the shrubbery to the right, and
+was clutched in a mighty embrace by an older but much more powerful man
+in Bates, who had hurried from the front of the house on hearing the
+pistol-shot. Most fortunately, the gardener, deeming his vigil a needless
+one, had not armed himself with a stick, or the consequences might have
+been grave. As it was, no one except Hart had been vouchsafed sight or
+sound of the latest specter, which, however, had left a very convincing
+souvenir of its visit in the shape of a soft felt hat with two bullet
+holes through the crown.
+
+Furneaux, quivering with silent wrath, soon abandoned the search when
+this _piece de conviction_ was found at the root of the Dorothy Perkins
+rose-tree. Seeing the lamp relighted, he peremptorily bade Grant and
+Bates come in with him. He closed the window, adjusted the blind again,
+and poured generous measures of port wine into two glasses. Handing one
+to Bates, he took the other himself.
+
+"Friend," he said, "some men have fame thrust upon them, but you have
+achieved it. To-night you pierced the heel of Achilles. Here's to you!"
+
+"I dunno wot 'ee's saying mister, but 'good health'," said Bates,
+swigging the wine with gusto.
+
+"Now, for your master's sake, not a word to a soul about this hubbub."
+
+"Right you are, sir! But that there pryin' Robinson wur on t' bridge five
+minutes since. And, by gum, here he is!"
+
+A determined knock and ring came at the front door. Minnie, helped by
+Hart, had just escorted Mrs. Bates to the kitchen.
+
+"Let _me_ go!" said Furneaux, darting out into the hall. He opened the
+door, and thrust his face into the police-constable's, startling the
+latter considerably. Before Robinson could utter a syllable, the
+detective hissed a question.
+
+"Did anyone cross the bridge after that shot was fired?"
+
+"Nun--No, sir," stuttered the other.
+
+"You saw no one running along the road?"
+
+"Saw nothing, sir."
+
+"Very well. Glad to find you're on the job. Don't let on you met me here.
+Good-night!"
+
+Mighty is Scotland Yard with the provincial police. Robinson was back on
+his self-imposed beat before he well realized that he knew neither why
+nor by whom nor by what sort of weapon the commotion had been created.
+But he was quite sure the noise came from the garden front of Mr.
+Grant's house.
+
+"That little hop-o'-me-thumb thinks he's smart, dam smart," he communed
+angrily, "but I've taken a line of me own, an' I'll stick to it, though
+the Yard sends down twenty men!"
+
+He heard footsteps coming down a paved footpath which ran like a white
+riband through the cobble-beaded width of the high-street, and withdrew
+swiftly to the shelter of a disused tannery adjoining the village end of
+the bridge. A cloaked female figure sped past. Though the night was
+rather dark for June, he had no difficulty in recognizing Doris Martin's
+graceful movements. No other girl in Steynholme walked like her. She was
+slim enough to dispense with tight corsets, and tall enough to wear
+low-heeled shoes, nor did she need to pinch her toes in order to gain the
+semblance of small feet.
+
+After her went Robinson, keyed to exultation by this outcome of his
+watchfulness. She was going to The Hollies, of course. The road led to
+Knoleworth, and no young woman of her age in the village would dream of
+taking a lonely walk in the country at ten o'clock at night.
+
+For a man of his height and somewhat ponderous build, the policeman
+followed with real stealth. Thus, when she turned in at the gate, he was
+there by the time she had reached the front door. He heard her pull the
+bell. Curiously enough, to his thinking, Furneaux again appeared.
+
+"Is Mr. Grant at home?" he heard Doris say.
+
+"Yes. Will you come in?" replied the detective.
+
+"Is he--is all well here?"
+
+"Quite, I assure you. But _do_ come in. I'll escort you home. I'm going
+to the inn in five minutes."
+
+Doris, after hesitating a little, entered.
+
+Robinson crept on tiptoe over a stretch of gravel, and took to the
+shrubbery. It was high time, he thought, that the local constabulary
+learnt what was going on in that abode of mystery.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+HE WHOM THE CAP FITS--
+
+
+Several minutes had elapsed between the two unexpected visits. During
+those minutes a somewhat acrimonious discussion broke out in the
+dining-room. Bates went to reassure his wife, and Hart sauntered back
+from the kitchen. He was received by Furneaux and Grant more in sorrow
+than in anger, a pose on their part which he blandly disregarded. He
+helped himself to the remains of the decanter of port.
+
+"The next point of vital interest in the narrative is to establish, by
+such evidence as is available, who Owd Ben is, or was," he said. "I
+presume, since he had attained local celebrity as a ghost, he has passed
+over, as the spiritists say."
+
+"Sit down!" cried Furneaux savagely.
+
+Hart sat down, and began filling that portentous pipe.
+
+"You fellows merely ran into each other outside, I take it," he said,
+apparently by way of a chatty remark. "The crack of the pistol-shot and
+the supposed resurrection of Owd Ben threw Mrs. Bates temporarily off her
+balance, so I helped in reviving her. Between such a cook and such a
+ghost, who would hesitate?"
+
+When Furneaux was really irritated, he swore in French.
+
+_"Nom d'un bon petit homme gris!"_ he almost squealed, "why did you whip
+out that infernal revolver? You spoiled everything, everything! Have you
+no sense in that picturesque head of yours? Your skull is big enough to
+hold brains, not soap-bubbles."
+
+"Did your French father marry a Jap?" inquired Hart, with sudden
+interest.
+
+"And now you're insulting my mother," yelped the detective.
+
+"Not I. You know nothing about the finest race of little women in the
+world, or you would not even imagine such rubbish."
+
+"But why, why, didn't you tell me that you saw someone outside?"
+
+"You wouldn't have believed me. The goblin was disappearing. I had to
+shoot quick."
+
+"Why shoot at all?"
+
+"Sir, there are certain manifestations I object to on principle. What
+self-respecting ghost ever wore whiskers?"
+
+"This was no ghost. You shot the man's hat off."
+
+"Then what the blazes are you growling at? Had I, in blood-curdling
+whisper, told you that once again there was a face at the window, you
+would have scoffed at me. The ill-looking scamp caught my eye after his
+first glance at Grant. He was mizzling when I fired. You would have sat
+there and argued about hypnosis, with our worthy author's skilled
+support. And there would have been no hat! I do an admirable bit of trick
+shooting, yet I am only reviled for my dexterity. Really, Charles
+Francois!"
+
+"Ah! You remember, at last," and the detective smiled sourly.
+
+"_Parfaitement_! as they say in Paris, where you and I met once, though
+'twas in a crowd. But _I_ didn't steal the blessed pearl. I believe it
+was that blatant patriot, Domengo Suarez."
+
+"You've got _some_ brains, then. Why not use them? Don't you see what a
+fix we three would have found ourselves in had you shot the man?"
+
+"But, consider, Carlo mio! A spook with whiskers! What court would find
+me guilty? Let me produce the authentic record of Owd Ben, and I have no
+doubt but that the Lord Chief Justice himself would have potted his
+representative. He'd be bound to confess it."
+
+Furneaux was cooling down.
+
+"You've shaken my confidence," he said. "Unless I have your promise that
+you will never do such a thing again while in my company, I shall ban you
+from this inquiry with bell, book, and candle."
+
+"Very well. It's a bargain. Now let us ponder Exhibit A."
+
+He stretched a long arm over the table, and took the hat.
+
+"Put it on!" commanded the detective.
+
+Hart did so, and scowled frightfully. Furneaux bent forward and squinted.
+
+"Notice the line of those bullet-holes," he said to Grant.
+
+"Any man wearing that hat must have had his scalp ploughed up," said
+Grant instantly.
+
+"Well, we know that nothing of the kind happened. Why?"
+
+"It was perched on top of a wig," drawled Hart.
+
+Furneaux was slightly disappointed--there was no denying it. Being a vain
+little person, he liked to show off in a minor matter such as this.
+
+"Yes," he admitted, "and what's the corollary?"
+
+"That the wearer is probably a clean-shaven person with thin hair, a
+daring scoundrel who is well posted in the leading characteristics
+of Owd Ben. Charles le Petit, time is now ripe for details of that
+hairy goblin."
+
+"Where did you dig him up from, anyhow?" said the detective testily.
+
+"Mrs. Bates recognized him from my vivid description."
+
+"Her husband can tell us the story," put in Grant. "I'll fetch him."
+
+He had not moved ere the front door bell rang a second time.
+
+"Here is Owd Ben himself, I expect," said Hart.
+
+"If it's that Robinson--" growled Furneaux vexedly, hastening to
+forestall Minnie.
+
+But it was Doris Martin, and very pretty she looked as she entered the
+room, her high color being the joint outcome of a rapid walk and a very
+natural embarrassment at finding the frankly admiring eyes of a stranger
+fixed on her.
+
+"I don't quite know why I'm here," she said, with a nervous laugh,
+addressing Grant directly. "You will think I am always gazing in the
+direction of The Hollies, but my room commands this house so fully that I
+cannot help seeing or hearing anything unusual. A few minutes ago I heard
+what I thought was a muffled gunshot. I looked out, and saw your window
+thrown open, though the light was dim, and only a candle was showing in
+the smaller window. I was alarmed, so came to inquire what had happened.
+You'll pardon me, I'm sure."
+
+"Say you don't, Jack, I implore you, and let me apologize for you,"
+pleaded Hart.
+
+"Doris, this is my good friend, Wally Hart," smiled Grant. "Won't you sit
+down? We have an exciting story for you."
+
+"Father will be horribly anxious if he knows I have gone out."
+
+Nevertheless, there was sufficient spice of Mother Eve in Doris that she
+should take the proffered chair.
+
+"Sorry to interrupt," broke in Furneaux. "Did you meet P.C. Robinson!"
+
+"No."
+
+"You came by way of the bridge?"
+
+"There is no other way, unless one makes a detour by Bush Walk."
+
+The detective whirled round on Grant.
+
+"What room is over this one?"
+
+"Minnie's."
+
+"She's in the kitchen, with her mother. See that she doesn't come
+upstairs while I'm absent. You three keep on talking."
+
+"Thanks," said Hart.
+
+Doris, more self-possessed now, read the meaning of the quip promptly.
+
+"Mr. Grant has often spoken of you," she said. "You talk, and
+we'll listen."
+
+"Not so, divinity," came the retort. "I may be a parrot, but I don't want
+my neck wrung when you've gone."
+
+"Don't encourage him, Doris," said Grant, "or you'll be here till
+midnight."
+
+"If that's the best you can do, you had better leave the recital to me,"
+laughed Hart.
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had stolen noiselessly to the bedroom overhead. The
+casement window was open--he had noted that fact while in the garden. He
+peeped out, and was just in time to see Robinson emulating a Sioux Indian
+on the war-path. The policeman removed his helmet, and was about to peer
+cautiously through the small window. The detective's blood ran cold. What
+if Hart discovered yet another ghost?
+
+"Robinson--go home!" he said, in sepulchral tones.
+
+The constable positively jumped. He gaped on all sides in real terror.
+He, too, had heard hair-raising tales of Owd Ben.
+
+"Go home!" hissed Furneaux, leaning out.
+
+Then the other looked up.
+
+"Oh, it's you, sir!" he gasped, sighing with relief.
+
+"Man, you've had the closest shave of your life! There's a fellow below
+there who shoots at sight."
+
+"But I'm on duty, sir."
+
+"You'll be in Kingdom Come if you gaze in at that window. Be off!"
+
+"I--"
+
+"Robinson, you and I will quarrel if you don't do as I bid you. And that
+would be a pity, because I want to inform Mr. Fowler that he has a
+particularly smart man in Steynholme."
+
+"Very well, sir, if _you're_ satisfied, I _must_ be."
+
+And away went the eavesdropper, crushed, still tingling with that fear of
+the supernatural latent in every heart, but far from convinced.
+
+Furneaux tripped downstairs. The routing of Robinson had put him into a
+real good humor. He found the three in the dining-room gazing
+spell-bound at the felt hat.
+
+"Now, young lady, you're coming with me," he said, grinning amiably. "The
+Sussex constabulary is quelled for the hour."
+
+"But, Mr. Furneaux, I recognize that hat!" said Doris, and it was notable
+that even Hart remained silent.
+
+The detective looked at her strangely, but put no question.
+
+"I am almost sure it belongs to our local Amateur Dramatic Society," went
+on the girl. "It was worn by Mr. Elkin last November. He played a
+burlesque of Svengali. I was Trilby, and caught a horrid cold from
+walking about without shoes or stockings."
+
+"Don't tell me any more," was Furneaux's surprising comment. "I'll do the
+rest. But let me remark, Miss Martin, that I experienced great
+difficulty, not so long ago, in persuading friend Grant that you were the
+only important witness this case has provided thus far. Playing in a
+burlesque, were you? We've been similarly engaged to-night. The farce
+must stop now. It makes way for grim tragedy. Not one word of to-night's
+events to anyone, please.... Are you ready?"
+
+Doris stood up. Hart thrust the negro's head at the detective.
+
+"Fouche," he said, "do you honestly mean slinging your hook without
+making any inquiry as to Owd Ben?"
+
+"Oh, the ghost!" said Doris eagerly. "The Bateses would think of him, of
+course. An old farmer named Ben Robson used to live in this house about
+the time of Napoleon. He was suspected by the authorities to be an agent
+of the smugglers, and the story goes that his own daughter quarreled with
+him and betrayed him. He narrowly escaped hanging, owing to his age, I
+believe, and was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. At last he was
+released, being then a very old man, and he came straight here and
+strangled his daughter. It is quite a terrible story. He was found dead
+by her side. Then people remembered that she had spoken of someone
+scaring her by looking in through that small window some nights
+previously. Naturally, a ghost was soon manufactured. I really wonder why
+the man who rebuilt and renamed the place in the middle of last century
+didn't have the window removed altogether."
+
+"Glad I began the work of demolition tonight," said Hart, and, for once,
+his tone was serious.
+
+"Why did you never tell me that scrap of history, Doris?" inquired Grant.
+
+"You liked the place so much that father and I agreed not to mar your
+enthusiasm by recalling an unpleasant legend," she said frankly. "Not
+that what I've related isn't true. The record appears in a Sussex
+Miscellany of those years.... Oh, my goodness, can it be eleven o'clock!"
+
+The hall clock had no doubt on the point. Furneaux pocketed the written
+notes regarding Ingerman, and grabbed the hat off the table. Grant, for
+some reason, was aware that the detective repressed an obvious reference
+to the last occasion on which the girl had heard that same clock
+announce the hour.
+
+Furneaux would allow no other escort. He and Doris made off immediately.
+
+When they were gone, Hart stared fixedly at an empty decanter.
+
+"My dim recollection of your port, Jack, is that it was a wine of many
+virtues and few vices," he mused aloud.
+
+Grant took the hint, and went to a cellar. Returning, he found his crony
+poring over the book which, singularly enough, figured prominently on
+each occasion when the specter-producing window was markedly in
+evidence. Hart glanced up at his host, and nodded cheerfully at a
+dust-laden bottle.
+
+"What is there in 'The Talisman' which needed so much research?" he
+asked.
+
+"Some lines by Sir David Lindsay, quoted by Scott," was the answer.
+
+"Are these they?" And Hart read:
+
+One thing is certain in our Northern land;
+Allow that birth, or valor, wealth, or wit,
+Give each precedence to their possessor,
+Envy, that follows on such eminence,
+As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck's trace,
+Shall pull them down each one.
+
+"Yes," said Grant.
+
+"Love isn't mentioned. The fair Doris will be true. You're in luck, my
+boy. But somebody is out for your blood, and here is clear warning. Gee
+whizz! If I remain in Steynholme a week I shall become an occultist. What
+is a lyme-hound?"
+
+"'Lyme,' or 'leam,' is the old-time word for 'leash.'"
+
+"Good!" said Hart. "That will appeal to Furneaux. Have him in to dinner
+every day, Jack. He's a tonic!"
+
+Furneaux, for some reason known only to himself, did not accompany Doris
+to the post office. Once they were across the bridge, and the broad
+village street, more green than roadway, was seen to be empty, he tapped
+her on the shoulder and said pleasantly:
+
+"Run away home now, little girl. Sleep well, and don't worry. The tangle
+will right itself in time."
+
+"Poor Mr. Grant is suffering," she ventured to murmur.
+
+"And a good thing, too. It will steady him. Hurry, please. I'll wait here
+till you are behind a locked door."
+
+"No one in Steynholme will hurt me," she said.
+
+"You never can tell. I'm not taking any chances to-night, however."
+
+So Doris sped swiftly up the hill. Arrived at her house, she waved a hand
+to the detective, who flourished his straw hat in response. A fine June
+night in England is never really dark, so the two could not only see each
+other but, when Doris disappeared, Furneaux, turning sharply on his heel,
+was able to make out the sudden straightening of a pucker in the blind of
+a ground-floor room in P.C. Robinson's abode.
+
+The detective walked straight there, and tapped lightly on the window.
+Robinson, after an affected delay, came to the door.
+
+"Who's there?" he demanded.
+
+"As if you didn't know," laughed Furneaux.
+
+Robinson turned a key, and looked out.
+
+"Oh, it's you, sir?" he cried.
+
+"You'll get tired of saying that before I quit Steynholme," said the
+detective. "May I come in? No, don't show a light here. Let's chat in the
+back kitchen."
+
+"I was just going to have a bite of supper, sir," began Robinson
+apologetically. "It's laid in the kitchen. On'y bread and cheese an' a
+glass of beer. Will you join me?"
+
+"With pleasure, if I hadn't stuffed myself at Grant's place. Nice fellow,
+Grant. Pity you and he don't seem to get on together. Of course, we
+policemen cannot allow friendship to interfere with duty, but, between
+you and me, Robinson--strictly in confidence--Grant had no more to do
+with the actual murder of Miss Melhuish than either of us two."
+
+Robinson had turned up a lamp, and hospitably installed Furneaux in his
+own easy-chair.
+
+"The 'actual murder,' you said, sir?" he repeated.
+
+"Yes. It was his presence at The Hollies which brought an infatuated
+woman there, and thus directly led to her death. That is all. Grant is
+telling the truth. I assure you, Robinson, I never allow myself to break
+bread with a man whom I may have to convict. So, I'll change my mind, and
+take a snack of your bread and cheese."
+
+The village constable, by no means a fool, grinned at the implied
+tribute. What he did not appreciate so readily was the fact that his
+somewhat massive form was being twiddled round the detective's
+little finger.
+
+"Right you are, sir," he cried cheerily. "But, if Mr. Grant didn't kill
+Miss Melhuish, who did!"
+
+"In all probability, the man who wore that hat," chirped Furneaux, taking
+a nondescript bundle from a coat pocket, and throwing it on the table.
+
+Robinson started. This June night was full of weird surprises. He
+set down a jug of beer with a bang--his intent being to fill two
+glasses already in position, from which circumstance even the least
+observant visitor might deduce a Mrs. Robinson, _en neglige_,
+hastily flown upstairs.
+
+He examined the hat as though it were a new form of bomb.
+
+"By gum!" he muttered. "Are these bullet-holes?"
+
+"They are."
+
+"An' is this what someone fired at?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But how in thunder--"
+
+He checked himself in time. He did not want to admit that he had been
+watching the only recognized road to Grant's house all the evening.
+
+"Quite so!" chortled Furneaux, with admirable misunderstanding. "You're
+quick on the trigger, Robinson--almost as quick as that friend of Grant's
+who arrived by the 5.30 from London. You perceive at once that no
+ordinary head could have worn that hat without having its hair combed by
+the same bullet. It was stuck on to a thick wig. Now, tell me the man, or
+woman, in Steynholme, who wears a wig and a hat like that, and you and I
+will guess who killed Miss Melhuish."
+
+Robinson suspected that, as he himself would have put it, his leg was
+being pulled rather violently. Furneaux read his face like a printed
+page. Chewing, much against his will, a mouthful of bread and cheese, he
+mumbled in solemn, broken tones:
+
+"Think--Robinson. Don't--answer--offhand. Has--anybody--ever worn--such
+things--in a play?"
+
+Then the policeman was convinced, galvanized by memory, as it were.
+
+"By gum!" he cried again. "Fred Elkin--in a charity performance
+last winter."
+
+Furneaux choked with excitement.
+
+"A horsey-looking chap, on to-day's jury," he gurgled.
+
+"That's him!"
+
+"The scoundrel!"
+
+"No wonder he looked ill."
+
+"No wonder, indeed. How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill
+deeds done!"
+
+"But, sir--"
+
+Robinson was flabbergasted. He could only murmur "Fred Elkin!" in a
+dazed way.
+
+"Have a drink," said Furneaux sympathetically. "I'll wet my whistle,
+too. Only half a glass, please. Now, we mustn't jump to conclusions.
+This Elkin looks a villain, but may not be one. That is to say, his
+villainy may be confined to dealings in nags. But you see, Robinson,
+what a queer turn this affair is taking. We must get rid of preconceived
+notions. Superintendent Fowler and you and I will go into this matter
+thoroughly to-morrow. Meanwhile, breathe not a syllable to a living
+soul. If I were you, I'd let Mr. Grant understand that we regard him as
+rather outside the scope of our inquiry. This beer is very good for a
+country village. You know a good thing when you see it, I expect. Pity I
+don't smoke, or I'd join you in a pipe. I must get a move on, now, or
+that fat landlord will be locking me out. Good night! Yes. I'll take
+the hat. _Good_ night!"
+
+While walking up the hill Furneaux fanned himself with the straw hat.
+
+"One small bit of my brain is evidently a hereditary bequest from a
+good-natured ass!" he communed. "Here am I, Furneaux, plagued beyond
+endurance by a first-class murder case, and I must go and busy myself
+with the love affair of a postmaster's daughter and a feather-headed
+novelist!"
+
+When Tomlin admitted him to the Hare and Hounds, he buttonholed the
+landlord, who, at that hour, was usually somewhat obfuscated.
+
+"Sir," said the detective gravely, "I am told that you Steynholme folk
+indulge occasionally in such frivolities as amateur theatricals?"
+
+"Once in a way, sir. Once in a way. Afore I lock up the bar, will you--"
+
+"Not to-night. I've mixed port and beer already, and I'm only a little
+fellow. Now you, Mr. Tomlin, can mix anything, I fancy?"
+
+"I've tried a few combinations in me time, sir."
+
+"But, about these theatrical performances--is there any scenery,
+costumes, 'props' as actors call them?"
+
+"Yes, sir. They're stored in the loft over the club-room--the room where
+the inquest wur held."
+
+"What, _here_?"
+
+Furneaux's shrill cry scared Mr. Tomlin.
+
+"Y-yes, sir," he stuttered.
+
+"Is that my candle?" said the detective tragically. "I'm tired, dead
+beat. To-night, Mr. Tomlin, you are privileged to see the temporary wreck
+of a noble mind. God wot, 'tis a harrowing spectacle."
+
+Furneaux skipped nimbly upstairs. Tomlin proceeded to lock up.
+
+"It's good for trade," he mumbled, "but I'll be glad when these 'ere
+Lunnon gents clears out. They worry me, they do. Fair gemme a turn, 'e
+did. A tec', indeed! He's nothin' but a play-hactor hisself!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE CASE AGAINST GRANT
+
+
+Next morning, after a long conference with Superintendent Fowler, from
+which, to his great chagrin, P. C. Robinson was excluded, Furneaux went
+to the post office, dispatched an apparently meaningless telegram to a
+code address, and exchanged a few orthodox remarks with Doris and her
+father about the continued fine weather. While he was yet at the counter,
+Ingerman crossed the road and entered the chemist's shop.
+
+"Let me see," said the detective musingly, "by committing a slight
+trespass on your left-hand neighbor's garden, can I reach the yard
+of the inn?"
+
+"What the eye doesn't see the heart doesn't grieve over," smiled Doris.
+"Mrs. Jefferson went to Knoleworth early to-day, and took her maid. By
+shopping at the stores there, they save their fares, and have a day out
+each week."
+
+"May I go that way, then?" he said. "Suppose you send that goggle-eyed
+skivvy of yours on an errand."
+
+This was done, and Furneaux made the desired transit.
+
+Now, Tomlin, to whom the comings and goings of all and sundry formed the
+staple of the day's gossip, had seen the detective go out, but could
+"take his sollum davy" that the queer little man had not returned. He,
+too, had watched Ingerman going to Siddle's. Ten minutes later Elkin came
+down the hill, and headed for the same rendezvous. Five minutes more, and
+Hobbs, the butcher, joined the others. Tomlin was seething with
+curiosity, but there were some casual customers in the "snug," so he
+could not abandon his post.
+
+Soon, however, Ingerman led Elkin and Hobbs to the inn. Evidently, the
+"financier" had been making some small purchases. He was in high spirits.
+Ordering appetizers before the mid-day meal, he announced that he was
+returning to London that afternoon, but would be in Steynholme again for
+the adjourned inquest.
+
+"No matter how my business suffers, I mean to see this affair through,"
+he vowed. "You gentlemen can pretty well guess my private convictions.
+You were good enough to give me your friendship, so I spoke as openly
+as one dares when no charge has actually been laid against any
+particular person."
+
+"Ay," said Elkin, with whom sunshine seemed to disagree, because he
+looked miserably ill. "We know what you mean, Mr. Ingerman. If the police
+were half sharp they'd have nabbed their man before this ... Did you put
+any water in this gin, Tomlin?"
+
+"Water?" wheezed Tomlin indignantly. _"Water?"_
+
+"Well, no offense. I can't taste anything. I believe I could swallow dope
+and not feel it on my tongue."
+
+"You do look bad, an' no mistake, Fred," agreed Hobbs. "Are you vettin'
+yerself? Don't. Every man to his trade, sez I. Give Dr. Foxton a call."
+
+"I'm taking his medicine regular. Perhaps I need a change."
+
+"'Ave a week-end in Lunnon," said Hobbs, with a broad wink.
+
+"Change of medicine, I mean. I'm not leaving Steynholme till things make
+a move. My next trip to London will be my honeymoon."
+
+"You look like a honeymooner, I don't think," guffawed Hobbs.
+
+"You wouldn't laugh if I told _you_ what you really look like," cried
+Elkin angrily. "Bet you a level fiver I'm married this year. Now, put up
+or shut up!"
+
+Furneaux peeped in, through a door, always open, which led to the stairs.
+
+"Can I have my account, Mr. Tomlin?" he said. "I'm going to town by the
+next train."
+
+"You don't mean to say, Mr. Furneaux, that you are abandoning the case so
+soon?" broke in Ingerman.
+
+"Did I say that?" inquired the detective meekly.
+
+"No. One can't help drawing inferences occasionally."
+
+"Great mistake. Look at our worthy landlord. He's been drawing inferences
+as well as corks, and he's beat to the world."
+
+Tomlin was, indeed, gazing at his smaller guest open-mouthed.
+
+"S'elp me!" he gurgled. "I could ha' sworn--"
+
+"Bad habit," and Furneaux crooked a waggish forefinger at him. "Even the
+wisest among us may err. Last night, for instance, I blundered. I really
+fancied I had a clew to the Steynholme murderer. And where do you think
+it ended? In the loft of your club-room, Mr. Tomlin. In a box of old
+clothes at that. Silly, isn't it?"
+
+"Wot! Them amatoor play-hactin' things?"
+
+"Exactly."
+
+Elkin grunted, though intending to laugh.
+
+"Not so sharp for a London 'tec, I must say," he cried. "Why, those props
+have been there since before Christmas."
+
+"Yes. I know now," was the downcast reply. "Twelve hours ago I thought
+differently. Didn't I, Mr. Tomlin?"
+
+Tomlin tried hard to look knowing.
+
+"Oh, is that wot you wur drivin' at?" he said. "Dang me, mister, I could
+soon ha' put you right 'ad you tole me."
+
+"Well, well. Can't be helped. I may do better in London. What do _you_
+say, Mr. Ingerman? The City is the real mint of money and crime. Who
+knows but that a stroll through Cornhill may have some bearing on the
+Steynholme mystery?"
+
+"May be you'd get a bit nearer if you took a stroll along the Knoleworth
+Road, and not so very far, either," guffawed Elkin.
+
+"Who knows?" repeated Furneaux sadly. "Good-day, gentlemen. Some of this
+merry party will meet again, of course, if not here, at the Assizes.
+Don't forget my bill. Mr. Tomlin. By the way, one egg at breakfast had
+seen vicissitudes. It shouldn't be rated too highly."
+
+"I'm traveling by your train," cried Ingerman.
+
+"So I understood," said Furneaux over his shoulder.
+
+There was silence for a moment after he had gone. Ingerman looked
+thoughtful, even puzzled. He was casting back in his mind to discover
+just how and when the detective "understood" that his departure was
+imminent, since he himself had only arrived at a decision after leaving
+the chemist's.
+
+"That chap is no good," announced Elkin. "I'll back old Robinson against
+him any day."
+
+"Sh-s-sh! He may 'ear you," muttered the landlord.
+
+"Don't care if he does. Cornhill! What the blazes has Cornhill to do
+with the murder at The Hollies?"
+
+Ingerman appreciated the value of that concluding phrase. Elkin had used
+it once before in Siddle's shop, and was quietly reproved by the chemist
+for his outspokenness.
+
+Ingerman, however, did not inform the company that his office lay in an
+alley off Cornhill. He elected to rub in Elkin's words.
+
+"Mr. Siddle seemed to object to The Hollies being mentioned as the scene
+of the crime," he said. "I wonder why?"
+
+"Because he's an old molly-coddle," snapped the horse-dealer. "Thinks
+everyone is like himself, a regular slow-coach."
+
+Tomlin closed the door into the passage, closed it for the first time in
+living memory, whereat Furneaux, on the landing above, grinned
+sardonically, and ran downstairs.
+
+"Wot's this about them amatoor clo'es?" he inquired portentously. "Oo 'as
+the key of that box?"
+
+"_I_ have," said Elkin. "I locked it after the last performance, and,
+unless you've been up to any monkey tricks, Tomlin, the duds are
+there yet."
+
+"You're bitin' me 'ead off all the mornin', Fred," protested the
+aggrieved landlord. "Fust, the gin was wrong, an' now I'm supposed to
+'ave rummidged yur box. Wot for?"
+
+Furneaux popped in.
+
+"My bill ready?" he squeaked.
+
+"No, sir. The train--"
+
+"Leaves at two, but I'm driving to Knoleworth with Superintendent
+Fowler."
+
+The door closed behind him. Tomlin shook his head.
+
+"Box! Jack-in-the-box, I reckon," he said darkly, turning to a
+dog-eared ledger.
+
+Neither at Knoleworth nor Victoria did Ingerman catch sight of the
+detective, though he was anxious either to make the journey in the
+company of the representative of Scotland Yard or arrange an early
+appointment with him. True, he was not inclined to place the
+strange-mannered little man on the same high plane as that suggested by
+certain London journalists to whom he had spoken. But he wanted to win
+the confidence of "the Yard" in connection with this case, and the belief
+that he was being avoided was nettling. He found consolation, of a sort,
+in the illustrated papers. One especially contained two pages of local
+pictures. "Mr. Grant addressing the crowd," with full text, was very
+effective, while there were admirable studies of The Hollies and the
+"scene of the tragedy." His own portrait was not flattering. The sun had
+etched his Mephistophelian features rather sharply, whereas Grant looked
+a very fine fellow.
+
+Ingerman would have been more than surprised were he privileged to
+overhear a conversation which began and ended before he reached his flat
+in North Kensington.
+
+Furneaux, who had jumped into the fore part of the train at Knoleworth,
+and was out in a jiffy at Victoria, handed his bag to a station
+detective, and turned into Vauxhall Bridge Road, one of the quietest of
+London's main thoroughfares. There he met a big man, dressed in tweeds,
+whose manifest concern at the moment seemed to center in a rather bad
+wrapping of a very good cigar.
+
+"Ah! How goes it, Charles?" cried the big man heartily, affecting to be
+aware of Furneaux's presence when the latter had walked nearly a hundred
+yards down a comparatively deserted street.
+
+"What's wrong with the toofa?" inquired Furneaux testily.
+
+"My own carelessness. Stupid things, bands on cigars.... Well, what's
+the rush?"
+
+"There's a train to Steynholme at five o'clock. I want you to take hold.
+I must have help. Like your cigar, this case has come unstuck."
+
+Mr. James Leander Winter, Chief Inspector under the Criminal
+Investigation Department, whistled softly.
+
+"Tut, tut!" he said. "One can never trust the newspapers. Reading this
+morning's particulars, it looked dead easy."
+
+"Tell me how it struck you. Sometimes the uninformed brain is vouchsafed
+a gleam of unconscious genius."
+
+Winter appeared to be devoting his mind to circumventing the vagaries of
+a fragile tobacco-leaf. He was a man of powerful build, over forty, heavy
+but active, deep-chested, round-headed, with bulging blue eyes which
+radiated kindliness and strength of character. The press photographer
+described him accurately to Grant. The average Londoner would have taken
+him for a county gentleman on a visit to the Agricultural Show at
+Islington, with a morning at Tattersall's as a variant. Yet, Sam Weller's
+extensive and peculiar knowledge of London compared with his as a
+freshman's with a don's of a university. It would be hard to assess, in
+coin of the realm, the value of the political and social secrets stowed
+away in that big head.
+
+"First, I must put a question or two," he said, smiling at a baby which
+cooed at him from the shaded depths of a passing perambulator. "Is there
+another woman?"
+
+"Yes, the postmaster's daughter, Doris Martin."
+
+"Shy, pretty little bird, of course?"
+
+"Everything that is good and beautiful."
+
+"Is Grant a Lothario?"
+
+"Excellent chap. Quarter of an hour before the murder he was giving Doris
+a lesson in astronomy in the garden of The Hollies."
+
+"Never heard it called _that_ before."
+
+"This time the statement happens to be strictly accurate."
+
+"Honest Injun?"
+
+"I'm sure of it. If anything, the death of Adelaide Melhuish cleared the
+scales off their eyes. Those two have never kissed or squeezed--yet.
+They'll be starting quite soon now."
+
+"How old is Doris?"
+
+"Nineteen."
+
+"But a really good-looking girl of nineteen must have had admirers before
+Grant went to the village."
+
+"She had, and has. Having educated herself out of the rut, however, she
+left many runners at the post. One is persistent--a youngish horse-coper
+named Elkin. Adelaide Melhuish probably saw her with Grant. Neither Doris
+nor Grant knew that Adelaide Melhuish, as such, was in Steynholme. That
+is to say, the girl had seen Miss Melhuish in the post office, and
+recognized her as a famous actress, but that is all. And now I shan't
+tell you any more, or you'll know all that I know, which is too much."
+
+The cigar was behaving itself at last, having burnt down to the fracture,
+so Winter's thoughts could be given exclusively to the less important
+matter of the Steynholme affair.
+
+"To begin with," he said instantly. "Ingerman can establish a
+cast-iron alibi."
+
+"So I imagined. But he's a bad lot. I throw in that item gratuitously."
+
+The oddly-assorted pair walked in silence until Vauxhall Bridge was in
+sight. Winter pulled out a watch.
+
+"What time did you say my train left Victoria?" he inquired.
+
+"Plenty of time yet to make your guess and listen to further details,"
+scoffed Furneaux.
+
+"Frankly, I give it up. But, if I must share in the hunt, I tell you now
+that, metaphorically speaking, I shall cling to the postmaster's daughter
+till torn away by sheer force of evidence."
+
+Furneaux dug his colleague in the ribs.
+
+"That's the effect of constant association with me, James," he cackled
+gleefully. "Ten years ago you would have pounced on Elkin. You've hit it!
+I'm a prood mon the day. The pupil is equaling the master."
+
+"You little rat, I had hanged my first murderer before you knew the
+meaning of _habeas corpus_! Let's turn now, and get to business."
+
+Few Treasury barristers, leading for the Crown, could have marshaled the
+facts with such lucidity and fairness as Furneaux during that saunter to
+Victoria Station.
+
+"Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice," said Othello to
+Lodovico, and these Scotland Yard men, charged with so great a
+responsibility, never forgot the great-hearted Moor's advice.
+
+When Winter took his seat in the train at five o'clock he could have
+drawn a plan of Steynholme, which he had never seen, and marked thereon
+the exact position of each house mentioned in this record. Moreover, he
+was acquainted with the chief characters by sight, as it were. And,
+finally, he and Furneaux had arranged a plan of campaign.
+
+Furneaux refreshed a jaded intellect by an evening at the opera. Next
+morning, at eleven o'clock, he was inquiring for Mr. Ingerman at an
+office in a certain alley off Cornhill.
+
+A smart youth interposed a printed formula between the visitor and a door
+marked "Private." Furneaux wrote his name, and put "Steynholme" in the
+space reserved for "business." He was admitted at once. Mr. Ingerman,
+apparently, was immersed in a pile of letters, but he swept them all
+aside, and greeted the caller affably.
+
+"Glad to see you, Mr. Furneaux," he said. "I missed you on the train
+yesterday. Did you--"
+
+"Nice quiet place you've got here, Mr. Ingerman," interrupted the
+detective.
+
+"Yes. But, as I was about to--"
+
+"Artistically furnished, too," went on Furneaux dreamily. "Oak,
+self-toned carpets and rugs, restful decorations. Those etchings, also,
+show taste in the selection. 'The Embankment--by Night.' Fitting sequel
+to 'The City--by Day.' I'm a child in such matters, but, 'pon my honor,
+if tempted to pour out my hard-earned savings into the lap of a City
+magnate, I would disgorge here more readily than in some saloon-bar of
+finance, where the new mahogany glistens, and the typewriters click like
+machine-guns."
+
+Ingerman was nettled. He glanced at his correspondence.
+
+"You have a somewhat far-fetched notion of my position," he said, with a
+staccato quality in his velvet voice. "I am not a magnate, and I toil
+here to make, not to lose, money for my clients."
+
+"A noble ideal. Forgive me if my rhapsody took the wrong line."
+
+"And I'm sure you will forgive me if I now put the question which leads
+to the probable cause of your visit. Did you travel by the two o'clock
+train yesterday?"
+
+"Yes. I avoided you purposely."
+
+"May I ask, why?"
+
+"My mind was weary. I wanted my wits about me when I tackled you."
+
+Ingerman smiled, and leaned back, resting both elbows on the arms of the
+chair, and bringing the tips of his fingers together.
+
+"Proceed," he said.
+
+"You prefer that I should drag out a statement piecemeal rather than
+receive it _en bloc_?"
+
+"Put it that way, if you like."
+
+"I shall even enjoy it. To clear the ground, are you the Isidor G.
+Ingerman who exploited the A1 Mine in Abyssinia?"
+
+Ingerman's finger-tips whitened under a sudden pressure, but his voice
+remained calm.
+
+"An unfortunate episode," he said.
+
+"And the Aegean Transport Company, Limited?"
+
+"Into which I was inveigled by Greeks. But why this history of ruined
+enterprises?"
+
+"It's a sort of schooling. I have noticed that the smartest counsel
+invariably begin with a few fireworks in order to induce the proper frame
+of mind in a witness."
+
+"Does that mean that you want me to blurt out bitter and prejudiced
+accusations against Mr. Grant?"
+
+"I want to hear what you have to say about the death of your wife. You
+forced the cross-examining role on me. I'm doing my best."
+
+Ingerman kept silent during many seconds. When he spoke, his cultured
+voice was suave as ever.
+
+"Perhaps it was my fault, Mr. Furneaux," he said. "You gave me a strong
+hint. I should have taken it, and we might have started an interesting
+chat on pleasanter lines. So, with apologies for my insistence about the
+train, I make a fresh start. I believe firmly that Grant was directly
+concerned in the murder. And I shall justify my belief. Within the past
+fortnight a _rapprochement_ between my wife and myself became possible.
+It was spoken of, even reduced to the written word. I have her letters.
+Mine should be found among her belongings. May I take it that they _have_
+been found?"
+
+"Yes," said Furneaux.
+
+"Ah. So far, so good. My poor wife reached the parting of the ways. She
+saw that her life was becoming an empty husk. I think the theater was
+palling on her. But I see now that she still cherished the dream of
+winning the man she loved--not me, her husband, but that handsome
+dilettante, Grant. I take it, therefore, that she went to Steynholme to
+determine whether or not the glamour of the past was really dead.
+Unfortunately, she witnessed certain idyllic passages between her
+one-time lover and a charming village girl. Imagine the effect of this
+discovery on one of the artistic temperament. 'Hell hath no fury like a
+woman scorned,' and my unhappy wife would lash herself into an emotional
+frenzy. She would tear a passion to rags. Her very training on the stage
+would come to her aid in scathing words--perhaps threats. If Grant
+remained cold to her appeal the village beauty should be made to suffer.
+Then _he_ would flame into storm. And so the upas-tree of tragedy spread
+its poisonous shade until reason fled, and some demon whispered, 'Kill!'
+I find no flaw in my theory. It explains the inexplicable. Now, how does
+it strike you, Mr. Furneaux?"
+
+"As piffle."
+
+"Is that so? I have the advantage, of course, in knowing my wife's
+peculiarities. And I have made some study of Grant. He admits already
+that he is under suspicion. Why, if he is innocent? Mind you, I pay
+little heed to the crude disposal of the body. Horace, I think, has a
+truism that art lies in concealing art. My wife's presence in Steynholme
+was no secret. She would have been missed from the inn. Search would be
+made. The murder must be revealed sooner or later, and the murderer
+himself was aware that by no twisting or turning could his name escape
+association with that of his victim. Why not face the music at once? he
+would argue. The very simplicity of the means adopted to fasten a kind of
+responsibility on him might prove his best safeguard. Even now I doubt
+whether any jury will find him guilty on the evidence as it stands, but
+my duty to my unhappy wife demands that I shall strengthen the arm of
+justice by every legitimate means in my power."
+
+"Is that your case, Mr. Ingerman?"
+
+"At present, yes."
+
+"It assumes that the police adopt your view."
+
+"Not necessarily. The police must do their work without fear or favor.
+But Grant can be committed for trial on a coroner's warrant."
+
+"Grant is certainly in an awkward place."
+
+"Only a little while ago you dismissed my theory of the crime as airy
+persiflage."
+
+"That was before you quoted Horace. I have a great respect for Horace.
+His ode to the New Year is a gem."
+
+"Would you care to see my wife's recent letters?"
+
+"If you please."
+
+"They are at my flat, I'll send you copies. The originals are always at
+your disposal for comparison, of course. Now may I, without offense, ask
+a question?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Is it wise that the emissary of Scotland Yard should leave Steynholme?"
+
+"But didn't I tell you that I might obtain light in the neighborhood of
+Cornhill?"
+
+"True. I could have given you the facts in Steynholme."
+
+"I'm a greater believer in what the theater people call 'atmosphere.'
+Some of your facts, Mr. Ingerman, remind me of an expert's report in a
+mining prospectus. When tested by cyanide of potassium the gold in the
+ore often changes into iron pyrites. But don't hug the delusion that I
+shall neglect Steynholme. The murderer is there, not in London, and,
+unless my intellect is failing, he will be tried for his life at the next
+Lewes Assizes. Meanwhile, may I give you a bit of advice?"
+
+"By all means."
+
+"Employ a sound lawyer, one who will avoid needless mud-slinging. Good
+day! Send those letters to the Yard by to-night's post if practicable."
+
+"It shall be done."
+
+When the door closed on Furneaux, Ingerman smiled.
+
+"I've given that little Frenchman furiously to think," he murmured.
+
+But the "little Frenchman" was smiling, too. He had elaborated the scheme
+already discussed with Winter. It was much to his liking, though
+unorthodox, rather crack-brained, more than risky, and altogether opposed
+to the instructions of the Police Manual. Each of these drawbacks was a
+commendation to Furneaux. In fact, the Steynholme mystery had taken quite
+a favorable turn during that talk with Ingerman.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+P. C. ROBINSON TAKES ANOTHER LINE
+
+
+About the time Furneaux was whisked past The Hollies in Superintendent
+Fowler's dogcart, Grant and Hart were finishing luncheon, and planning a
+long walk to the sea. Grant would dearly have liked to secure Doris's
+company, but good taste forbade that he should even invite her to share
+the ramble. Thus, the death of a woman with whom he had not exchanged a
+word during three years had already set up a barrier between Doris and
+himself. Though impalpable, it was effective. It could neither be climbed
+nor avoided. Quiet little Steynholme had suddenly become a rigid censor
+of morals and etiquette. Until this evil thing was annihilated by slow
+process of law, Doris and he might meet only by chance and never remain
+long together.
+
+When the two were ready to start, Hart elected to dispense with his South
+American sombrero.
+
+"I am sensitive to ridicule," he professed. "The village urchins will
+christen me 'Owd Ben,' and the old gentleman's character was such that I
+would feel hurt. So, for to-day, I'll join the no hat brigade."
+
+"I wonder if we'll meet Furneaux," said Grant, selecting a
+walking-stick. "It's odd that we should have seen nothing of him
+this morning."
+
+"It would be still more odd if we had, remembering the precautions he
+took not to be observed coming here last night."
+
+"Well, that's so. I forgot to ask the reason. There was one, I suppose."
+
+"Of the best. That little man is a live wire of intelligence. He's wasted
+on Scotland Yard. He ought to be a dramatist or an ambassador."
+
+"Quaint alternatives, those."
+
+"Not at all. Each profession demands brains, and is at its best in
+coining cute phrases. I've met scores of both tribes, and they're like as
+peas in a pod."
+
+A bell rang.
+
+"That's the front door," said Grant. "It's Furneaux himself, I hope."
+
+But the visitor was P.C. Robinson, who actually smiled and saluted.
+
+"Glad I've caught you before you went out, sir," he said. "Mr. Furneaux
+asked me to tell you he had to hurry back to London. I was also to
+mention that he had got the whiskers."
+
+"What whiskers? Whose whiskers?"
+
+"That's all he said, sir--he'd got the whiskers."
+
+"Why, Owd Ben's whiskers, of course. How dense you are, Jack!" put in
+Hart.
+
+Now, this was the first Robinson had heard of whiskers in connection
+with the crime. He remembered Elkin's make-up as Svengali, of course, and
+could have kicked himself for not associating earlier a set of sable
+whiskers with the black wig and the bullet-torn hat.
+
+But, Owd Ben! What figure did that redoubtable ghost cut in the mystery?
+
+"There are certain _lacunae_ in your otherwise vigorous and thrilling
+story, constable," went on Hart.
+
+"Very likely, sir," agreed Robinson, much to the surprise of his
+hearers. He had not the slightest notion what a _lacuna_, or its
+plural, signified. He was only adopting Furneaux's advice, and trying
+to be civil.
+
+"Ah, you see that, do you?" said Hart. "Well, fill 'em in. When, where,
+and how did the midget sleuth obtain the specter's hairy adornments?"
+
+The policeman, whose wits were thoroughly on the alert, realized that he
+had scored a point, though he knew not how.
+
+"He did not tell me, sir," he answered. "It's a rum business, that's what
+it is, no matter what way you look at it."
+
+Grant, agreeably aware of the village constable's change of front,
+accepted the olive branch readily.
+
+"We're just going for a walk," he said. "If you have ten minutes to
+spare, Mrs. Bates will find you some luncheon, I have no doubt."
+
+"Well, sir, meals are a trifle irregular during a busy time like this,"
+admitted Robinson, feeling that his luck was in, because tongues would
+surely be loosened in the kitchen to an official guest introduced by the
+master of the establishment. He was right. No member of the Bates family
+dreamed of reticence, now that the household was restored to favor with
+"the force." Before Robinson departed, he was full of information and
+good food.
+
+What more natural, then, an hour later, than that he should contrive to
+meet Elkin as the horse-dealer was taking home a lively two-year-old pony
+he had been "lungeing" on a strip of common opposite his house?
+
+Each was eager to question the other, but Elkin opened fire.
+
+"Anything fresh?" he cried. "You have a fair course now, Robinson. That
+little London 'tec has bunked home."
+
+"Has he?" In the language of the ring, Robinson thought fit to spar for
+an opening.
+
+"Oh, none of your kiddin'," said Elkin, stroking the nervous colt's neck.
+"You know he has. You don't miss much that's going on. Bet you half a
+thick 'un you'd have put someone in clink before this if the murder at
+The Hollies had been left in your hands."
+
+"That's as may be, Mr. Elkin. But this affair seems to have gripped you
+for fair. You look thoroughly run down. Sleepin' badly?"
+
+"Rotten! Hardly got a wink last night."
+
+"You shouldn't be out so late. Why, on'y a week ago you were in bed
+regular at 10.15."
+
+"That inquest broke up the day yesterday, so I was delayed at
+Knoleworth."
+
+"What time did you reach home?"
+
+"Dashed if I know. After twelve before I was in bed. By the way, what's
+this about things missing from a box owned by the Amateur Dramatic
+Society? That silly josser of a detective--What's his name?"
+
+"Furneaux," said Robinson, who was clever enough not to appear too
+secretive, and was thanking his stars that Elkin had introduced the very
+topic he wanted to discuss.
+
+"Ay, Furneaux. I remember now. He worried old Tomlin last night about
+that box, which is kept in the loft over the club-room. So Tomlin and I,
+and Hobbs, just to satisfy ourselves, went up there as soon as Furneaux
+left to-day. And, what do you think? The box was unlocked, though I
+locked it myself, and have the key; and a hat and wig and whiskers I
+wore when we played a skit on 'Trilby' were missing. If that isn't a
+clew, what is?"
+
+"A clew!" repeated the bewildered Robinson.
+
+"Yes. I'm telling you, though I kept dark before the other fellows.
+Didn't you say Grant's cheek was bleeding on Tuesday morning?"
+
+"I did."
+
+"Well, the whiskers were held on by wires that slip over the ears. One
+wire was sharp as a needle. I know, because it stuck into a finger more
+than once. Why shouldn't it scratch a man's cheek, and the cut open again
+next morning?"
+
+"By jing, you've got your knife into Mr. Grant, an' no mistake,"
+commented Robinson.
+
+"You yourself gave him a nasty jab at the inquest," sneered Elkin.
+
+"I was just tellin' the facts."
+
+"So am I. I think you ought to know about that hat and the other things.
+I would recognize them anywhere. Furneaux had something up his sleeve,
+too, or he wouldn't have pumped Tomlin... Woa, boy! So long, Robinson! I
+must put this youngster into his stall."
+
+"I'll wait, Mr. Elkin," said Robinson solemnly. "I want to have a word
+with you."
+
+The policeman was glad of the respite. He needed time to collect his
+thoughts. The story of the dinner-party and its excitement disposed
+completely of Elkin's malicious theory with regard to Grant, but, since
+the horse-dealer was minded to be communicative, it would be well to
+encourage him.
+
+"Come in, and have a drink," said Elkin, when the colt had been stabled.
+
+"No, thanks--not when I'm on duty."
+
+Elkin raised his eyebrows sarcastically. He could not possibly guess that
+Robinson was adopting Furneaux's pose of never accepting hospitality
+from a man whom he might have to arrest.
+
+"Well, blaze away. I'm ready."
+
+The younger man leaned against a gate. He looked ill and physically worn.
+
+"Your business has kept you out late of a night recently, you say, Mr.
+Elkin," began the other, speaking as casually as he could contrive. "Now,
+it might help a lot if you can call to mind anyone you met on the roads
+at ten or eleven o'clock. For instance, last night--"
+
+Elkin laughed in a queer, croaking way.
+
+"Last night my mare brought me home. I was decidedly sprung, Robinson.
+Glad you didn't spot me, or there might have been trouble. What between
+the inquest, an' no food, an' more than a few drinks at Knoleworth, I'd
+have passed Owd Ben himself without seeing him, though I believe I did
+squint in at The Hollies as I went by."
+
+"What time would that be?"
+
+"Oh, soon after eleven."
+
+"Sure."
+
+"I can't be certain to ten minutes or so. The pubs hadn't closed when I
+left Knoleworth. What the devil does it matter, anyhow?"
+
+It mattered a great deal. Robinson could testify that Elkin did not cross
+Steynholme bridge "soon after eleven."
+
+"Nothing much," was the answer. "You see, I'm anxious to find out who
+might be stirring at that hour, an' you know everybody for miles around.
+I'd like to fix your journey by the clock, if I could."
+
+"Dash it all, man, I was full to the eyes. There! You have it straight."
+
+"Were you out on Monday night?"
+
+"The night of the murder?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I left the Hare and Hounds at ten, and came straight home."
+
+"Who was there with you?"
+
+"The usual crowd--Hobbs, and Siddle, and Bob Smith, and a commercial
+traveler. Siddle went at half past nine, but he generally does."
+
+"You met no one on the road?"
+
+"No."
+
+The monosyllable seemed to lack Elkin's usual confidence. It sounded
+as if he had been making up his mind what to say, yet faltered at the
+last moment.
+
+Robinson ruminated darkly. As a matter of fact, long after eleven o'clock
+on that fateful night, he himself had seen Elkin walking homeward. He was
+well aware that the licensing hours were not strictly observed by the
+Hare and Hounds when "commercial gentlemen" were in residence. Closing
+time was ten o'clock, but the "commercials," being cheery souls, became
+nominal hosts on such occasions, and their guests were in no hurry to
+depart. Robinson saw that he had probably jumped to a conclusion, an
+acrobatic feat of reasoning which Furneaux had specifically warned him
+against. At any rate, he resolved now to leave well enough alone.
+
+"Well, we don't seem to get any forrarder," he said. "You ought to take
+more care of your health, Mr. Elkin. You're a changed man these days."
+
+"I'll be all right when this murder is off our chests, Robinson. You
+won't have a tiddley? Right-o! So long!"
+
+Robinson walked slowly toward Steynholme. At a turn in the road he halted
+near the footpath which led down the wooded cliff and across the river to
+Bush Walk. He surveyed the locality with a reflective frown. Then, there
+being no one about, he made some notes of the chat with Elkin. The man's
+candor and his misstatements were equally puzzling. None knew better than
+the policeman that the vital discrepancy of fully an hour and a half on
+the Monday night would be difficult to clear up. Tomlin, of course, would
+have no recollection of events after ten o'clock, but the commercial
+traveler, who could be traced, might be induced to tell the truth if
+assured that the police needed the information solely for purposes in
+connection with their inquiry into the murder. That man must be found.
+His testimony should have an immense significance.
+
+That evening, shortly before seven o'clock, a stalwart,
+prosperous-looking gentleman in tweeds "descended" from the London
+express at Knoleworth. The local train for Steynholme stood in a bay on
+the opposite platform, and this passenger in particular was making for it
+when he nearly collided with another man, younger, thinner, bespectacled,
+who hailed him with delight.
+
+"You, too? Good egg!" was the cry.
+
+The gentleman thus addressed did not seem to relish this geniality.
+
+"Where the deuce are you off to?" he demanded.
+
+"To Steynholme--same as you, of course."
+
+"Look here, Peters, a word in your ear. If you know me during the next
+few days, you'll never know me again. I suppose you'll be staying at the
+local inn--there's only one of any repute in the place?"
+
+"That's so. I've got you. May I take it that you will reciprocate when
+the time comes?"
+
+"Have I ever failed you?"
+
+"No. We meet as strangers."
+
+Peters bustled off. He had the reputation of being the smartest "writer
+up" in London of mystery cases. The Steynholme affair had interested both
+him and a shrewd news-editor.
+
+The pair arrived at the Hare and Hounds within a few minutes of each
+other. The big man registered as "Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina." Peters
+ordered a chop, and went off at once to interview the local policeman.
+Mr. Franklin took more pains over the prospective meal.
+
+"Have you a nice chicken?" he inquired.
+
+Yes, Mr. Tomlin had a veritable spring chicken in the larder at
+that moment.
+
+"And do you think your cook could provide a _tourne-dos_?"
+
+"A what-a, sir?" wheezed Tomlin.
+
+The visitor explained. He liked variety, he said. Half the chicken might
+be deviled for breakfast. The two dishes, with plain boiled potatoes and
+French beans, would suit him admirably. He was sorry he dared not try
+Tomlin's excellent claret, but a dominating doctor had put him on the
+water-cart. In effect, Mr. Franklin impressed the landlord as a man of
+taste and ample means.
+
+Peters had gobbled his chop before Franklin entered the dining-room, but
+they met later in the snug, where Elkin was being chaffed by Hobbs anent
+his carryin's on in Knoleworth the previous night.
+
+Siddle came in, but the chatter was not so free as when the habitues had
+the place to themselves.
+
+Now, Peters had marked the gathering as one that suited his purpose
+exactly, so he gave the conversation the right twist.
+
+"I suppose you local gentlemen have been greatly disturbed by this
+sensational murder?" he said.
+
+Hobbs took refuge in a glass of beer. Siddle gazed contemplatively at
+his neat boots. Tomlin meant to say something; Elkin, eying the stranger,
+and summing him up as a detective, answered brusquely:
+
+"The murder is bad enough, but the fat-headed police are worse. Three
+days gone, and nothing done!"
+
+"What murder are you discussing, may I ask?" put in Franklin.
+
+Peters turned on him with astonishment in every line of a peculiarly
+mobile face.
+
+"Do you mean to say, sir, that you haven't heard of the Steynholme
+murder?" he gasped.
+
+"I seldom, if ever, read such things in the newspapers, and, as I landed
+in England only a week ago from France, my ignorance, though abyssmal, is
+pardonable. Moreover, I can say truly that I am far more interested in
+pedigree horses than in vulgar criminals."
+
+Peters explained fluently. This was no ordinary crime. A beautiful and
+popular actress had been done to death in a brutal way, and the country
+was already deeply stirred by the story.
+
+Elkin waited impatiently till the journalist drew breath. Then he broke
+in.
+
+"Pedigree horses you mentioned, sir," he said, his rancor against Grant
+being momentarily conquered by the pertinent allusion to his own
+business. "What sort? Racing, coaching, roadsters, or hacks?"
+
+"All sorts. The Argentine, where I have connections, offers an ever-open
+door to good horseflesh."
+
+"Are you having a look round?"
+
+"Yes. There are several decent studs within driving distance of
+Steynholme. Isn't that so, landlord?"
+
+"Lots, sir," said Tomlin. "An' the very man you're talkin' to has some
+stuff not to be sneezed at."
+
+"Is that so?" Mr. Franklin gazed at Elkin in a very friendly manner. "May
+I ask your name, sir?"
+
+Elkin produced a card. Every hoof in his stables appreciated in
+value forthwith, but he was far too knowing that he should appear to
+rush matters.
+
+"Call any day you like, sir," he said. "Glad to see you. But give me
+notice. I generally have an appetizer here of a morning about eleven."
+
+"An' you want it, too, Fred," said Hobbs. "Dash me, you're as thin as a
+herrin'. Stop whiskey an' drink beer, like me."
+
+"And you might also follow that gentleman's example," interposed Siddle
+quietly, nodding towards Mr. Franklin.
+
+"What's that?" snapped Elkin.
+
+"Don't worry about murders."
+
+"That's a nice thing to say. Why should _I_ worry about the d---d
+mix-up?"
+
+The chemist made no reply, but Hobbs stepped into the breach valiantly.
+
+"Keep yer 'air on, Fred," he vociferated. "Siddle means no 'arm. But wot
+else are yer a-doing of, mornin', noon, an' night?"
+
+Elkin laughed, with his queer croak.
+
+"If you stay here a day or two, you'll soon get to know what they're
+driving at, sir," he said to Franklin. "The fact is that this chap,
+Grant, who found the body, and in whose garden the murder was committed,
+has been making eyes at the girl I'm as good as engaged to. That would
+make anybody wild--now, wouldn't it?"
+
+"Possibly," smiled Franklin. "Of course there is always the lady's point
+of view. The sex is proverbially fickle, you know. 'Woman, thy vows are
+traced in sand,' Lord Byron has it."
+
+"Ay, an' some men's, too," guffawed Hobbs. "Wot about Peggy Smith, Fred?"
+
+Elkin blew a mouthful of cigarette smoke at the butcher.
+
+"What about that tough old bull you bought at Knoleworth on Monday?"
+he retorted.
+
+Hobbs's face grew purple. Mr. Franklin beckoned to Tomlin.
+
+"Ask these gentlemen what they'll have," he said gently. The landlord
+made a clatter of glasses, and the threatened storm passed.
+
+"You've aroused my curiosity," remarked Franklin to Peters, but taking
+the company at large into the conversation. "This does certainly strike
+one as a remarkable case. Is there no suspicion yet as to the actual
+murderer?"
+
+"None whatever," said Peters.
+
+"That's what you may call the police opinion," broke in Elkin. "We
+Steynholme folk have a pretty clear notion, I can assure you."
+
+"The matter is still _sub judice_, and may remain so a long time," said
+Siddle. "It is simply stupid to attach a kind of responsibility to the
+man who happens to occupy the house associated with the crime. I have no
+patience with that sort of reasoning."
+
+Hobbs, who did not want to quarrel with Elkin, suddenly championed him.
+
+"That's all very well," he rumbled. "But the hevidence you an' me 'eard,
+Siddle, an' the hevidence we know we're goin' to 'ear, is a lot stronger
+than that."
+
+"I'm sure you'll pardon me, friends," said Siddle, rising with an
+apologetic smile, "but I happen to be foreman of the coroner's jury, and
+I feel that this matter is not for me, at any rate, to discuss publicly."
+
+Out he went, not even heeding Tomlin's appeal to drink the ginger-ale he
+had just ordered.
+
+"Just like 'im," sighed Hobbs. "Good-'earted fellow! Would find hexcuses
+for a black rat."
+
+Elkin talked more freely now that the chemist's disapproving eye was off
+him. Ultimately, Mr. Franklin elected to smoke a cigar in the open air,
+and strolled forth. He sauntered down the hill, stood on the bridge, and
+admired the soft blue tones of the landscape in the half light of a
+summer evening. Shortly before closing time, Robinson appeared, it being
+part of his routine duty to see that no noisy revelers disturbed the
+peace of the village. He noticed the stranger at once, and elected to
+walk past him.
+
+Thus, he received yet another shock when Mr. Franklin addressed
+him by name.
+
+"Good evening, Robinson," said the pleasant, clear-toned voice. "I've
+been expecting you to turn up. Kindly go back home, and leave the door
+open. I want to slip in quietly. I am Chief Inspector Winter, of
+Scotland Yard."
+
+"You don't say so, sir!" stammered Robinson.
+
+"But I do say it, and will prove it to you, of course. I'll be with you
+in a minute or two. There's someone coming. You and I must not be seen
+together."
+
+Robinson made off, and Winter lounged along the Knoleworth road. He met
+Bates, going to the post with letters.
+
+Naturally, Bates looked him over. Returning from the post office, he kept
+a sharp eye for the unknown loiterer, but saw him not. He even walked
+quickly to the bend of the road, but the other man had vanished.
+
+Grant and Hart were talking of anything but the murder when Bates thrust
+his head in. He was grasping his goatee beard, sure sign of some weight
+on his mind.
+
+"Beg pardon," he said, "but I thought you'd like to know. The place is
+just swarmin' with 'em."
+
+"Bees?" inquired Hart.
+
+Bates stared fixedly at the speaker for a second or two.
+
+"No, sir, 'tecs," he said. "There's a big 'un now--just the opposite to
+the little 'un, Hawkshaw. I 'ope I 'aven't to tackle this customer,
+though. He'd gimme a doin', by the looks of 'im."
+
+Bates had disappeared before Grant remembered that the press photographer
+had mentioned the Big 'Un and the Little 'Un of the Yard.
+
+"Now, I wonder," he said.
+
+His wonder could hardly have equaled Winter's had he heard the gardener's
+words. The guess was a distinct score for blunt Sussex, though it was
+founded solely on the assumption that all comers now, unless Bates was
+personally acquainted with them, were limbs of the law.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+WHEREIN WINTER GETS TO WORK
+
+
+Winter had identified Bates at the first glance. The letters in the man's
+hand, too, showed his errand, so, while the gardener was climbing the
+hill, the detective slipped into Robinson's cottage.
+
+He found the policeman awaiting him in the dark, because a voice said:
+
+"Beg pardon, sir, but the other gentleman from the 'Yard' asked me to
+take him into the kitchen. A light in the front room might attract
+attention, he thought."
+
+"Just what Mr. Furneaux would suggest, and I agree with him," said
+Winter, quite alive to the canny discretion behind those words, "the
+other gentleman."
+
+Robinson led the way. Supper was laid on the table. Poor Mrs. Robinson
+had again beaten a hasty retreat.
+
+"Now, Robinson," said the Chief Inspector affably, "before we come to
+business I'll prove my bona fides. Here is my official card, and I'll run
+quickly through events until 1.30 p.m. to-day. I met Mr. Furneaux at
+Victoria, and he posted me fully up to that hour."
+
+So the policeman listened to a clear summary of the Steynholme case as
+it was known to the authorities.
+
+"I did not warn either Mr. Fowler or you of my visit because a telegram
+could hardly be explicit enough," concluded Winter. "At the inn I am Mr.
+Franklin, an Argentine importer of blood stock in the horse line. At
+this moment the only other man beside yourself in Steynholme who is
+aware of my official position is Mr. Peters, and he is pledged to
+secrecy. To-morrow or any other day until further notice, you and I meet
+as strangers in public. By the way, Mr. Furneaux asked me to tell you
+that he found the wig and the false beard in the river early this
+morning. The wearer had apparently flung them off while crossing the
+foot-bridge leading from Bush Walk, having forgotten that they would not
+sink readily. Perhaps he didn't care. At any rate, Mr. Hart's bullet
+seems to have laid Owd Ben's ghost. Now, what of this fellow, Elkin? He
+worries me."
+
+"Can I offer you a glass of beer, sir?"
+
+"With pleasure. May I smoke while you eat? You see, I differ from Mr.
+Furneaux in both size and habits."
+
+Robinson poured out the beer. He was preternaturally grave. The somewhat
+incriminating statements he had wormed out of the horse-dealer that
+afternoon lay heavy upon him. But he told his story succinctly enough.
+Winter nodded to emphasize each point, and congratulated him at the end.
+
+"You arranged that very well," he said. "I gather, though, that Elkin
+spoke rather openly."
+
+"Just as I've put it, sir. He tripped a bit over the time on Monday
+night. But it's only fair to say that he might have had Tomlin's
+license in mind."
+
+"That issue will be settled to-morrow. I'll find out the commercial
+traveler's name, and send a telegram from Knoleworth before noon.... Who
+is Peggy Smith?"
+
+Robinson set down an empty glass with a stare of surprise.
+
+"Bob Smith's daughter, sir," he answered.
+
+"No doubt. But, proceed."
+
+"Well, sir, she's just a village girl. Her father is a blacksmith. His
+forge is along to the right, not far. She'll be twenty, or thereabouts."
+
+"Frivolous?"
+
+"Not more than the rest of 'em, sir."
+
+"Have you seen her flirting with Elkin?"
+
+Robinson took thought.
+
+"Now that I come to think of it, she might be given a bit that way. Her
+father shoes Elkin's nags, so there's a lot of comin' an' goin' between
+the two places. But folks would always look on it as natural enough. Yes,
+I've seen 'em together more than once."
+
+"In that case, he can hardly grumble if the postmaster's daughter has an
+eye for another young man."
+
+"Miss Martin!" snorted Robinson. "She wouldn't look the side of the road
+he was on. Fred Elkin isn't her sort."
+
+"But he said to-night in the Hare and Hounds that he and Miss Martin were
+practically engaged."
+
+"Stuff an' nonsense! Sorry, sir, but I admire Doris Martin. I like to see
+a girl like her liftin' herself out of the common gang. She's the
+smartest young lady in the village, an' not an atom of a snob. No, no.
+She isn't for Fred Elkin. Before this murder cropped up everybody would
+have it that Mr. Grant would marry her."
+
+"How does the murder intervene?"
+
+Robinson shifted uneasily in his chair. He knew only too well that he
+himself had driven a wedge between the two.
+
+"Steynholme's a funny spot, sir," he contrived to explain. "Since it came
+out that Doris an' Mr. Grant were in the garden at The Hollies at half
+past ten on Monday night, without Mr. Martin knowin' where his daughter
+was, there's been talk. Both the postmaster an' the girl herself are up
+to it. You can see it in their faces. They don't like it, an' who can
+blame 'em!"
+
+"Who, indeed? But this Elkin--surely he had some ground for a definite
+boast, made openly, among people acquainted with all the parties?"
+
+"There's more than Elkin would marry Doris if she lifted a finger, sir."
+
+"Can you name them?"
+
+"Well, Tomlin wants a wife."
+
+Winter laughed joyously.
+
+"Next?" he cried.
+
+"They say that Mr. Siddle is a widower."
+
+"The chemist? Foreman of the jury?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"From appearances, he is a likelier candidate than either Elkin or
+Tomlin. Anybody else?"
+
+"I shouldn't be far wrong if I gave you the name of most among the young
+unmarried men in the parish."
+
+"Dear me! I must have a peep at this charmer. But I want those names,
+Robinson."
+
+Winter produced a note-book, so he was evidently taking the matter
+seriously. The policeman, however, was flustered. His thoughts ran on
+Elkin, whereas this masterful person from London insisted on discussing
+Doris Martin.
+
+"My difficulty is, sir, that she has never kep' company with any of
+'em," he said.
+
+"Never mind. Give me the name of every man who, no matter what his
+position or prospects, might be irritated, if no more, if he knew that
+Miss Martin and Mr. Grant were presumably spooning in a garden at a
+rather late hour."
+
+It was a totally new line of inquiry for Robinson, but he bent his wits
+to it, and evolved a list which, if published, would certainly be
+regarded with incredulous envy by every other girl in the village than
+the postmaster's daughter; as for Doris herself, she would be mightily
+surprised when she saw it, but whether annoyed or secretly gratified none
+but a pretty girl of nineteen can tell.
+
+Winter departed soon afterwards. Before going to the inn he had a look at
+the forge. A young woman, standing at the open door of the adjoining
+cottage, favored him with a frank stare. There was no light in the
+dwelling. When he returned, after walking a little way down the road, the
+door was closed.
+
+Next morning, Bates heard of Peters as the detective and of Mr. Franklin
+as a "millionaire" from South America. Moreover, he scrutinized both in
+the flesh, and saw Robinson salute Peters but pass the financial
+potentate with indifference.
+
+Alas, that a reputation, once built, should be destroyed!
+
+"I was mistook, sir," he reported to Grant later. "There's another 'tec
+about, but 'e ain't the chap I met last night. They say this other bloke
+is rollin' in money, an' buyin' hosses right an' left."
+
+"Then he'll soon be rolling in the mud, and have no money," put in Hart.
+
+"Who is he?" inquired Grant carelessly.
+
+"A Mr. Franklin, from South America, sir."
+
+Grant and Hart exchanged glances. Curiously enough, Hart remained silent
+till Bates had gone.
+
+"I must look this joker up, Jack," he said then. "To me the mere mention
+of South America is like Mother Gary's chickens to a sailor, a harbinger
+of storm."
+
+But Hart consumed Tomlin's best brew to no purpose--in so far as seeing
+Mr. Franklin was concerned, since the latter was in Knoleworth, buying a
+famous racing stud. Being in the village, however, this fisher in
+troubled waters was not inclined to return without a bag of some sort.
+
+He walked straight into the post office. Doris and her father were there,
+the telegraphist being out.
+
+"Good day, everybody," he cried cheerfully. "Grant wants to know, Mr.
+Martin, if you and Miss Doris will come and dine with him, us, this
+evening at 7.30?"
+
+The postmaster gazed helplessly at this free-and-easy stranger. Doris
+laughed, and blushed a little.
+
+"This is Mr. Hart, a friend of Mr. Grant's, dad," she explained. "I'm
+afraid we cannot accept the invitation. We are so busy."
+
+"The worst of excuses," said Hart.
+
+"But there is a London correspondent here who hands in a long telegram
+at that hour."
+
+"What's his name?"
+
+"Mr. Peters."
+
+"Great Scott! Jimmie Peters here? I'll soon put a stopper on him. He'll
+come, too--jumping. See if he doesn't. Is it a bargain? Short telegram
+at six. Dinner for five at 7.30. Come, now, Mr. Martin. It's up to you. I
+can see 'Yes' in Doris's eye. Over the port--most delectable, I assure
+you--I'll give full details of the peculiar case of a man in
+Worcestershire whose crop of gooseberries increased fourfold after
+starting an apiary. And what does it matter if you do lose a queen or two
+in June? The drones will attend to that trifle.... It's a fixture, eh?
+Where's Peters? In the Pull and Push? I'll rout him out."
+
+The whirlwind subsided, but quickly materialized again.
+
+"Peters nearly fell on his knees and wept with joy," announced Hart. "He
+believes he was given a bull steak for luncheon. He pledges himself to
+have only five hundred words on the wire at five o'clock."
+
+Meanwhile, father and daughter had decided that there was no valid reason
+why they should not dine with Mr. Grant. Martin already regretted his
+aloofness on the day of the inquest, though, truth to tell, Hart's expert
+knowledge of bee-culture was the determining factor. On her part, Doris
+was delighted. Her world had gone awry that week, and this small
+festivity might right it.
+
+Not one word of the improvised dinner-party did Hart confide to Grant. He
+informed the only indispensable person, Mrs. Bates, and left it at that.
+Grant, a restless being these days, took him for another long walk. It
+chanced that their road home led down the high-street. The hour was a
+quarter past seven, and Peters hailed them.
+
+Hart introduced the journalist, saying casually:
+
+"Jimmie is coming to dinner, Jack."
+
+"Delighted," said Grant, of course.
+
+Peters looked slightly surprised, but passed no comment. Then Doris and
+her father appeared. They joined the others, shook hands, and, to Grant's
+secret perplexity, the whole party moved off down the hill in company.
+When the Martins turned with the rest to cross the bridge, Grant began to
+suspect his friend.
+
+"Wally," he managed to whisper, "what game have you been playing?"
+
+"Aren't you satisfied?" murmured Hart. "Sdeath, as they used to say in
+the Surrey Theater, you're as bad as Furshaw!"
+
+There were others far more perturbed by that odd conjunction of diners
+than the puzzled host, who merely expected Mrs. Bates to belabor him with
+a rolling pin. Mr. Siddle, for instance, had just closed his shop when
+the five met. That is to say, the dark blue blind was drawn, but the
+door was ajar. He came to the threshold, and watched the party until the
+bridge was neared, when one of them, looking back, might have seen him,
+so he stepped discreetly inside. Being a non-interfering, self-contained
+man, he seemed to be rather irresolute. But that condition passed
+quickly. Leaning over the counter, he secured a hat and a pair of
+field-glasses, and went out. He, too, knew of Mrs. Jefferson's weakness
+for shopping in Knoleworth, and that good lady had gone there again. Her
+train was due in ten minutes. A wicket gate led to a narrow passage
+communicating with the back door of her residence. He entered boldly,
+reached the garden, and hurried to the angle on the edge of the cliff
+next to the Martins' strip of ground.
+
+Yes, a spacious dinner-table was laid at The Hollies. Doris, Mr. Martin,
+and Peters soon strolled out on to the lawn. The pedestrians had
+obviously gone upstairs to wash after their tramp.
+
+Mr. Siddle rather forgot himself. He stared so long and earnestly through
+the field-glasses that he ran full tilt into Mrs. Jefferson and maid
+before regaining the high-street. But the chemist was a ready man. He
+lifted his hat with an inquiring smile.
+
+"Didn't you say you wanted some anti-arthritic salts early in the
+week?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Jefferson, "but I got some to-day in Knoleworth,
+thank you."
+
+"Well, I was just making up an indent, and might as well include your
+specific if you really needed it."
+
+Which was kind and thoughtful of Mr. Siddle, but not quite true, though
+it fully explained his presence at Mrs. Jefferson's gate.
+
+Mr. Franklin, escorting a fragrant Havana up the hill (he had traveled by
+the same train) saw the meeting, and, being aware of Mrs. Jefferson's
+frugal habits, since Furneaux had omitted no item of his movements in
+Steynholme, remembered it later during the nightly gathering in the inn.
+
+Elkin greeted Mr. Franklin respectfully when the great man joined
+the circle.
+
+"Did you see anything worth while at Knoleworth, sir?" he said.
+
+"No. I was unlucky. All the principals were at a race meeting."
+
+"By gum! That's right. It's Gatwick today. Dash! I might have saved you
+a journey."
+
+"Oh, it doesn't matter. In my business there is no call for hurry."
+
+Elkin looked around.
+
+"Where's our friend, the 'tec?" he said.
+
+"I think you're wrong about 'im, meanin' Mr. Peters," said Tomlin. "'E's
+'ere for a noospaper, not for the Yard."
+
+"That's his blarney," smirked Elkin. "A detective doesn't go about
+telling everybody what he is."
+
+"Whatever his profession may be," put in Siddle's quiet voice, "I happen
+to know that he is dining with Mr. Grant. So are Mr. Martin and Doris. By
+mere chance I called at Mrs. Jefferson's. I went to the back door, and,
+finding it closed, looked into the garden. From there I couldn't help
+seeing the assembly on the lawn of The Hollies."
+
+"Dining at Grant's?" shouted Elkin in a fury. "Well, I'm--"
+
+"'Ush, Fred!" expostulated Tomlin with a shocked glance at Mr. Franklin.
+"Wot's wrong wi' a bit of grub, ony ways? A very nice-spoken young gent
+kem 'ere twiced, an' axed for Mr. Peters the second time. He's a friend
+o' Mr. Grant's, I reckon."
+
+"What's wrong?" stormed the horse-dealer. "Why, everything's wrong! The
+bounder ought to be in jail instead of giving dinner-parties. Imagine
+Doris eating in that house!"
+
+"Ay! Sweetbreads an' saddle o' lamb," interjected Hobbs with the air of
+one imparting a secret.
+
+Elkin was pallid with wrath. He glared at Hobbs.
+
+"What I had in my mind was the impudence of the blighter," he said
+shrilly. "That poor woman's body leaves here to-morrow for some cemetery
+in London, and Grant invites folk to a small dinner to-night!"
+
+A sort of awe fell on the company. None of the others had as yet put the
+two events in juxtaposition, and they had an ugly sound. Even Mr. Siddle
+stifled a protest. Elkin had scored a hit, a palpable hit, and no one
+could gainsay him. He felt that, for once, the general opinion was with
+him, and drove the point home.
+
+"Hobson--the local joiner and undertaker"--he explained for Mr.
+Franklin's benefit--"came this morning to borrow a couple of horses for
+the job. It's to be done in style--'no expense spared' was Mr. Ingerman's
+order--and the poor thing is in her coffin now while Grant--"
+
+He stopped. Mr. Siddle coughed.
+
+"You've said enough, Elkin," murmured the chemist. "This excitement is
+harmful. You really ought to be in bed for the next forty-eight hours,
+dieting yourself carefully, and taking Dr. Foxton's mixture regularly. He
+has changed it, I noticed."
+
+"Bed! Me! Not likely. I'm going to kick up a row. What are the police
+doing? A set of blooming old women, that's what they are. But I'll stir
+'em up, if I have to write to the Home Secretary."
+
+"Gentlemen," said Mr. Franklin, smiling genially, "I cannot help taking a
+certain interest in this affair. May I, then, as a complete stranger to
+all concerned, tell you how this minor episode strikes me. Mr. Grant, I
+understand, denies having seen or spoken to Miss Melhuish during the past
+three years. None of the others now in his house had met her at all.
+Really, if a man may not give a dinnerparty in these conditions,
+dining-out would become a lost art."
+
+Elkin was obviously seeking for some retort which, though forcible, would
+not offend a possible patron. But Siddle answered far more deftly than
+might be looked for from the horse-dealer.
+
+"Your contention, sir, is just what the man of the world would hold," he
+said, "but, in this village, where we live on neighborly terms, such an
+incident would be impossible in almost any other house than The Hollies."
+
+Mr. Franklin nodded. He was convinced. Tomlin, Hobbs, and a local draper
+bore out the chemist's reasonable theory. Next morning Steynholme was
+again united in condemning Grant, while the postmaster and his daughter
+were not wholly exempted from criticism.
+
+The dinner itself was an altogether harmless and cheery meal. By common
+consent not one word was said about the murder. Hart was amusing on the
+question of bees--almost flippant, Mr. Martin deemed him. Peters had a
+wide store of strange experiences to draw on, while Grant, if rather
+silent in deference to two such brilliant talkers, found much
+satisfaction in regarding Doris as a hostess.
+
+The next day being Saturday, or market day, the village was busy. At
+eleven o'clock there was a somewhat unnecessary display of nodding
+plumes and long-tailed black horses at the removal of the coffin to the
+railway station. For some reason, the funeral arrangements had not been
+bruited about until Elkin made that envenomed attack on Grant in the Hare
+and Hounds the previous night. Ingerman had sent a gorgeous wreath, the
+only one forthcoming locally. This fact, of course, invited comment,
+though no whisperer in the crowd troubled to add that the interment was
+only announced in that day's newspapers.
+
+Peters, meeting Mr. Franklin on the stairs of the inn, put a note into
+his hand. It read:
+
+"Why don't you have a chat with Grant? The public mind is being inflamed
+against him. It's hardly fair."
+
+Mr. Franklin, meeting Peters in the passage, winked at him, and the
+journalist tortured his brains to turn out some readable stuff which
+should grip the million on Sunday yet not to be damaging to the man whose
+hospitality he enjoyed over night.
+
+In a word, the passing of Adelaide Melhuish was exploited thoroughly as
+an indictment of her one-time lover, and the only two in Steynholme not
+aware of the fact were Grant, himself, and Wally Hart.
+
+By a singular coincidence, not ridiculously beyond the ken of a verger,
+when Doris went to church on Sunday morning, she found herself beside
+Mr. Franklin.
+
+At the close of the service the same big man whom she had noticed as a
+neighbor in the pew overtook her at the post office door. He lifted his
+hat. A passer-by heard him say distinctly:
+
+"Pardon me for troubling you, but can you tell me at what time the mail
+closes for London?"
+
+"At four-thirty," said Doris.
+
+No other person overheard Mr. Franklin's next words:
+
+"I am now going to drop a letter in the box. It's for you. Get it at
+once. It is of the utmost importance."
+
+Doris was startled, as well she might be. But--she went straight for the
+letter. It was marked: "Private and Urgent," and ran:
+
+DEAR MISS MARTIN. I am here _vice_ Mr. Furneaux, who is engaged on other
+phases of the same inquiry. My business is absolutely unknown. I figure
+at the inn as "Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina." Indeed, Mr. Furneaux left the
+village because he realized the difficulties facing him in that respect.
+Now, I trust you, and I hope you will justify my faith. You know
+Superintendent Fowler. I want you to meet me and him this afternoon at
+two o'clock at the crossroads beyond the mill. A closed car will be in
+waiting, and we can have half an hour's talk without anyone in Steynholme
+being the wiser. Remember that this village, like the night, has a
+thousand eyes. Naturally, I would not trouble you in this way if the
+cause was not vital to the ends of justice. Whether or not you decide to
+keep this appointment, I have every confidence that you will respect my
+wish that _no one_, other than yourself, shall be informed of my
+identity. But I believe you will be wise, and come.
+
+I am,
+
+Yours faithfully,
+
+J.L. WINTER,
+
+Chief Inspector, C.I.D., Scotland Yard, S.W.
+
+A card was inclosed, as a sort of credential. But, somehow, it was not
+needed. Doris had seen "Mr. Franklin" more than once, and she had heard
+him singing the hymns in church. He looked worthy of credence. His
+written words had the same honest ring. She resolved to go.
+
+Her father, sad to relate, had found three dead queens in the hives. He
+was busy, but spared a moment to tell her that Mr. Siddle was coming to
+tea at four o'clock. Doris was rather in a whirl, and seemed to be
+unnecessarily astonished.
+
+"Mr. Siddle! Why?" she gasped.
+
+"Why not!" said her father. "It's not the first time. You can entertain
+him. I'll look after the letters."
+
+"I must get some cakes. We have none."
+
+"Well, that's simple. I wonder if that fellow Hart really understands
+apiaculture? You might invite him, too."
+
+With that letter in her pocket Doris had suddenly grown wary. Hart and
+Siddle would not mix, and her woman's intuition warned her that Siddle
+had chosen the tea-hour purposely in order to have an uninterrupted
+conversation with her. She disliked Mr. Siddle, in a negative way, but
+the very nearness of the detective was stimulating. Let Mr. Siddle come,
+then, and come alone!
+
+"No, dad," she laughed. "Mr. Hart's knowledge will be available
+to-morrow. In his presence, poor Mr. Siddle would be dumb."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+CONCERNING THEODOEE SIDDLE
+
+
+Winter, being a cheerful cynic, had not erred when he appealed to that
+love of mystery which, especially if it is spiced with a hint of harmless
+intrigue, is innate in every feminine heart. Indeed, he was so assured of
+the success of his somewhat dramatic move that as he walked to a
+rendezvous arranged with Superintendent Fowler on the Knoleworth road he
+reviewed carefully certain arguments meant to secure Doris's assistance.
+
+Passing The Hollies, he smiled at the notion that Furneaux would
+undoubtedly have brought Grant to the conclave. It was just the sort of
+difficult situation in which his colleague would have reveled. But the
+Chief Inspector was more solid, more circumspect, even, singularly
+enough, more sensitive to the probable comments of a crusty judge if
+counsel for the defense contrived to elicit the facts.
+
+"Anything fresh?" inquired the superintendent, when a smart car drew up,
+and Winter entered.
+
+Mr. Fowler was in plain clothes, and the blinds were half drawn. No one
+could possibly recognize either of the occupants unless the car was
+halted, and the inquisitor literally thrust his head inside. The motor
+was a private one, borrowed for the occasion.
+
+"Yes, a little," said Winter, as the chauffeur put the engine in gear.
+"Your man, Robinson, has been drawing Elkin, or Elkin drew him--I am not
+quite sure which, but think it matterless either way."
+
+He sketched Robinson's activities briefly, but in sufficient outline.
+
+"A new figure has come on the screen--Siddle, the chemist," he added
+thoughtfully.
+
+"Siddle!" Mr. Fowler was surprised. "Why, he is supposed to be a model of
+the law-abiding citizen."
+
+"I don't say he has lost his character in that respect," said Winter.
+"Still, he puzzles me. Elkin is a loud-mouthed fool. The verbal bricks he
+hurls at Grant are generally half baked, and crumble into dust. Hitherto,
+Siddle has tried to repress him, with a transparent honesty that rather
+worried me. On Friday night, however, Siddle attacked Grant with poisoned
+arrows. He did more damage in two minutes than Elkin could achieve in as
+many months."
+
+"How?"
+
+"He showed very clearly that Grant was guilty of gross bad taste in
+inviting Mr. Martin and his daughter to dinner that evening. I'm inclined
+to agree with him, if the story has been told fairly. But that is beside
+the main issue. Siddle aroused the sleeping dogs of the village, and the
+pack is in full cry again. Grant seems to have been popular here; he had
+almost recovered from the blow of Miss Melhuish's death by the
+straightforward speech he made before the inquest. But Siddle threw him
+back into the mud by a few skillful words. What is Siddle's record? Is he
+a local man?"
+
+"I think not. Robinson can tell us."
+
+"Robinson says he 'believes' Siddle is a widower. That doesn't argue long
+and close knowledge."
+
+"We must look into it. Robinson has been stationed here four years.
+Siddle is not old, but he has been in business in Steynholme more years
+than that. But--you'll pardon me, I'm sure, Mr. Winter--may I take it
+that you are really interested in the chemist's history?"
+
+The superintendent was perplexed, or he would not have adopted his
+professional method of semi-apologetic questions with a man from
+the C.I.D.
+
+"I hardly know what I'm interested in," laughed Winter. "Grant didn't
+kill the lady. I shall be slow to credit Elkin with being the scoundrel
+he looks. Siddle, and Tomlin, if you please, are regarded as starters in
+the Doris Martin Matrimonial Stakes, and I don't think Tomlin could ever
+murder anything but the King's English. It is Siddle's _volte face_ that
+bothers me."
+
+"Um!" murmured Mr. Fowler. He was not an uneducated man, but _volte
+face_, correctly pronounced, was unfamiliar in his ears.
+
+"The change was so marked," went on the detective. "I gather that Siddle
+is a stickler for charity and fair dealing. He didn't abandon the role,
+of course. It was the sheer ingenuity of his method that caught my
+attention. So I simply catalogue him for research."
+
+"Has Miss Martin promised to meet us?" inquired the other, feeling that
+he was on the track of _volte face_.
+
+"No. But there she is!" cried Winter. "She has just heard the car.
+Tell your chauffeur to slow up. The road is empty otherwise. By the
+way, you help her in. She might be a bit shy of me, and I don't want a
+second's delay."
+
+Winter's judgment was not at fault. Doris _was_ feeling a trifle
+uncertain, seeing that she was about to encounter a complete stranger.
+Moreover, she had come a good half mile from the shop whence the cakes
+for tea were to be procured at the back door, and as a favor. Her eyes
+were fixed on the slowing car with a timid anxiety that betrayed no
+small degree of doubt as to the outcome of this Sunday afternoon
+escapade. She was pale and nervous. At that moment Doris wished herself
+safe at home again.
+
+"One word," broke in the superintendent hurriedly. "Why are you so sure
+that Grant is innocent, Mr. Winter?"
+
+"I'm sure of nothing with regard to this case. But I have great faith in
+Furneaux's flair for the true scent. It has never failed yet."
+
+Mr. Fowler wished his companion would not use such uncommon words.
+However, he got out, and took off his hat with a courteous sweep. Doris
+had to look twice at him. Hitherto, she had always seen him in uniform.
+Winter smiled at the unmistakable expression of relief in her face. She
+was almost self-possessed as she took the seat by his side.
+
+"Good day, Mr. Winter," she said.
+
+"Mr. Franklin, please. Better become used to my pseudonym.... Plenty of
+room for your feet, Mr. Fowler? That's it. Now we're comfy. The chauffeur
+will bring us back here in half an hour, Miss Martin. Will that suit your
+convenience?"
+
+"Oh, yes. I am free till nearly four o'clock. We have a guest to
+tea then."
+
+"I have a well-developed bump of curiosity these days. Who is it,
+may I ask?"
+
+"Mr. Siddle, the local chemist."
+
+"Indeed. An old friend, I suppose?"
+
+"We have known him seven years, ever since he came to Steynholme."
+
+"Ah. He is not a native of the place?"
+
+"No. He bought Mr. Benson's business. He's a Londoner, I believe."
+
+"Is there--a Mrs. Siddle?"
+
+"No. I--er--that is to say, gossip has it that he was married, but his
+wife died."
+
+"He doesn't speak of her? Is that it? One would have thought that in a
+house where he is well known--"
+
+"We don't really know him well. No one does, I think."
+
+"You've invited him to tea, at any rate," laughed Winter.
+
+"No," said Doris. "He invited himself. At least, so I gathered from dad."
+
+"Ah, well. He feels lonely, no doubt, and wishes to chat about recent
+strange events in Steynholme. And that brings me to the reason why I
+sought this chat under such peculiar conditions. You realize my handicap,
+Miss Martin? If I were seen talking to you, or even entering your house
+as apart from the post office, people would begin to wonder. You follow
+that, don't you?"
+
+Yes, Doris did follow it. What she did not follow was the veiled
+admiration in Superintendent Fowler's glance at the detective. Those few
+inconsequential questions had shed a flood of light on Siddle's past and
+present, yet the informant was blissfully unaware of their real purport.
+And the way was opened so deftly. The purchase of a chemist's business
+would almost certainly be negotiated through a local lawyer. Let him be
+found, and Siddle's pre-Steynholme days could be "looked into," as the
+police phrase has it. The superintendent had the rare merit of being
+candid with himself. He had no previous experience of Scotland Yard men
+or methods, and was inclined to be skeptical about Furneaux. But Winter's
+prompt use of a chance opening, and the restraint which cut off the
+investigation before the girl could suspect any ulterior motive,
+displayed a technique which the Sussex Constabulary had few opportunities
+of acquiring.
+
+"Now, Miss Martin," began Winter, "if ever you have the misfortune to
+fall ill--touch wood, please--and call in a doctor, you'll tell him the
+facts, eh?"
+
+"Why consult him at all, if I don't?" she smiled.
+
+"Exactly. To-day I'm somewhat in the position of a Harley-street
+specialist, summoned to assist an eminent local practitioner in Dr.
+Fowler. That's a sort of gentle preliminary, leading up to the
+disagreeable duty of putting some questions of a personal nature. What
+you may answer will not go beyond ourselves. I promise you that. You will
+not be quoted, or requested to prove your statements. Such a thing would
+be absurd. If I were really a doctor, and you needed my advice, you might
+easily describe your symptoms all wrong. It would be my business to
+listen, and deduce the truth, and I would never dream of rating you for
+having misled me. You see my point?"
+
+"Yes, but Mr. Win--Mr. Franklin, I know nothing whatever about
+the murder."
+
+"I'm sure you don't. It was a wicked trick of Fate that took you to Mr.
+Grant's garden last Monday night."
+
+"It was really an astronomical almanac," retorted Doris, who now felt a
+growing confidence in this nice-spoken official. "Sirius is a star
+remarkable for its beautiful changing lights, and on Monday evening was
+at its best. I think I ought to explain," and she blushed delightfully,
+"that the village gossip about Mr. Grant and me is entirely mistaken. We
+are not--well, I had better use plain English--we are not lovers. My
+father and I are just on close, friendly terms with Mr. Grant. I--my
+position hardly warrants even that relationship with an author of some
+distinction. But please set aside any notion of us as likely to become
+engaged. For one thing, it is preposterous. For another, I shall not
+leave my father."
+
+Poor Doris! She little guessed how accurately this skilled student of
+human nature read the hidden thought behind that vehement protest. Even
+the note of vague rebellion against social disabilities was pathetic yet
+illuminating. Of course, he took her quite seriously.
+
+"Let us keep to the hard road of fact," he said. "What you really mean is
+that Mr. Grant has never made love to you. But I must be candid, young
+lady. There is no earthly reason why he shouldn't, though I could name
+offhand half a dozen why he should.... Well, well, I must not pay
+compliments. My friend, Mr. Furneaux, can manage that with much greater
+facility, being half a Frenchman. And now I'm going to say an unpleasant
+thing. I ask your forgiveness in advance. Both Mr. Furneaux and I agree
+in the opinion that your imaginary love affair is indissolubly bound up
+with the mystery of Miss Melhuish's death. In a word, I have brought you
+here today to discuss your prospective marriage, and nothing else. That
+astonishes you, eh? Well, it's the truth, as I shall proceed to make
+clear. There's a Mr. Fred Elkin, for instance--"
+
+Doris uttered a little laugh of dismay. Winter's emphatic words had
+astounded her, but the horse-dealer's name acted as comic relief.
+
+"I can't bear the man," she protested.
+
+"I have no doubt. But you ought to know that he is loudly proclaiming his
+determination to marry you before the year is out."
+
+The girl's face reddened again, and her eyes sparkled.
+
+"I wouldn't marry him if he were a peer of the realm," she said
+indignantly.
+
+"Quite so. But he is an avowed suitor. Now don't be vexed. Has he never
+declared his intentions to _you_?"
+
+"He would never dare. I sing and act a little, at village concerts and
+dramatic performances, and he has annoyed me at times by an officious
+pretense that he was deputed by my father to see me home. I came here
+quite a little girl, so people learnt to use my Christian name. I don't
+object to it at all. But I simply hate hearing it on Mr. Elkin's lips."
+
+"Exit Fred!" said Winter solemnly. "Next!"
+
+Doris, after a period of calm, was now profoundly uncomfortable. This
+kind of prying was the last thing she had expected. She had come prepared
+to defend Grant, but, beyond one exceedingly personal reference, the
+detective had studiously shut him out of the conversation.
+
+"What am I to say?" she cried. "Do you want a list of all the young men
+who make sheep's eyes at me?"
+
+"No. I can get that from the Census Bureau. Come, now, Miss Martin. _You_
+know. Has any man in the village led you to suspect, shall we put it?
+that sometime or other, he might ask you to become his wife?"
+
+Lo, and behold! Doris's pretty eyes filled with tears. Superintendent
+Fowler was so pleased at hearing Scotland Yard introducing a
+parenthetical query into its sentences that he, sitting opposite, was
+taken aback when Winter said in a fatherly way:
+
+"I've been rather clumsy, I'm afraid. But it cannot be helped. I must go
+blundering on. I'm groping in the dark, you know, but it's a thousand
+pities I shall have to tread on _your_ toes."
+
+"It isn't that," sobbed Doris. "I hate to put my thoughts into words.
+That's all. There _is_ a man whom I'm--afraid of."
+
+"Siddle?"
+
+She turned on Winter a face of sudden awe.
+
+"How can you possibly guess?" she said wonderingly, and sheer
+bewilderment dried her tears.
+
+"My business is nine-tenths guesswork. At any rate, we are on firm ground
+now. If you could please yourself, I suppose, Mr. Siddle would not come
+to tea to-day!"
+
+"He certainly would not," declared the girl emphatically.
+
+"You believe he is coming for a purpose?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Elkin--I must drag him in again for an instant--pretends that the
+commotion aroused in the village by this murder would incline you
+favorably to a proposal of marriage. Mr. Siddle may have discovered some
+virtue in the theory."
+
+"Did Mr. Elkin really hint that I needed _him_ as a shield?"
+
+Doris was genuinely angry now. She little imagined that Winter was
+playing on her emotions with a master hand.
+
+"Don't waste any wrath on Elkin," he soothed her. "The fellow isn't worth
+it. But his crude idea might be developed more subtly by an abler man."
+
+"I think it odd that Mr. Siddle should choose to-day, of all days, for a
+visit," she admitted.
+
+Winter relapsed into silence for a while. The car was running through a
+charming countryside, and a glimpse of the sea was obtainable from the
+crest of each hill. Mr. Fowler was too circumspect to break in on the
+thread of his coadjutor's thoughts. The inquiry had taken a curious turn,
+and was momentarily beyond his grasp.
+
+"It's singular, but it's true," said the detective musingly when next he
+spoke, "that I am now going to ask you to act differently than was in my
+mind when I sought this interview. I should vastly like to be present
+when Siddle bares his heart to you this afternoon.
+
+"I can invite you to tea."
+
+Alas! that won't serve our ends. But, if you feel you have a purpose, you
+will be nerved to deal with him. Bring him out into that secluded garden
+of yours--"
+
+"The first thing he will suggest," and Doris's voice waxed
+unconsciously bitter. "He knows that dad will be busy with the mails
+for an hour after tea."
+
+"Good!"
+
+"I think it bad, most disagreeable."
+
+"You won't find the position so awkward if you are playing a part. And
+that is what I want--a bit of clever acting. Lean on those railings, and
+make Siddle believe that your heart is on Mr. Grant's lawn. You know the
+kind of thing I mean. Dreamy eyes, listless manner, inattention, with
+smiling apologies. You will annoy Siddle, and a cautious man in a temper
+becomes less cautious. Force him to avow his real thoughts. You will
+learn something, trust me."
+
+"About what?"
+
+There were no tears in Doris's eyes. They were wide open in wonderment.
+
+"About his attitude to this tragedy. Do this, and you will be giving Mr.
+Grant the greatest possible help. He needs it. Next Wednesday, at the
+adjourned inquest, he will be put on the rack. Ingerman will fee counsel
+to be vindictive, merciless. Such men are to be hired. Their reputation
+is built up on the slaughter of reputations. I want to understand Siddle
+before Wednesday. By the way, what's his other name?"
+
+"Theodore."
+
+"Theodore Siddle. Unusual. Well, your half hour is nearly up. Will you do
+what I ask?"
+
+"I'll try. May I put one question?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You said you had something altogether different in view before we met.
+What was it?"
+
+"I'll tell you--let me see--I'll tell you on Thursday."
+
+"Why not now?"
+
+"Because it is the hardest thing in the world for a woman to be
+single-minded, in the limited sense of concentration, I mean. Focus your
+wits on Siddle to-day. I don't suggest any plan. I leave that to your own
+intelligence. Vex him, and let him talk."
+
+"Vex him!"
+
+"Yes. What man won't get mad if he notices that his best girl is thinking
+about a rival."
+
+This time Doris did not blush. She was troubled and serious, very
+serious.
+
+"I'll do what I can," she promised. "When shall I see you again?"
+
+"Soon. There's no hurry. All this is preparatory for Wednesday."
+
+"Am I to tell my father nothing?"
+
+"Please yourself. Not at present. I recommend you."
+
+The car had stopped. It sped on when Doris alighted. She would be home
+with her cakes at three o'clock, and Mr. Martin would never have noticed
+her absence.
+
+"A fine bit of work, if I may say so," exclaimed Fowler appreciatively.
+"But I am jiggered if I can imagine what you're driving at."
+
+Winter was cutting the end off a big cigar. He finished the operation to
+his liking before answering earnestly:
+
+"We stand or fall by the result of that girl's efforts. Furneaux
+thinks so, and I agree with him absolutely. After five days, where are
+we, Mr. Fowler? In the dark, plus a brigand's hat and hair. But there's
+a queer belief in some parts of England that a phosphorescent gleam
+shows at night over a deep pool in which a dead body lies. That's just
+how I feel about Siddle. The man's an enigma. What sort of place is
+Steynholme for a chemist of his capacities? Dr. Foxton has the highest
+regard for him professionally, and I'm told he doctors people for miles
+around. Yet he lives the life of a recluse. An old woman comes by day
+to prepare his meals, and tidy the house and shop. His sole relaxation
+is an hour of an evening in the village inn, his visits there being
+uninterrupted since the murder. He was there on the night of the
+murder, too. For the rest, he is alone, shut off from the world.
+Without knowing it, he's going to fall into deep waters to-day, and
+he'll emit sparks, or I'm a Chinaman.... I'll leave you here. Good-by!
+See you on Tuesday, after lunch."
+
+The superintendent drove on alone. He pondered the Steynholme affair in
+all its bearings, but mostly did he weigh up Winter and Furneaux. At
+last, he sighed.
+
+"London ways, and London books, and London detectives!" he muttered.
+"We're not up to date in Sussex. Now, if I could please myself, I'd be
+hot-foot after Elkin. I see what Winter has in his mind, but surely Elkin
+fills the bill, and Siddle doesn't.... What was that word--volt what!"
+
+Doris was lucky. She met Mr. Siddle as she emerged from the back passage
+to the cake-shop. Resolving instantly that if an unpleasant thing had to
+be done it should at least be done well, she smiled brightly.
+
+"See what you have driven me to--breaking the Sabbath," she cried,
+holding up the bag of cakes.
+
+"Tea and bread-and-butter with you would be a feast for the gods,"
+said Siddle.
+
+"Now you're adapting Omar Khayyam."
+
+"Who's he?"
+
+"A Persian poet of long ago."
+
+"I never read poetry. But, if your tastes lie that way, I'll accomplish
+some more adaptation."
+
+"Oh, no, please. Cakes for you, Mr. Siddle; poets for giddy young
+things like me."
+
+There was a sting in the words. Doris preened herself on having carried
+out the detective's instructions to the letter thus far.
+
+Arrived in the house she found her father still in the garden, examining
+some larvae under a microscope. He looked severe rather than studious.
+He might have been an omnipotent being who had detected a malefactor in
+a criminal act. Was Steynholme and its secret felon being regarded in
+that way by the providence which, for some inscrutable purpose,
+permitted, yet would infallibly punish, a dreadful murder? She was a
+girl of devout mind, and the notion was appalling in its direct
+application to current events.
+
+In the meantime the chemist, evidently taking a Sunday afternoon
+constitutional, came on Winter, who was leaning on a wall of the bridge
+and looking down stream--Grant's house being on the left.
+
+He would have passed, in his wonted unobtrusive way, but the detective
+hailed him with a cheery "Good day, Mr. Siddle. Are you a fisherman?"
+
+"No, Mr. Franklin, I'm not," he answered.
+
+"Well, now, I'm surprised. You are just the sort of man whom I should
+expect to find attached to a rod and line--even watching a float."
+
+"I tried once when I was younger, but I could neither impale a worm nor
+extract a hook. My gorge rose against either practice. I am a vegetarian,
+for the same reason. If it were not for this disturbing tragedy you would
+have heard Hobbs, the butcher, rallying me about my rabbit-meat, as he
+calls my food."
+
+"Well, well!" laughed Winter. "Your ideas and mine clash in some
+respects. I look on a well-grilled steak as a gift from Heaven, and after
+it, or before it--I don't care which--let me have three hours whipping a
+good trout stream. With the right cast of flies I could show a fine bag
+from this very stretch of water."
+
+"Why not ask Mr. Grant's permission? It would be interesting to learn
+whether he will allow others to try their luck."
+
+Mr. Siddle strolled on. Winter bent over, keen to discern the gray-backed
+fish which must be lurking in those clear depths and rippling shallows.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+ON BOTH SIDES OF THE BIVEE
+
+
+The sun, transmuted into Greenwich time, exercised an extraordinary
+influence on the seemingly humdrum life of Steynholme that day. A few
+minutes after three o'clock--just too late to observe either Winter or
+Siddle--P.C. Robinson strolled forth from his cottage. He glanced up the
+almost deserted high-street, in which every rounded cobble and white
+flagstone radiated heat. A high-class automobile had dashed past twice in
+forty minutes, but the pace was on the borderland of doubt, so the
+guardian of the public weal had contented himself with recording its
+number on the return journey.
+
+But his thoughts were far a-field from joyriders, stray cattle, hawkers
+without licenses, and other similar small fry which come into the
+constabulary net. It would be a feather in his cap if he could only
+strike the trail of the veritable Steynholme murderer. The entrancing
+notion possessed him morning, noon, and night. Mrs. Robinson declared
+that it even dominated his dreams. Robinson was sharp. He knew quite well
+that the brains of the London detectives held some elusive quality which
+he personally lacked. They seemed to peer into the heart of a thing so
+wisely and thoroughly. He did not share Superintendent Fowler's somewhat
+derogatory estimate of Furneaux, with whom he was much better acquainted
+than was his superior officer, while Chief Inspector Winter's repute
+stood so high that it might not be questioned. Still, to the best of his
+belief, the case had beaten both these doughty representatives of
+Scotland Yard; there was yet a chance for the humble police-constable; so
+Robinson squared his shoulders, seamed his brows, and marched
+majestically down the Knoleworth road.
+
+He had an eye for The Hollies, of course, though neither he nor anybody
+else could discern more than the bare edge of the lawn from bridge or
+road, owing to the dense screen of evergreen trees and shrubs planted by
+the tenant who remodeled the property.
+
+But the spot where the body of Adelaide Melhuish was drawn ashore was
+visible, and the sight of it started a dim thesis in the policeman's mind
+which took definite shape during less than an hour's stroll. Thus, at
+four o'clock exactly, he was pulling the bell at The Hollies. Almost
+simultaneously, Mr. Siddle knocked modestly on the private door of the
+post office, to reach which one had to pass down a narrow yard.
+
+"Mr. Grant at home?" inquired Robinson, when Minnie appeared.
+
+Yes, the master was on the lawn with Mr. Hart. The policeman found the
+two there, seated in chairs with awnings. They had been discussing, of
+all things in the world, the futurist craze in painting. Hart held by it,
+but Grant carried bigger guns in real knowledge of the artist's
+limitations as well as his privileges.
+
+Hart was the first to notice the newcomer's presence, and greeted
+him joyously.
+
+"Come along, Robinson, and manacle this reprobate," he shouted. "He's
+nothing but a narrow-minded pre-Rafaelite. A period in prison will dust
+the cobwebs out of his attic."
+
+"Hello, Robinson!" said, Grant. "Anything stirring?"
+
+"Not much, sir. I just popped in to ask if you remembered exactly how the
+body was roped?"
+
+"Indeed, I do not. Some incidents of that horrible half hour have gone
+into a sad jumble. I recollect you calling attention to the matter, but
+what your point was I really cannot say now. Perhaps it may come back if
+you explain."
+
+"Well, we don't seem to be making a great deal of progress, sir, and I
+was wondering whether you two gentlemen might help. I don't want it
+mentioned. I'm taking a line of me own."
+
+Grant repressed a smile. He recalled well enough the first "line" the
+policeman took, and the mischief it had caused. Being an even-minded
+person, however, he admitted that his own behavior had not been above
+suspicion on the day the crime was discovered. In allotting blame, as
+between Robinson and himself, the proportion was six of one and half a
+dozen of the other.
+
+"Propound, justiciary," said Hart. "You've started well, anyhow. The
+connection between a line and a rope should be obvious even to a
+judge.... As a pipe-opener, have a drink!"
+
+Robinson had removed his helmet, and was flourishing a red handkerchief,
+not without cause, the day being really very hot.
+
+"Not for a few minutes, thank you, sir," said the policeman. "May I ask
+Bates for a sack and a cord?"
+
+He went to the kitchen. Hart was "tickled to death," he vowed.
+
+"We are about to witness the reconstruction of the crime, a procedure
+which the French delight in, and the intellect of France is a hundred
+years ahead of our effete civilization," he chortled.
+
+Grant was not so pleased. The memory of a distressing vision was
+beginning to blur, and this ponderous policeman must come and revive it.
+Yet, even he grew interested when Robinson illustrated a nebulous idea by
+knotting a clothesline around a sack stuffed with straw, having brought
+Bates to bear him out in the matter of accuracy.
+
+"There you are, gentlemen!" he said, puffing after the slight exertion.
+"That's the way of it. How does it strike you?"
+
+"It's what a sailor calls two half hitches," commented Hart instantly.
+"A very serviceable knot, which will resist to the full strength of
+the rope."
+
+"We have no sailors in Steynholme, sir," said the policeman.
+
+"Oh, it's used regularly by tradesmen," put in Grant. "A draper, or
+grocer--any man accustomed to tying parcels securely, in fact--will
+fashion that knot nine times out of ten."
+
+"How about a--a farmer, sir?" That was as near as Robinson dared to go to
+"horse-dealer."
+
+"I think a farmer would be more likely to adopt a timber hitch, which is
+made in several ways. Here are samples." And Grant busied himself with
+rope and sack.
+
+Robinson watched closely.
+
+"Yes," he nodded. "I've seen those knots in a farmyard.... Well, it's
+something--not much--but a trifle better than nothing.... All right,
+Bates. You can take 'em away."
+
+"Have you shown that knot to Mr. Furneaux?" inquired Grant.
+
+"No, sir. I've kept that up me sleeve, as the sayin' is."
+
+"But why?"
+
+Robinson shuffled uneasily on his feet.
+
+"These Scotland Yard men will hardly listen to a uniformed constable,
+sir," he said. "I'll tell 'em all about it at the inquest on Wednesday."
+
+"In effect, John P. Robinson he sez they didn't know everythin' down in
+Judee," quoted Hart.
+
+"You've got my name pat," grinned the policeman, whose Christian names
+were "John Price."
+
+"My name is Walter, not Patrick," retorted Hart. Robinson continued to
+smile, though he failed to grasp the joke until late that evening.
+
+"Did you make up that verse straight off, sir," he asked.
+
+"No. It's a borrowed plume, plucked from an American quill pen."
+
+Hart gave "plume" a French sound, and Robinson was puzzled to know why
+Grant bade his friend stop profaning a peaceful Sunday afternoon.
+
+"You'll have a glass of beer now?" went on the host.
+
+"I don't mind if I do, sir, though it's tea-time, and I make it a rule on
+Sundays to have tea with the missis. A policeman's hours are broken up,
+and his wife hardly ever knows when to have a meal ready."
+
+Minnie was summoned. It took her a couple of minutes to draw the beer
+from a cool cellar. So it chanced that when Doris led Mr. Siddle to the
+edge of the cliff about twenty-five minutes past four, the first thing
+they saw was the local police-constable on the lawn of The Hollies
+putting down a gill of "best Sussex" at a draught.
+
+"Well!" cried the chemist icily, "I wonder what Superintendent Fowler
+would say to that if he knew it?"
+
+"What is there particularly wrong about Robinson drinking a glass of
+beer?" demanded Doris, more alive to the insinuation in Siddle's words
+than was quite permissible under the role imposed on her by Winter.
+
+She waved her hand to the party on the lawn. Grant, whose eyes ever
+roved in that direction, had seen her white muslin dress the moment
+she appeared.
+
+"Who the deuce is that with Miss Martin?" he said, returning her signal.
+
+"Siddle, the chemist," announced Robinson, not too well pleased himself
+at being "spotted" so openly. "Well, gentlemen, I'll be off," and he
+vanished by the side path through the laurels.
+
+"Siddle!" repeated Grant vexedly. "So it is. And she dislikes the man,
+for some reason."
+
+"Let's go and rescue the fair maid," prompted Hart.
+
+"No, no. If Doris wanted me she would let me know."
+
+"How? At the top of her voice?"
+
+"You're far too curious, Wally."
+
+"Semaphore, of course," drawled Hart. "When are you going to marry the
+girl, Jack!"
+
+"As soon as this infernal business has blown over."
+
+"You haven't asked her, I gather?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Tell me when you do, and I'll hie me to London town, though in torrid
+June. You're unbearable in love."
+
+"The lash of your wit cuts deeply sometimes," said Grant quietly.
+
+"Dash it all, old chap, I was talking at random. Very well. I'll do
+penance in sackcloth and ashes by remaining here, and applauding your
+poetic efforts. I'll even help. I'm a dab at sonnets."
+
+Meanwhile, Mr. Siddle had regained his poise.
+
+"I meant nothing offensive to the donor of the beer," he said, tuning his
+voice to an apologetic note. "But I take it Robinson is conducting
+certain inquiries, and I imagine that his superiors demand a degree of
+circumspection in such conditions. That is all."
+
+"Surely you do not rank with the stupid crowd in its suspicions of Mr.
+Grant?" said the girl.
+
+"I'm pleased to think you refuse to class me with the gossip-mongers of
+Steynholme, Doris," was the guarded answer.
+
+There had been no reference to the murder during tea, which was served
+as soon as the chemist came in. The visitor had tabled a copy of a
+current medical journal containing an article on the therapeutic
+qualities of honey, so the talk was lifted at once into an atmosphere far
+removed from crime. Doris was grateful for his tact. When her father went
+to the office she brought Mr. Siddle into the garden solely in pursuance
+of her promise to the detective, though convinced that there would be no
+outcome save a few labored compliments to herself. And now, by accident,
+as it were, the death of Adelaide Melhuish thrust itself into their
+conversation. Perhaps it was her fault.
+
+"No," she said candidly. "No one who has known you for seven years, Mr.
+Siddle, could possibly accuse you of spreading scandal."
+
+"Seven years! Is it so long since I came to Steynholme? Sometimes, it
+appears an age, but more often I fancy the calendar must be in error.
+Why, it seems only the other day that I saw you in a short frock,
+bowling a hoop."
+
+"A tom-boy occupation," laughed Doris. "But dad encouraged that and
+skipping, as the best possible means of exercise."
+
+"He was right. Look how straight and svelte you are! Few, if any, among
+our community can have watched your progress to womanhood as closely as
+I. You see, living opposite, as I do, I kept track of you more
+intimately than your other neighbors."
+
+Siddle was trimming his sails cleverly. The concluding sentence robbed
+his earlier comments of their sentimental import.
+
+"If we live long enough we may even see each other in the sere and yellow
+leaf," said Doris flippantly.
+
+"I would ask no greater happiness," came the quiet reply, and Doris could
+have bitten her tongue for according him that unguarded opening. Suddenly
+availing herself of the advice which the detective, like Hamlet, had
+given to the players, she gazed musingly at the fair panorama of The
+Hollies and its gardens, with the two young men seated on the lawn. By
+this time Minnie was staging tea, and the picture looked idyllic enough.
+Doris saw, out of the tail of her eye, that her companion was watching
+her furtively, though apparently absorbed in the scene. He moistened his
+thin lips with his tongue.
+
+"As a study in contrasts, that would be hard to beat," he said, after a
+long pause.
+
+"Contrasts!" she echoed.
+
+"Well, yes. Even an uncontentious man like myself can hardly fail to
+compare Sunday afternoon with Tuesday morning."
+
+"Why not Monday night?" she flashed.
+
+"Monday night, in part, remains a mystery yet to be unveiled. I blot
+Monday night from my mind. I have no alternative, being on the jury
+which has to arrive at a just verdict. Now, if Fred Elkin were here, he
+would foam at the mouth."
+
+"Happily, Fred Elkin is _not_ here."
+
+"Ah, I am glad, glad, to hear you say that. You don't like him?"
+
+"I detest him."
+
+"He makes out, to put it mildly, that you are great friends."
+
+"You will oblige me by contradicting the statement. Or--no. One treats
+that sort of man with contempt."
+
+"I agree with you most heartily. I'm sorry I ever mentioned him."
+
+Yet Doris was well aware that the chemist had dragged in Elkin by the
+scruff of the neck, probably for the sake of getting him disposed of
+thoroughly and for all time. Rather on the tiptoe of expectation, she
+awaited the next move. It was slow in coming, so again she looked
+wistfully at the distant tea-drinkers. She found slight difficulty in
+carrying out this portion of the stage directions. Truth to tell, she
+would gleefully have gone and joined them.
+
+Siddle was not altogether at ease. The conversation was too spasmodic to
+suit his purpose. Though slow of speech he was nimble of brain, and,
+knowing Doris so well, he had anticipated a livelier duel of wits. In all
+likelihood, he cursed the tea-party on the lawn. He had not foreseen this
+drawback. But, being a masterful man, he tackled the situation boldly.
+
+"I seized the opportunity of a friendly chat with you to-day, Doris," he
+went on, leaning over the fence to inhale the scent of a briar rose. "The
+story runs through the village that you and your father dined at The
+Hollies on Friday evening. Is that true?"
+
+Now, Doris had it on reliable authority that Siddle himself had been the
+runner who spread that story, and the knowledge steeled her heart
+against him.
+
+"Yes," she said composedly.
+
+"It was kind and neighborly of you to accept the invitation, but a
+mistake."
+
+She turned and faced him. His expression was baffling. She thought she
+saw in his sallow, clean-cut features the shadow of a confident smile.
+
+"You mean that this horrid murder should make some difference in the
+friendship between ourselves and Mr. Grant?" she cried.
+
+"Yes. To you, though to no one else would I speak so plainly, I have no
+hesitation in saying that Mr. Grant is far, very far, from being clear
+of responsibility in that matter. Three days from now you will
+understand what I mean. Evidence will be forthcoming which will put him
+in a most unenviable light. I am not alleging, or even hinting, that he
+may be deemed guilty of actual crime. That is for the law to determine.
+But I do tell you emphatically that his present heedless attitude will
+give place to anxiety and dejection. It cannot be otherwise. A somewhat
+sordid history will be revealed, and his pretense that relations between
+him and the dead woman ceased three years ago will vanish into thin air.
+Believe me, Doris, I am actuated by no motive in this matter other than
+a desire to further your welfare. I cannot bear even to think of your
+name being associated, in ever so small degree, with that of a man who
+must be hounded out of his own social circle, if no worse fate is in
+store for him."
+
+"Good gracious!" cried Doris, genuinely amazed. "How do you come to know
+all this?"
+
+"I listen to the words of those qualified to speak with knowledge and
+authority. I have mixed in varied company this past week, wholly on your
+account. Don't be led away by the mere formalities of the opening day of
+the inquest. The coroner deliberately shut off all real evidence except
+as to the cause of death. On Wednesday the situation will change, and you
+cannot fail to be shocked by what you hear, because you will be there."
+
+"I am given to understand that, even if I am called, my testimony will be
+of no importance."
+
+"Such may be the police view. Mr. Ingerman will press for a very
+different estimate."
+
+"Has he told you that?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"So, although foreman of the jury, you have not declined to hobnob with
+a man who is avowedly Mr. Grant's enemy?"
+
+"I would hobnob with worse people if, by so doing, I might serve you."
+
+Grant, "fed up," as he put it to Hart, with watching the _tete a tete_
+between Doris and the chemist, sprang to his feet and went through a
+pantomime easy enough to follow save for one or two signs. Doris held
+both hands aloft. Well knowing that anything in the nature of a
+pre-arranged code would be gall and wormwood to Siddle, she explained
+laughingly:
+
+"Mr. Grant signals that he and Mr. Hart are going for a walk; he wants me
+to accompany them. But I can't, unfortunately. I promised dad to help
+with the accounts."
+
+"If you really mean what you say, my warning would seem to have fallen on
+deaf ears."
+
+Siddle's voice was well under control, but his eyes glinted dangerously.
+His state was that of a man torn by passion who nevertheless felt that
+any display of the rage possessing him would be fatal to his cause.
+
+But, rather unexpectedly, Doris took fire. Siddle's innuendoes and
+protestations were sufficiently hard to bear without the added knowledge
+that a ridiculous convention denied her the companionship of a man whom
+she loved, and who, she was beginning to believe, loved her. She swept
+round on Siddle like a wrathful goddess.
+
+"I have borne with you patiently because of the acquaintance of years,
+but I shall be glad if this tittle-tattle of malice and ignorance now
+ceases," she said proudly. "Mr. Grant is my friend, and my father's
+friend. In the first horror of the crime which has besmirched our dear
+little village, we both treated Mr. Grant rather badly. We know better
+to-day. Your Ingermans and your Elkins, and the rest of the busybodies
+gathered at the inn, may defame him as they choose, or as they dare. As
+for me, I am his loyal comrade, and shall remain so after next Wednesday,
+or a score of Wednesdays. I am going in now, Mr. Siddle, and shall be
+engaged during the remainder of the evening. Your shop opens at six, and
+I am sure you will find some more profitable means of spending the time
+than in telling me things I would rather not hear."
+
+Siddle caught her arm.
+
+"Doris," he said fiercely, "you must not leave me without, at least,
+learning my true motive. I--"
+
+The girl wrested herself free from his grip. She realized what was
+coming, and forestalled it.
+
+"I care nothing for your motive," she cried. "You forget yourself!
+Please go!"
+
+She literally ran into the house. The chemist, unless he elected to
+behave like a love-sick fool, had no option but to follow, and make his
+way to the street by the side door.
+
+The only other happening of significance that Sunday was an unheralded
+visit by Winter to the policeman's residence.
+
+He popped in after dusk, opening the door without knocking.
+
+"You in, Robinson?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes, sir. Will you--"
+
+"Shan't detain you more than a minute. At the inquest you said that you
+personally untied the rope which bound Miss Melhuish's body. Here are a
+piece of string and a newspaper. Would you mind showing me what sort of
+knot was used?"
+
+Robinson was nearly struck dumb, and his fingers fumbled badly, but he
+managed to exhibit two hitches.
+
+"Ah, thanks," said Winter, and was off in a jiffy.
+
+From the window of a darkened room Robinson watched the erect, burly
+figure of the detective until it was merged in the mists of night.
+
+"Well, I'm--," he exclaimed bitterly.
+
+"John, what are you swearing about?" demanded his wife from the kitchen.
+
+"Something I heard to-day," answered her husband. "There was a chap of my
+name, John P. Robinson, an' he said that down in Judee they didn't know
+everything. And, by gum, he was right. They knew mighty little about
+London 'tecs, I'm thinking. But, hold on. Surely--"
+
+He bustled into his coat, and hastened to The Hollies. No, neither Mr.
+Grant nor Mr. Hart had spoken to a soul about the knot. Nor had Bates. Of
+course, Robinson did not venture to describe Winter. Finally, he put the
+incident aside as a clear case of thought-reading.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+A MATTER OF HEREDITY
+
+
+Shortly before noon on Monday occurred two events destined to assume a
+paramount importance in the affair which was wringing the withers of
+Steynholme. As in the histories of both men and nations, these first
+steps in great developments began quietly enough. For one thing, Furneaux
+returned to the village. For another, the London telegraphist, who
+expected the day to prove practically a blank, was reading a newspaper
+when the telegraph instrument clicked the local call.
+
+Doris was checking and distributing the stock of stamps which had arrived
+that morning; her father was counting mail-bags in a small annex to the
+main room, the Knoleworth office having acquired a habit of making up
+shortages by docking the country branches. No member of the public
+happened to be present. The girl could have heard what the Morse code was
+tapping forth had she chosen, but she had trained herself to disregard
+the telegraph when occupied on other work.
+
+Suddenly, however, the telegraphist's pencil paused.
+
+"Hello!" he said. "Theodore Siddle! That's the chemist opposite,
+isn't it!"
+
+"Yes," said Doris, suspending her calculations at mention of the name.
+
+"Well, his mother's dead."
+
+"Dead?" she echoed vacantly. Somehow, it had never hitherto dawned on her
+that the chemist might possess relatives in some part of the country.
+
+"That's what it says," went on the other. "'Regret inform you your mother
+died this morning. Superintendent, Horton Asylum.'"
+
+"In an asylum, too," said the girl, speaking at random.
+
+"Yes. Horton is the place for epileptic lunatics, near Epsom, you know."
+
+"I didn't know. Does it mean that--that she was an epileptic lunatic?"
+
+"So I should imagine, from the wording. If a nurse, or a matron, they'd
+surely describe her as such."
+
+"I suppose we ought not to discuss Mr. Siddle's telegram," said Doris,
+after a pause.
+
+"Well, no. But where's the harm? I wouldn't have yelled out the news if
+we three weren't alone. Where's that boy?"
+
+"Gone to his dinner. Father will take it. By the way, say nothing to him
+as to the contents. Would you mind calling him?"
+
+Doris hurried swiftly to the sitting-room, and thence upstairs. The
+telegraphist explained the absence of a messenger, so Mr. Martin
+delivered the telegram in person.
+
+Crossing the street, he detected a dead bee. He picked it up, horrified
+at the thought that the Isle of Wight disease might have reached Sussex.
+So it was an absent-minded postmaster who handed the telegram over
+Siddle's counter, inquiring laconically:
+
+"Is there any answer?"
+
+Siddle opened the buff envelope, and read. He glanced sharply at Martin.
+
+"No," he said. "What's wrong with that bee?"
+
+"I don't know. I have my doubts. When I have a moment to spare I'll put
+it under the microscope."
+
+Siddle examined the telegram again. The handwriting was that beloved of
+Civil Service Commissioners. Unquestionably, it was not Doris's. No
+sooner had his friend gone off, still intent on the dead insect, than
+Siddle followed. He knew that the bee would undergo scientific scrutiny
+at once, so gave Martin just enough time to dive into the sitting-room
+before entering the post office.
+
+"Did you receive this telegram a few minutes ago!" he inquired.
+
+The young man became severely official.
+
+"Which telegram?" he said stiffly.
+
+"This one," and Siddle gave him the written message.
+
+"Yes," was the answer.
+
+"Excuse me, but--er--are its contents known to you only?"
+
+"What do you mean, sir? It would cost me my berth if I divulged a word of
+it to anyone."
+
+"I'm sorry. Pray don't take offense. I--I'm anxious that my friends,
+Mr. and Miss Martin, should not hear of it. That is what I really
+have in mind."
+
+The telegraphist cooled down.
+
+"You may be quite sure that neither they nor any other person in
+Steynholme will ever see the duplicate," he said confidentially. "I make
+up a package containing duplicates each evening, and it is sent to
+headquarters. If it will please you, I'll lock the copy now in my desk."
+
+"That is exceedingly good of you," said Siddle gratefully. "You, as a
+Londoner, will understand that such a telegram from--er--Horton is not
+the sort of thing one would like to become known even in the most
+limited circle."
+
+"You can depend on me, sir."
+
+Siddle hastened back to his shop. The telegraphist looked after him.
+
+"Queer!" he mused. "Miss Doris guessed him at once. Phi-ew, I must be
+careful! This village contains surprises."
+
+Doris, watching from an upper room, saw the visitor, and timed him. She
+imagined he had dispatched an answer. Being a woman, she sought
+enlightenment a few minutes later.
+
+"Mr. Siddle came in," she said tentatively.
+
+"Yes," said the specialist, smiling. "And I agree with you, Miss Martin.
+We mustn't talk about telegrams, even among ourselves, unless it is
+necessary departmentally."
+
+Doris was silenced, but she read the riddle correctly. The chemist was
+particularly anxious that no Steynholme resident should be made aware of
+his mother's death. She wondered why.
+
+She was enlightened when Furneaux paid a call about tea-time. She took
+him into the garden. The lawn at The Hollies was empty.
+
+"Well, you entertained an acquaintance yesterday?" he began.
+
+"Yes. Am I to tell you what happened?"
+
+"Not a great deal, I imagine," he said, with a puzzling laugh.
+
+"No, but I annoyed him, as Mr.----"
+
+"No names!" broke in the detective hastily. "Names, especially modern
+ones, destroy romance. Even the Georgian method of using initials, or
+leaving out vowels, lend an air of intrigue to the veriest balderdash."
+
+"But no one can overhear us," was the somewhat surprised comment.
+
+"How true!" said Furneaux. "Pardon me, Miss Martin. Tell the story in
+your own way."
+
+Doris had a good memory. She was invariably letter-perfect in a play
+after a couple of rehearsals, and could prompt others if they faltered.
+The detective listened in silence while she repeated the conversation
+between Siddle and herself. He took no notes. In fact, he hardly ever did
+make any record in a case unless it was essential to prove the exact
+words of a suspected person.
+
+"Good!" he said, when she had finished. "That sounds like the
+complete text."
+
+"I don't think I have left out anything of importance--that is, if a
+single word of it _is_ important."
+
+"Oh, heaps," he assured her. "It's even better than I dared hope. Can you
+tell me if Siddle's mother is dead yet?"
+
+The question found Doris so thoroughly unprepared that she blurted out:
+
+"Have you had a telegram, too, then?"
+
+"No. But Siddle has had one, eh? Don't be vexed. I'm not tricking you
+into revealing post office secrets. I knew she was dying, and, when I saw
+your father take a message to the chemist's shop I simply made an
+accurate guess.... Now, I'm going to scare you, purposely and of malice
+aforethought, because I want you to be a good little girl, and obey
+orders. Mrs. Siddle, senior, now happily deceased, was an epileptic
+lunatic of a peculiarly dangerous type. She suffered from what is classed
+by the doctors as _furor epilepticus_, a form of spasmodic insanity not
+inconsistent with a high degree of bodily vigor and long periods of
+apparently complete mental saneness. Now, if I were not speaking to one
+who has shared her father's studies in bee-life, I would not introduce
+the subject of heredity. But _you_ know, Miss Martin, that such racial
+characteristics are transmitted, or transmissible, I should say, by sex
+opposites. Thus, an epileptic mother is more likely to give her taint to
+a son than to a daughter.... Yes, I mean all that, and more," he went on,
+seeing the look of horror, not unmixed with fear, in Doris's eyes. "There
+must be no more irritating of Siddle, or playing on his feelings--by you,
+at any rate. Treat him gently. If he insists on making love to you, be as
+firm as you like in a non-committal way. I mean, by that, an entire
+absence on your part of any suggestion that you are repulsing him because
+of a real or supposed preference for any other man."
+
+"Do you want me to believe that he is liable to attack me?" demanded the
+girl, her naturally courageous spirit coming to her aid.
+
+"I do," said Furneaux, speaking with marked earnestness.
+
+"Yet you ask me to endure his company if he chooses to force
+himself on me?"
+
+"For a few days."
+
+"But it may be a few years?"
+
+"No. That is not to be thought of. Leave it to me to devise a way.
+Besides, you need not allow him so many opportunities that the strain
+would become unbearable. You are busy, owing to the certain increase of
+work brought about by this murder. Your time will be greatly occupied.
+But, don't render him morbidly suspicious. For instance, no more dinners
+at The Hollies. No more gadding about by night, if you hear weird noises
+on the other side of the river. And you must absolutely deny yourself the
+pleasurable excitement of Mr. Grant's company."
+
+"You are carrying a warning to its extreme limit."
+
+"Exactly."
+
+"And am I to keep this knowledge to myself?"
+
+"In whom would you confide?"
+
+"My father, of course."
+
+"I know you better," and the detective's voice took on a profoundly
+serious note. "Your father would never admit that what he knows to be
+true of bees is equally true of humanity. You can trust the police to
+keep a pretty sharp eye on Siddle, of course, but the present is a
+strenuous period, both for us and for people with maniacal tendencies, so
+accidents may happen."
+
+"You have distressed me immeasurably," said the girl, striving to pierce
+the mask of that inscrutable face.
+
+"I meant to," answered Furneaux quietly. "No half measures for me.
+I've looked up the asylum record of Mrs. Siddle, senior, and it's not
+nice reading."
+
+"There was a Mrs. Siddle, junior, then?"
+
+"A Mrs. Theodore Siddle, if one adopts the conventional usage. Yes. She
+died last month."
+
+"Last month!" gasped Doris, feeling vaguely that she was moving in a maze
+of deceit and subterfuge.
+
+"On May 25th, to be precise. She lived apart from her husband. I have
+reason to believe she feared him."
+
+"Yet--"
+
+She hesitated, hardly able to put her jumbled thoughts into words.
+
+"Yes. That's so," said the detective instantly. "Never mind. It's a
+fairly decent world, taken _en bloc_. I ought to speak with authority. I
+see enough of the seamy side of it, goodness knows. Now, forewarned is
+forearmed. Don't be nervous. Don't take risks. Everything will come right
+in time. Remember, I'm not far away in an emergency. Should I chance to
+be absent if you need advice, send for Mr. Franklin. You can easily
+devise some official excuse, a mislaid letter, or an error in a
+telegram."
+
+"I think I shall feel confident if both of you are near," and the ghost
+of a smile lit Doris's wan features.
+
+"We're a marvelous combination," grinned Furneaux, reverting at once to
+his normal impishness. "I am all brain; he is all muscle. Such an
+alliance prevails against the ungodly."
+
+"Is Mr. Grant in any danger?" inquired Doris suddenly.
+
+"No."
+
+The two looked into each other's eyes. Doris was eager to ask a question,
+which Furneaux dared her to put. The detective won. She sighed.
+
+"Very well," she said. "I'm to behave. Am I to regard myself as a
+decoy duck?"
+
+"A duck, anyhow."
+
+She laughed lightly. Furneaux would vouchsafe no further information, it
+would appear. For a girl of nineteen, Doris was uncommonly gifted with
+clear, analytical reasoning powers.
+
+The detective returned to the Hare and Hounds, and went upstairs. He met
+Peters on the landing.
+
+"The devil!" he cried.
+
+"My _dear_ pal!" retorted the journalist.
+
+"Are you living here?"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Why not, indeed? Where the eagles are there is the carcase."
+
+"Your misquotation is offensive."
+
+"It was so intended."
+
+"Come and have a drink."
+
+"No."
+
+"I say 'yes.' You'll thank me on your bended knees afterwards. The South
+American gent is having the time of his life. I've just been to my room
+for _Whitaker's Almanack_, wherewith a certain Don Walter Hart purposes
+flooring him."
+
+Wally Hart had, indeed, succeeded in running to earth the Argentine
+magnate, and was giving Winter a most uncomfortable quarter of an hour.
+
+"Ha!" shouted Hart, when Furneaux came in with Peters. "Here's the pocket
+marvel who'll answer any question straight off. What is the staple export
+of the Argentine!"
+
+"How often have you been there?" demanded the detective dryly.
+
+"Six times."
+
+"And you've lived there?" This to Winter.
+
+"Yes," glowered the big man, fearing the worst.
+
+"Then the answer is 'fools,'" cackled Furneaux.
+
+Wally laughed. He had remembered, just in time, that he had no right to
+claim acquaintance with the representative of Scotland Yard, and there
+were some farmers present, each of whom had a "likely animal" to offer
+the buyer of blood stock.
+
+"Gad, I think you're right," he said.
+
+"You wanted me to say 'sheep,' I suppose?"
+
+"Got it, at once."
+
+"As though one valuable horse wasn't worth a thousand sheep."
+
+"Just what my friend, Don Manoel Alcorta, of Los Andes ranch, Catamarca,
+always held," put in Winter, drawing the bow at a venture.
+
+Hart cocked an eye at him.
+
+"Sir," he said, "I would take off my hat, if I wore one in Steynholme, to
+any man who claims the friendship of Don Manoel Alcorta, a sincere
+patriot. I suggest that we crack a bottle to his immortal memory."
+
+"My doctor forbids me to touch wine," said Winter mournfully.
+
+"But these bucolic breeders of browns and bays employ wiser medicos,
+I'll go bail. Landlord, a quart of the best, and six out, as they say
+in London."
+
+Six glasses were duly filled with champagne. When it was consumed, Hart
+buttonholed Peters.
+
+"A word with you, scribe," he said. "Good-day, gentlemen. I leave you to
+your nags. Treat Mr. Franklin fairly. The friend of Don Manoel Alcorta
+must be a true man."
+
+Winter heaved a sigh of relief when the professional revolutionist
+had vanished.
+
+"He's a funny 'un," commented one of the farmers.
+
+"A bit touched, I reckon," said another. "Wot's 'e doin' now to the
+other one?"
+
+They looked through the window. The two were standing in the middle of
+the road, and Wally was shaking Peters violently. The argument was not so
+fierce as it appeared to be. Peters had been commanded to bring both
+detectives to dinner that evening; when he demurred, trying to hedge on
+the question of Winter's identity, Hart grabbed him by the shoulder.
+
+"Do as I tell you," he hissed. "Of course, I know now that the big fellow
+is the man Grant heard of a week ago. I was an idiot to take him
+seriously about the Argentine. Bring the pair of 'em, I tell you. We'll
+make a night of it."
+
+"I'll try," said Peters faintly, "but if you stir up that wine so
+vigorously I won't answer for the consequences."
+
+Winter, wishing devoutly that would-be sellers of horseflesh were not so
+numerous in the district, noted the names and addresses of the local men,
+and promised to write when he could make an appointment. Then he escaped
+upstairs, whither Furneaux soon followed. Winter had secured an extra
+bedroom, overlooking the river, which Tomlin had converted into a
+sitting-room. Thus, he held a secure observation post both in front and
+rear of the hotel.
+
+"Well, how did she take it!" inquired the Chief Inspector, when he and
+his colleague were safe behind a closed door.
+
+"Sensible girl," said Furneaux. "By the way, Siddle's mother is dead.
+Telegram came this morning. Things should happen now."
+
+"I don't quite see why."
+
+"No. You're still muddled after floundering in the mud of South America.
+What possessed you to let that cheerful idiot, Wally Hart, put you in
+the cart?"
+
+"How could I help it? I was extracting some really helpful facts about
+Siddle and Elkin from Tomlin and the others when a shock-headed whirlwind
+blew in, and nearly embraced me because I claimed acquaintance with the
+El Dorado bar in Buenos Ayres. From that instant I was lost. Like St.
+Augustine on the gridiron, no sooner was I nicely toasted on one side
+than I was turned on to the other. That grinning penny-a-liner, Peters,
+too, helped as assistant torturer. Wait till he asks me for a 'pointer'
+in this or any other case. He sold me a pup to-day, but I'll land him
+with a full-sized mastiff."
+
+"No, you won't. He's done you a lot of good. You were simply reeking with
+conceit when I met you this morning. It was 'Siddle this' and 'Siddle
+that' until you fairly sickened me. One would have thought I hadn't
+cleared the ground for you, left you with all lines open and yourself
+unknown to the enemy. Sometimes, you make me tired."
+
+"Sorry, Charles," said Winter patronizingly. "I had a bit of luck on
+Sunday, I admit. The chance turn taken by the conversation with Doris,
+with the result that I was able to occupy a strategic position on the
+cliff, and hear every word Siddle uttered, was really fortunate. But,
+isn't that just what men mean when they prate of success? Opportunity
+knocks once at every man's door, says the old saw. The clever man grabs
+hold instantly. The indolent one, often a mere gabbler, opens his eyes
+and his mouth weeks afterwards, and cries, 'Dear me! Was that the
+much-looked-for opportunity?' Of course, Robinson's by-play with the sack
+and rope was merely thrown in by the prodigal hand of Fate."
+
+"Stop!" yelped Furneaux. "Another platitude, and I'll assault you with
+the tongs!"
+
+It was the invariable habit of the Big 'Un and Little 'Un to quarrel like
+cat and dog when the toils were closing in around a suspect. Woe, then,
+to the malefactor! His was a parlous state.
+
+"Let's cool down, Charles!" said Winter, opening a leather case, and
+selecting, with great care, one out of half a dozen precisely similar
+cigars. "We're pretty sure of our man, but we haven't a scrap of evidence
+against him. How, or where, to begin ringing him in I haven't the
+faintest notion. If only he'd kill Grant we'd get him at once."
+
+"But he won't. He trusts to Ingerman playing that part of the game. He's
+as artful as a pet fox. I bought soap, and a pound of sal volatile, but
+he did up each parcel with sealing-wax."
+
+"Sal volatile!" smiled Winter. "I, too, went in for soap, but my
+imagination would not soar beyond a packet of cotton-wool. It was the
+lumpiest thing I could think of."
+
+"And perfectly useless!" sneered Furneaux. "I must say you do fling the
+taxpayers' money about. Now, _my_ little lot will keep the electric bells
+in my flat in order for two years."
+
+"You forget that constant association with you demands that I should
+frequently plug my two ears," retorted Winter.
+
+Furneaux would surely have thrown back the jest had not a knock on the
+door interrupted him.
+
+"Who's there? I'm busy," cried Winter.
+
+"Me-ow!" whined Peters's voice.
+
+"Oh, it's you, Tom. Come in!"
+
+The journalist crept in on tiptoe.
+
+"Hush! We are not observed," he said. "Wally Hart threatens to choke me
+if you two don't dine with him and Grant to-night."
+
+There was silence for a little while. The detectives looked at
+each other.
+
+"At what time?" said Winter, at last.
+
+Peters was astonished, and showed it.
+
+"Why, I assured him it was absolutely imposs.," he cried.
+
+"Well, it isn't. In fact, it suits our plans. I want exercise, and shall
+walk back from Knoleworth. Furneaux will make his own arrangements. Tell
+Grant that I shall drop in without knocking."
+
+"And tell him I shall arrive by parachute," added Furneaux.
+
+"In case of accidents, and there is a shoot-up, with myself as the
+unresisting victim, my front name is James," said Peters.
+
+"The only good point about you," scoffed Winter.
+
+"You're strong on names to-day," tittered the journalist. "Don Manoel
+Alcorta was a superb effort as an authority on gee-gees. Wally tells me
+his donship is the recognized expert south of the line on seismic
+disturbances, and spends his days and nights watching a needle making
+scratches on a sensitive plate."
+
+"He would be useful here in a day or two," said Winter.
+
+"Ah, thanks! Is that a tip?"
+
+"Not for publication. What you must say is that this affair looks like
+baffling the shrewdest wits in Scotland Yard."
+
+"My very phrase--my own ewe lamb. Pardon. I shouldn't have alluded
+to sheep."
+
+"The only known representative of the Yard in Steynholme is Furneaux,"
+smiled the Chief Inspector.
+
+Furneaux was drumming on a window-pane with his finger-tips.
+
+"True," he cackled. "Just to prove it, he now informs you that Siddle,
+finding trade slow, has called on Mr. John Menzies Grant!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+FURNEAUX MAKES A SUCCESSFUL BID
+
+
+The lawn front of The Hollies was not visible from the upper story of the
+Hare and Hounds owing to a clump of pines which had found foothold on the
+cliff, but, through the gap formed by the end of the post office garden,
+the entrance to the house from the Knoleworth road was discernible.
+
+Furneaux's dramatic announcement brought the other two to the window. By
+this time Peters, gifted with a nose for news like a well-trained
+setter's for partridges, had begun to associate the quiet-mannered,
+gentle-spoken chemist with the inner circle of the crime, so waited and
+watched with the detectives for Siddle's reappearance.
+
+At any rate the visitor must have been admitted, because a long quarter
+of an hour elapsed before he came in sight again. He walked out slowly
+into the roadway, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and glanced
+to right and left. Then, turning abruptly, he stared at the dwelling he
+had just quitted. What this slight but peculiar action signified was not
+hard to guess. Furneaux, indeed, put it into words.
+
+"Having warned Grant off Miss Doris Martin, and been cursed for his
+pains, the foreman of the jury does not trouble to await further
+evidence, but arrives at a true and lawful verdict straight off,"
+announced the little man.
+
+"We ought to hear things to-night," said Peters.
+
+"We?" inquired Winter.
+
+"Yes. Didn't I make it clear that I shared in the dinner invitation?"
+
+"No, and I'm--"
+
+"Don't say it!" pleaded the journalist. "If I fell from grace to-day,
+remember my unswerving loyalty since the hour we met on the platform at
+Knoleworth! Haven't I kept close as an oyster? And would any
+consideration on earth move me to publish an accurate and entertaining
+account of the roasting of Chief Inspector Winter by Wally Hart? Think
+what I'm sacrificing--a column of the best."
+
+Winter bent a weighing look on the speaker. There was treason in the
+thought, as King James remarked to the barber who tried to prove his
+loyalty by pointing out how easily he might cut his majesty's throat any
+morning. But Peters maintained the expression of a sphinx, and the big
+man relaxed.
+
+"The conditions are that not a word about this business appears in
+print, either now or in the future until we have a criminal in the
+dock," he said.
+
+"Accepted," said Peters.
+
+Furneaux laughed shrilly, even derisively, but him his colleague treated
+with majestic disdain. Then, the chemist having reentered the village,
+the group broke up, Peters to search his brains for "copy" which should
+be readable yet contain no hint of the new trail, Winter to take train to
+Knoleworth, and Furneaux to tackle Fred Elkin, who, he had ascertained
+earlier, would drive home from a neighboring hamlet about five o'clock.
+
+Elkin had returned when the detective reached the house, a somewhat
+pretentious place, half farm, half villa, and altogether horsey. The
+entrance hall bristled with fox masks and brushes. A useful collection of
+burnished bits and snaffles hung on a side wall. A couple of stuffed
+badgers held two wicker stands for sticks and umbrellas, and whips and
+hunting-crops were ranged on hooks beneath a 12-bore and a rook rifle.
+
+A pert maid-servant took Furneaux's card, blanched when she read it, and
+forgot to close the door of the dining-room. Hence, the detective heard
+Elkin's gruff comments:
+
+"What? _That_ chap? Wants to see me? Not more than I want to see him.
+Show him in."
+
+Furneaux, looking very meek and mild, entered an apartment of the
+carpet-bag upholstery period. A set of six exceedingly good and rare
+sporting prints caught his eye.
+
+"Good day," he said, finding Elkin drinking tea, and eating a boiled
+egg. "You're feeling better, I'm glad to see."
+
+Now, no matter how ungracious a man may be, a courteous solicitude as to
+his health demands a certain note of civility in return.
+
+"Yes," he said. "Sit down. Will you join me?"
+
+"I'll have a cup of tea, with pleasure," said Furneaux.
+
+"Right-o! Just touch that bell, will you?"
+
+The other obeyed, and took a closer look at one of the prints. Yes, the
+date was right, 1841, and the stippling admirable.
+
+"Nice lot of pictures, those," he said cheerfully, when the frightened
+maid, much to her relief, had been told to bring another cup and a fresh
+supply of toast.
+
+"Are they?" Elkin had taken them and some kitchen furniture for a bad
+debt.
+
+"Yes. Will you sell them?"
+
+"Well, I haven't thought about it. What'll you give?"
+
+Furneaux hesitated.
+
+"I can't resist anything in the art line that takes my fancy," he said,
+after a pause of indecision. "What do you say to ten bob each?"
+
+Elkin valued the lot at that figure, but Furneaux was a fool, and should
+be treated as such.
+
+"Oh, come now!" he cried roguishly. "They're worth more than that."
+
+Furneaux reflected again.
+
+"Three pounds is a good deal for six prints," he murmured, "but, to get
+it off my mind, I'll spring to guineas."
+
+"Make it three-ten and they're yours."
+
+"Three guineas is my absolute limit," said Furneaux.
+
+"Done!" cried Elkin. The original debt was under two pounds, so he had
+cleared more than fifty per cent. on the transaction, and was plus a
+number of chairs and a table.
+
+Furneaux counted out the money, wrote a receipt on a leaf torn from his
+pocket-book, and stamped it.
+
+"Sign that," he said, "pocket the cash, send the set to the Hare and
+Hounds for me in a dog-cart now, and the deal is through."
+
+Leaving the table, he went and lifted down each picture carefully.
+Somewhat wonderingly, Elkin rang the bell once more, gave the necessary
+instructions, and the room was cleared of its art. He was quite sure now
+that Furneaux was, as he put it, "dotty." The latter, however, sat and
+enjoyed his tea as though well pleased with his bargain.
+
+"And how are things going in the murder at The Hollies?" inquired the
+horse-dealer, by way of a polite leading up to the visitor's
+unexplained business.
+
+"Fairly well," said the detective. "My chief difficulty was to convince
+certain important people that you didn't kill Miss Melhuish. Once I--"
+
+"Me!" roared Elkin, his pale blue eyes assuming a fiery tint. "_Me!_"
+
+"Once I established that fact," went on the other severely, "a real
+stumbling-block was removed. You see, Elkin, you have behaved throughout
+like a perfect fool, and thus lent a sort of credibility to an otherwise
+absurd notion. Your furious hatred of Mr. Grant, for instance, born of an
+equally fatuous--or, shall I say? fat-headed--belief that Miss Martin
+would marry you for the mere asking, led you into deep waters. It was a
+mistake, too, when you lied to P.C. Robinson as to the time you came home
+on that Monday night. You told him you walked straight here from the Hare
+and Hounds at ten o 'clock. You know you didn't--that it was nearer half
+past eleven when you reached this house. Consider what that discrepancy
+alone might have meant if Scotland Yard failed to take your measure
+correctly. Then add the fact that the murderer wore the hat, wig, and
+whiskers in which you made a guy of yourself while filling the role of
+Svengali last winter. Now, I ask you, Elkin, where would you have stood
+with the average British jury when the prosecution established those
+three things: Motive, your jealousy of Grant; time, your unaccounted-for
+disappearance during the hour when the crime was committed; and disguise,
+a clumsy suggestion of Owd Ben's ghost? Really, I have known men brought
+to the scaffold on circumstantial evidence little stronger than that.
+Instead of glaring at me like a cornered rat you ought to drop on your
+knees and thank providence, as manifested through the intelligence of the
+'Yard,' that you are not now in a cell at Knoleworth, ruminating on your
+own stupidity, and in no small jeopardy of your life."
+
+Many emotions chased each other across Fred Elkin's somewhat mean and
+cruel face while Furneaux rated him in this extraordinary manner.
+Surprise, wrath, even fear, had their phases. But, dominating all other
+sensations, was an overpowering indignation at the implied hopelessness
+of his pursuit of Doris Martin.
+
+He literally howled an oath at his torturer. Furneaux was shocked.
+
+"No, no," he protested in a horrified tone. "Don't swear at your
+best friend."
+
+"Friend! By--, I'll make you pay for what you've said. There's a law
+to stop that sort of thing."
+
+"But the law requires witnesses. A slander isn't a slander unless it's
+uttered to your detriment before a third party. How different would be
+Mr. Grant's action against you! Your well-wishers simply couldn't muzzle
+you. Whether before your pot-house cronies or mere strangers, you charged
+him openly with being a murderer. I'm sorry for you, Elkin, if ever you
+come before a judge. He'll rattle more than my three guineas out of you.
+Even now, you don't grasp the extent of your folly. Instead of telling me
+how you spent that hour and a half on the night of the crime you have the
+incredible audacity to threaten me, _me_, the man who has saved you from
+jail. One more word, you miserable swab, and I'll let Robinson arrest
+you. You'll be set free, of course, when I stage the actual villain, but
+a few remands of a week each in custody will thin your hot blood. You
+were with Peggy Smith after leaving the Hare and Hounds, making a fool of
+an honest girl who thinks you mean to wed her. Yet you blather about
+being 'practically engaged' to Doris Martin, a girl who wouldn't let you
+tie her shoe-lace. You're an impudent pup, Fred, and you know it. But you
+stock decent tea, so I'll take another cup. If you're wise, you'll take a
+second one yourself. It's better for you than whiskey."
+
+Elkin, despite all his faults, was endowed with the shrewdness
+inseparable from his business, because no man devoid of brains ever yet
+throve as a horse-dealer. He smothered his rage, thinking he might learn
+more from this strange-mannered detective by seeming complaisance.
+
+"You're a bit rough on a fellow," he growled sulkily, pouring out the
+tea.
+
+"For your good, my boy, solely for your good. Now, own up about Peggy."
+
+"Yes. That's right. She'd prove an alibi, so your torn-fool case breaks
+down when the flag falls."
+
+"Does it? A girl may say anything to save her supposed lover. How will
+the twelve good men and true view Doris Martin's evidence on Wednesday?
+What did _you_ mean, for instance, by your question to the coroner at the
+first hearing?"
+
+"I thought Grant was guilty, and I think so still," came the
+savage retort.
+
+"A nice juryman you are, I must say! May I trouble you to pass the
+sugar?"
+
+"Look here! What are you gettin' at? Damme if I can see through your
+game. What is it?"
+
+"I didn't want to worry poor Peggy. And her father might set about you if
+he knew the facts, so I'm probably saving you a hiding as well as a
+period in jail. The only reliable witness we had as to events in Tomlin's
+place was a commercial traveler, and he is positive that the house closed
+at ten o'clock. However, that's all right. How do you account for the
+marvelous improvement in your health? Dr. Foxton cannot understand your
+illness. He says you are wiry, and have a strong constitution."
+
+"Dr. Foxton jolly near knocked me up," said Elkin. "I took his medicine
+till I was sick as a cat."
+
+"But you took spirits, too."
+
+"That's nothing fresh. Anyhow, I've dropped both, and am picking up
+every hour."
+
+"Since when?"
+
+"Since yesterday morning, if you want to know."
+
+"I do. I'm most interested. Dr. Foxton doesn't compound his own
+prescriptions, does he?"
+
+"No. I get 'em made up at Siddle's."
+
+"Ah. These country chemists often keep drugs in stock till they
+deteriorate, or even set up chemical changes. Have you the bottles?"
+
+"Yes. But what the--"
+
+"Anything left in them?"
+
+"The last two are half full. Still--"
+
+"What a cross-grained chap you are? I buy your pictures, drink your tea,
+rescue you from a positively dangerous position, warn you against
+carrying any farther a most serious libel, yet you won't let me help you
+in a matter affecting your health!"
+
+"Help me? How?"
+
+"Even you, I suppose, realize that Scotland Yard employs skilled
+analysts. Give me your bottles, in strict confidence, of course, and I'll
+tell you what they really contain. Then you can compare the analyses with
+the doctor's prescriptions. The knowledge should be useful, to say the
+least. Siddle's reputation needn't suffer, but, unless I am greatly
+mistaken, you will have the whip hand of him in future."
+
+The prospect was alluring. Elkin would enjoy showing up the chemist, who
+had treated him rather as a precocious infant of late.
+
+"By jing!" he cried, "I'm on that. Bet you a quid--But, no. You'd
+hardly lay against your own opinion. Just wait a tick. I'll bring 'em."
+
+Furneaux stared fixedly at the table while his host was absent. His
+conscience was not pricking him with regard to an unmerited slur on the
+country chemists of Great Britain. All is fair in love and the detection
+of crime, and he simply had to get hold of those bottles by some daring
+yet plausible ruse.
+
+"Now--I wonder!" he muttered, as Elkin's step sounded on the stairs.
+
+"There you are!" grinned the horse-dealer. "Take a dose of the last one.
+It'll stir your liver to some tune."
+
+Furneaux drew the corks out of both bottles, and sniffed the contents.
+Then he tasted, with much tongue-smacking.
+
+"Um!" he said. "Stale laudanum, for a start. I expected as much. Bought
+by the gallon and sold by the drop. Is that the dogcart with my
+pictures?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Hail your man. He can give me a lift."
+
+"But there's lots of things I want to ask you--"
+
+"Probably. I'm here to put questions, not to give information. I've gone
+a long way beyond the official tether already. If you've a grain of
+sense, and I think you're not altogether lacking in that respect, you'll
+keep a close tongue, and act on the tips thrown out. You'll find pearls
+of price among the rubbish-heap of my remarks generally. Good-by. See you
+on Wednesday."
+
+And Furneaux climbed into the cart, holding the pictures so that they
+would not rattle, and perhaps loosen the old gilded frames.
+
+"Drive me to the chemist's" he said to the groom; within five
+minutes, he was explaining his purchase to Siddle, and requesting, as
+a favor, that the latter should wrap the set of prints in brown
+paper, making two parcels, and tying each securely, so that they
+might be dispatched by train.
+
+Siddle examined one, the first of the series, which depicted the
+Aylesbury Steeplechase.
+
+"Rather good," he said. "Where did you pick them up?"
+
+"At Elkin's."
+
+"Indeed. What an unexpected place!"
+
+"That's the only way a poor man can get hold of a decent thing nowadays.
+The dealers grab everything, and sell them as collections."
+
+"Art is not in my line, though anyone can see that these are excellent."
+
+"Yes. But you're looking at 'The Start.' Have a peep at this one,
+'The Finish.' The artist _would_ have his joke. You see that the dark
+horse wins."
+
+"How did you persuade Elkin to part with them?"
+
+"By paying him a tempting price, of course. I'm a weak-minded ass in
+such matters."
+
+The chemist busied himself to oblige the detective, wrapping and tying
+the packages neatly. Furneaux insisted on paying sixpence for the paper,
+string, and labor. There was quite a friendly argument, but he carried
+his point.
+
+The dog-cart then brought him to the station, where he tipped and
+dismissed the man; a little later, he caught a London-bound train.
+
+At half past seven precisely, Winter turned in through the
+Knoleworth-side gate of The Hollies (there were two, the approach to
+the house being semi-circular) and pushed the door open, as it was
+standing ajar.
+
+Grant was waiting in the hall, and greeted him pleasantly.
+
+"Here's a telegram which is meant for you, I fancy," he said.
+
+Winter read:
+
+"Sorry to spoil your party. Compelled to travel to London. Returning
+early to-morrow. F."
+
+"That's pretty Fanny's way," smiled the Chief Inspector. "But there's
+something in the wind, or he would never have hurried off in this
+fashion. He tells me that the only pleasant evening he spent in
+Steynholme was under your roof, Mr. Grant."
+
+"Come along in, Don Jaime!" drawled Hart's voice from the "den," which
+had been cleared of its litter, the lawn being deemed somewhat unsuitable
+for the purposes of a drawing-room on that occasion. It was overlooked
+from too many quarters.
+
+"Ah, we meet now under less uneven conditions, Mr. Hart," said Winter.
+"Do you know that Enrico Suarez is in London?"
+
+Hart, startled for once in his life, gazed at the detective fixedly.
+
+"Since when?" he cried.
+
+"He crossed from Lisbon last week."
+
+Hart took a revolver from his hip pocket, and opened it, apparently
+making sure that it was properly loaded.
+
+"What's the law in England?" he inquired. "Can I shoot first, or must I
+wait till the other fellow has had a pop?"
+
+Winter laughed.
+
+"It's all right," he said. "Suarez is in Holloway, awaiting extradition.
+But I owed you one for the rise you took out of me to-day."
+
+A bell sounded, and Peters came in. He glanced around.
+
+"Where's Furneaux?" he demanded.
+
+"Gone to London. Why this keen interest?" said Winter.
+
+"There's something up. Elkin dropped in at the Hare and Hounds. He was
+simply bursting with curiosity, and had to talk to somebody. So he
+chose me."
+
+"He would," was the dry comment.
+
+"Fact, 'pon me honor. I didn't lead him on an inch. It seems that
+Furneaux bought some prints which caught his eye in Elkin's house, and
+Tomlin says that that hexplains hit."
+
+"Explains what?"
+
+"Furneaux's visit to Siddle, and certain bulky parcels brought in and
+brought out again."
+
+"Queer little duck, Furneaux," said Hart. "Now that my mind is at ease
+about the immediate future of the biggest rascal in Venezuela I can take
+an active part in Steynholme affairs once more. When it's all through
+I'll make a novel of it, dashed if I don't, with the postmaster's
+daughter in the three-color process as a frontispiece."
+
+"But who will be the villain?" said Peters.
+
+Hart waved the negro-head pipe at the other three.
+
+"Draw lots. I am indifferent," he said.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+AN OFFICIAL HOUSEBREAKER
+
+
+No word bearing on the main topic in these men's minds was said during
+dinner. Grant was attentive to his guests, but markedly silent, almost
+distrait. Two such talkers as Hart and Peters, however, covered any gaps
+in this respect. Cigars and pipes were in evidence, and, horrible though
+it may sound in the ears of a _gourmet_, the port was circulating, when
+Winter turned and gazed at the small window.
+
+"Is that where the ghost appears!" he inquired.
+
+"Yes," said Grant. "You know the whole story, of course?"
+
+"Furneaux misses nothing, I assure you."
+
+"He missed a daylight apparition this afternoon, at any rate. I have no
+secrets from my friends, so I may as well tell you--"
+
+"That Siddle called, and implored you to consider Doris Martin's future
+by avoiding her at present," put in the Chief Inspector.
+
+Such shocks were losing some of their effect, on the principle that a man
+hears the burst of the thousandth high-explosive shell with a good deal
+less trepidation than attended the efforts of the first dozen. Still,
+Grant gazed at the speaker in profound astonishment.
+
+"You Scotland Yard men seem to know everything," he said.
+
+"A mere pretense. Try him on sheep-raising in the Argentine, Jack,"
+murmured Hart.
+
+"Wally, this business is developing a very serious side," protested
+Grant. Hart stretched a long arm for the port decanter.
+
+"Come, friend!" he addressed it gravely. "Let us commune! You and I
+together shall mingle joyous memories of
+
+"A draught of the Warm South,
+The true, the blushful Hippocrene."
+
+"We read Siddle's visit aright, it would appear," said Winter quietly.
+
+"Yes. That was his mission, put in a nutshell."
+
+"And what did you say?"
+
+"I told him that, after Wednesday, I would ask Doris Martin to marry me,
+which is the best answer I can give him and all the world."
+
+"Why 'after Wednesday'?"
+
+"Because I shall know then the full extent of the annoyance which
+Ingerman can inflict."
+
+"Did you give Siddle that reason?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Winter frowned.
+
+"You literary gentlemen are all alike," he said vexedly. "You become such
+adepts in analyzing human duplicity in your books that you never dream
+of trying to be wise as a serpent in your own affairs. The author who
+will split legal hairs by way of brightening his work will sign a
+contract with a publisher that draws tears from his lawyer when a dispute
+arises. Why be so candid with a rank outsider, like Siddle?"
+
+"I distrust the man. Doris distrusts him, too."
+
+"So you take him into your confidence."
+
+"No. I merely give him chapter and verse to prove that his interference
+is useless."
+
+"Have you engaged a lawyer for Wednesday"
+
+"No. Why should I? My hands are clean."
+
+"But your clothes may suffer if enough mud is slung at you. Wire to this
+man in the morning, and mention my name--Winter, of course, not
+Franklin."
+
+"Codlin's your friend, not Short," said Hart. "Sorry. It's a time-worn
+jape, but it fitted in admirably."
+
+The detective scribbled a name and address on a card.
+
+"I don't think you need worry about Ingerman," he went on, "though it's
+well to be prepared. A smart solicitor can stop irrelevant statements,
+especially if ready for them. But there must be no more of this
+heart-opening to all and sundry, Mr. Grant. Siddle is your rival. He,
+too, wants to marry Miss Martin, and regards you now as the only
+stumbling-block."
+
+"Siddle! That stick!" gasped Grant.
+
+"Ridiculous, indeed monstrous," agreed Winter, rather heatedly, "but
+nevertheless a candidate for the lady's hand."
+
+Then he laughed. Peters's keen eyes were watching him, and Wally Hart was
+giving more heed to the conversation than was revealed by a fixed stare
+at the negro's head in meerschaum.
+
+"You've bothered me," he went on. "I thought you had more sense. Don't
+you understand that all these bits of gossip reach Ingerman through the
+filter of the snug at the Hare and Hounds?"
+
+"The man's visit was unexpected, and his mission even more so. I just
+blurted out the facts."
+
+"Well, you've rendered the services of a solicitor absolutely
+indispensable now."
+
+Grant, by no means so clear-headed these days as was his wont, followed
+the scent of Winter's red herring like the youngest hound in a pack; but
+Wally Hart and Peters, lookers-on in this chase, harked back to the
+right line.
+
+"May I--" they both broke in simultaneously.
+
+"Place to the fourth estate," bowed Hart solemnly.
+
+"Thanks," said the journalist. "May I put a question, Winter?"
+
+"A score, if you like."
+
+"Totting up the average of the murder cases in which Furneaux and you
+have been engaged, in how many days do you count on spotting your man?"
+
+"Sometimes we never get him."
+
+"Oh, come a bit closer than that."
+
+"Generally, given a clear run, with an established motive, we know who he
+is within eight days."
+
+"Wednesday, in effect?"
+
+"Can't say, this time?"
+
+"Suppose, as a hypothesis, you are convinced of a man's guilt, but can
+obtain little or no evidence?"
+
+"He goes through life a free and independent citizen of this or any other
+country. Arrests on suspicion are not my long suit."
+
+"How does one get evidence?" purred Hart. "It isn't scattered broadcast
+by a clever criminal. And you fellows seem to object to my method, which
+has been the only effectual one so far in this affair."
+
+"If you had shot that specter the other night there would have been the
+deuce to pay."
+
+"But you would now be sure of the murderer?"
+
+"Why do you assume that?"
+
+"Like Eugene Aram, he can't keep away from the scene of his crime."
+
+Winter felt he was skating on thin ice, so hastened to escape.
+
+"Detective work is nearly all guessing," he said sententiously, "yet one
+must beware of what I may term obvious guessing. If cause and effect were
+so closely allied in certain classes of crime my department would cease
+to exist, and the protection of life and property might be left safely to
+the ordinary police. By the way, P. C. Robinson has been rather inactive
+during two whole days. That makes me suspicious. What's he up to? Can you
+throw a light on him, Peters?"
+
+The journalist knew that he was being told peremptorily to cease prying.
+He kicked Hart under the table.
+
+"Hi!" yelled Wally. "What's the matter? Strike your matches on your own
+shin, not mine."
+
+"Peters is announcing that the discussion is now closed," said
+Winter firmly.
+
+"Very well. He needn't emphasize the warning by a hob-nailed boot. When
+my injured feelings have recovered I'll discourse to you of strange folk
+and stranger doings on the banks of the Rio de la Plata, and your stock
+as an Argentine plutocrat will rise one hundred per cent, next time
+you're badgered by a man who knows the country."
+
+"Meanwhile, Robinson is hot-foot on the Elkin trail," laughed Peters.
+"His face was a study to-day when the groom supplied details of the
+picture-buying."
+
+"Furneaux wanted that transaction to be widely known," said Winter. "He
+gave every publicity to it."
+
+"Did he secure a bargain, I wonder?" said Grant.
+
+"Oh, I expect so. He doesn't waste his hard-earned money, even for
+official purposes."
+
+But Winter was well aware of, and kept to himself one phase of the art
+deal, at any rate. Furneaux had persuaded Siddle to fasten two bulky
+packages with string!
+
+He was shaving next morning when his colleague entered, spruce as ever in
+attire, but looking rather weary. The little man flung himself at full
+length on Winter's bed.
+
+"Been up all night," he explained. "Chemical analysis is fascinating but
+slow work--like watching a moth evolve from a grub. Had a fearful job,
+too, to get an analyst to chuck a theater and attend to business. The
+blighter talked of office hours. _Cre nom_! Ten till four, and an hour
+and a half for lunch! Why can't we run _our_ show on those lines, James!"
+
+Winter finished carefully the left side of his broad expanse of face.
+
+"You came down by the mail, I suppose?" he said casually.
+
+"What a genius you are!" sighed Furneaux. "If _I_ were trembling with
+expectation I could no more put a banal question like that than swallow
+the razor after I was done with it. You might at least have the common
+decency to thank me for leaving you to gorge on rare meats and vintage
+wines while I dallied with the deadly railway sandwich."
+
+Winter scraped the other cheek, his chin, and upper lip.
+
+"Shall I go to the bathroom first, or listen?" he inquired.
+
+"Ah, well, I'm tired, and hiking these frail bones to bed till twelve, so
+I'll give you a condensed version," snapped Furneaux. "Elkin 's illness,
+begun by whiskey and over-excitement, developed into steady poisoning by
+Siddle. The chemist used a rare agent, too--pure nicotine--easy, in a
+sense, to detect, but capable of a dozen reasonable explanations when
+revealed by the post-mortem. But Elkin wasn't to be killed outright, I
+gather. The idea was to upset stomach and brain till he was half crazy.
+As you can read print when it's before your eyes, I needn't go into the
+matter of motive; Elkin's behavior supplies all details."
+
+"How about the knots? Hurry! I hate the feeling of soap drying on my
+skin."
+
+"One running noose and twice two half hitches on each package."
+
+"Good! Charles, we're going to pull off a real twister."
+
+"_We!_ Well, that tikes it, as the girl said when her hat blew off with
+the fluffy transformation pinned to it."
+
+Winter rushed to the bathroom, and Furneaux crept languidly to bed.
+
+Before going to Knoleworth, Mr. Franklin consulted with Tomlin as to a
+suitable dinner, to which the other guests staying in the inn, namely,
+Mr. Peters and the Scotland Yard gentleman--the little man with the
+French name--might be invited. This important point settled, Mr. Franklin
+caught an early train, and was absent all day, being, in fact, closeted
+with Superintendent Fowler and a Treasury solicitor.
+
+Furneaux was sound asleep long after twelve o'clock, and swore at Tomlin
+in French when the landlord ventured to arouse him. Tomlin went
+downstairs scratching his head.
+
+"Least said soonest mended," he communed, "but we may all be murdered in
+our beds if them's the sort of 'tecs we 'ave to look arter us."
+
+However, he cheered up towards night. Ingerman, a lawyer, and some
+pressmen, arriving for the inquest, filled every available room, and the
+kitchen was redolent of good fare. All parties gathered in the
+dining-room, of course, and Ingerman had an eye for Mr. Franklin's party.
+The scraps of talk he overheard were nothing more exciting than the
+prospects of a certain horse for the Stewards' Cup. Peters had the tip
+straight from the stables. A racing certainty, with a stone in hand.
+
+After dinner the financier was surprised when Furneaux approached, and
+tapped him professionally on the shoulder.
+
+"A word with you outside," he said.
+
+Ingerman was irritated--perhaps slightly alarmed.
+
+"Can't we talk here?" he said, in that singularly melodious voice of his.
+
+"Better not, but I shan't detain you more than five minutes."
+
+"Anything my legal adviser might wish to hear?"
+
+"Not from me. Tell him yourself afterwards, if you like."
+
+In the quiet street the detective suddenly linked arms with his
+companion. Probably he smiled sardonically when he felt a telltale quiver
+run through Ingerman's lanky frame.
+
+"You've brought down Norris, I see?" he began.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Meaning to make things hot for Grant tomorrow?"
+
+"Meaning to give justice the materials--"
+
+"Cut the cackle, Isidor. I know you, and it's high time you knew me.
+Grant has retained Belcher. Ah! that gets you, does it? You haven't
+forgotten Belcher. Now, be reasonable! Or, rather, don't run your head
+into a noose. Grant had no more to do with the murder of your wife than
+you had. Call off Norris, and Grant withdraws Belcher. Twig? It's dead
+easy, because the Treasury solicitor will simply ask for another week's
+adjournment, as the police are not ready to go on. In the meantime, you
+pay off Norris, and save your face. Is it a deal?"
+
+"Am I to understand--"
+
+"Don't wriggle! The key of the situation is held by Belcher. Name of a
+pipe! What prompting does Belcher need from me or anybody else after the
+Bokfontein Lands case?"
+
+"But--"
+
+"Isidor, this is the last word. I was at the funeral on Saturday, and met
+your wife's mother and sister. They do love you, don't they?"
+
+Ingerman died game.
+
+"If I have your assurance that Mr. Grant is really innocent of Adelaide's
+death, that is sufficient," he said slowly.
+
+"Well, if it pleases you to put it that way, I'm agreeable. Which is your
+road? Back to the hotel? I'm for a short stroll. Mind you, no wobbling!
+Go straight, and I'll attend to Belcher. But, good Lord! How his eyes
+will sparkle when they light on you to-morrow!"
+
+Neither the redoubtable Belcher, nor the Bokfontein Lands, nor poor
+Adelaide Melhuish's mother and sister may figure further in this
+chronicle. The inquest opened at the appointed hour next day, and was
+closed down again for a week with a celerity that was most disappointing
+both to the jury and the general public. Of three legal luminaries
+present only one, the Treasury man, uttered a few bald words. Belcher and
+Norris did not even announce the names of their clients. Norris noticed
+that Belcher surveyed Ingerman with a grim smile, but thought nothing of
+it until he received a check later in the week. Then he made some
+inquiries, and smiled himself.
+
+The foreman of the jury looked a trifle pinched, though his cheeks bore
+two spots of hectic color. Mr. Franklin, drawn to the court by curiosity,
+happened to glance at him once, and found him gazing at Furneaux in a
+peculiarly thoughtful manner.
+
+Elkin, thriving on a diet of tea and eggs, was also interested in the
+representative of Scotland Yard. He seemed to ignore Grant entirely.
+Doris Martin was not in court. Superintendent Fowler had called about
+half, past nine to tell her she would not be asked to attend that day.
+
+Near Mr. Franklin sat a few village notabilities, who, since they had not
+the remotest connection with anyone concerned in the tragedy, have been
+left hitherto in their Olympian solitude. He listened to their comments.
+
+"As usual, the police are utterly at sea," said one.
+
+"Yes, 'following up important clews,' the newspapers say," scoffed
+another.
+
+"It's a disgraceful thing if a crime like this goes undetected and
+unpunished."
+
+"Which is the Scotland Yard man!"
+
+"The small chap, in the blue suit."
+
+"What? _That_ little rat!"
+
+"Oh, he's sharp. I met a man in the train and he told me--"
+
+Mr. Franklin grinned amiably; Hobbs, the butcher, intercepting his eye,
+grinned back. It is not difficult to imagine what portion of the
+foregoing small talk reached Furneaux subsequently.
+
+Oddly enough, both detectives had missed a brief but illuminating
+incident which took place in the Hare and Hounds the previous night,
+while Winter was finishing a cigar with Peters, and Furneaux was
+bludgeoning Ingerinan into compliance with his wishes.
+
+Elkin's remarkable improvement in health was commented on by Hobbs, and
+Siddle took the credit.
+
+"That last mixture has proved beneficial, then?" he said, eying the
+horse-dealer closely.
+
+"Top-hole," smirked Elkin. "But it's only fair to say that I've chucked
+whiskey, too."
+
+"Did you finish the bottle?"
+
+"Which bottle?"
+
+"Mine, of course."
+
+"Nearly."
+
+"Don't take any more. It was decidedly strong. I'll send a boy early
+to-morrow morning with a first-rate tonic, and you might give him any old
+medicine bottles you possess. I'm running short."
+
+Elkin hesitated a second or two.
+
+"I'll tell my housekeeper to look 'em up," he said. After the inquest he
+communicated this episode to Furneaux as a great joke.
+
+"Queer, isn't it?" he guffawed. "A couple of dozen bottles went back, as
+I'm always getting stuff for the gees, but those two weren't among 'em.
+You took care of that, eh? When will you have the analysis?"
+
+"It'll be fully a week yet," said the detective. "Government offices are
+not run like express trains, and this is a free job, you know. But, be
+advised by me. Stick to plain food, and throw physic to the dogs."
+
+Another singular fact, unobserved by the public at large, was that a
+policeman, either Robinson or a stranger, patrolled the high-street all
+day and all night, while no one outside official circles was aware that
+other members of the force watched The Hollies, or were secreted among
+the trees on the cliffside, from dusk to dawn.
+
+Next morning, however, there was real cause for talk. Siddle's shop was
+closed. Over the letter-box, neatly printed, was gummed a notice:
+
+"Called away on business. Will open for one hour after arrival of 7 p. m.
+train. T. S."
+
+Everyone who passed stopped to read. Even Mr. Franklin joined Furneaux
+and Peters in a stroll across the road to have a look.
+
+"I want you a minute," said the big man suddenly to Furneaux. There was
+that in his tone which forbade questioning, so Peters sheered off, well
+content with the share permitted him in the inquiry thus far.
+
+"That fellow, Hart, is no fool," went on Winter rapidly. "He said last
+night 'How does one get evidence?' It was not easy to answer. Siddle has
+gone to his mother's funeral. What do you think!"
+
+"You'd turn me into a housebreaker, would you?" whined Furneaux bitterly.
+"I must do the job, of course, just because I'm a little one. Well, well!
+After a long and honorable career I have to become a sneak thief. It may
+cost me my pension."
+
+"There's no real difficulty. An orchard--"
+
+"Bet you a new hat I went over the ground before you did."
+
+"Get over it quickly now, and get something out of it, and I'll _give_
+you a new hat. Got any tools?"
+
+"I fetched 'em from town Tuesday morning," chortled Furneaux. "So now
+who's the brainy one?"
+
+He skipped into the hotel, while Winter went to the station to make sure
+of Siddle's departure and destination. Yes, the chemist had taken a
+return ticket to Epsom, where a strip of dank meadow-land on the road to
+Esher marks the last resting-place of many of London's epileptics. On
+returning to the high-street, Winter lighted a cigar, a somewhat common
+occurrence in his everyday life, where-upon Furneaux walked swiftly up
+the hill. A farmer, living near the center of the village, owned a rather
+showy cob. Winter found the man, and persuaded him to trot the animal to
+and fro in front of the hotel. There was a good deal of noise and
+hoof-clattering, and people came to their doors to see what was going on.
+Obviously, if they were watching the antics of a skittish two-year-old in
+the high-street, their eyes were blind to proceedings in the back
+premises. Even the postmaster and his daughter were interested onlookers,
+and a policeman, who might have put a summary end to the display,
+vanished as though by magic.
+
+Luckily, Winter was a good judge of a horse. When the cob was stabled,
+and the farmer came to the inn to have a drink, he was forced to admit a
+tendency to cow hocks, which, it would seem, is held a fatal blemish in
+the Argentine.
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had dodged into a lane and thence to a bridle-path
+which emerged near Bob Smith's forge. When he had traversed, roughly
+speaking, one-half of a rectangle in which the Hare and Hounds occupied
+the center of one of the longer sides, he climbed a gate and followed a
+hedge. Though not losing a second, he took every precaution to remain
+unseen, and, to the best of his belief, gained an inclosed yard at the
+back of Siddle's premises without having attracted attention. He slipped
+the catch of a kitchen window only to discover that the sash was
+fastened by screws also. The lock of the kitchen door yielded to
+persuasion, but there were bolts above and below. A wire screen in a
+larder window was impregnable. Short of cutting out a pane of glass, he
+could not effect an entry on the ground floor.
+
+Nimble as a squirrel, and risking everything, he climbed to the roof of
+an outhouse, and tried a bedroom window. Here he succeeded. When the
+catch was forced, there were no further obstacles. In he went, pausing
+only to look around and see if any curious or alarmed eye was watching
+him. He wondered why every back yard on that side of the high-street was
+empty, not even a maid-servant or woman washing clothes being in sight,
+but understood and grinned when the commotion Winter was creating came in
+view from a front room.
+
+Then he undertook a methodical search, working with a rapid yet
+painstaking thoroughness which missed nothing. From a wardrobe he
+selected an overcoat and pair of trousers which reeked with turpentine.
+They were old and soiled garments, very different from the well-cut black
+coat and waistcoat, with striped cloth trousers, worn daily by the
+chemist. He drew a blank in the remainder of the upstairs rooms, which
+included a sitting-room, though he devoted fully quarter of an hour to
+reading the titles of Siddle's books.
+
+A safe in the little dispensing closet at the back of the shop promised
+sheer defiance until Furneaux saw a bunch of keys resting beside a
+methylated spirit lamp.
+
+"'Twas ever thus!" he cackled, lighting the lamp. "Heaven help us poor
+detectives if it wasn't!"
+
+In a word, since murder will out, Siddle had forgotten his keys!
+Probably, he had gone to the safe for money, and, while writing the
+notice as to his absence, had laid down the keys and omitted to pick
+them up again.
+
+Furneaux disregarded ledgers and account books. He examined a bank
+pass-book and a check-book. In a drawer which contained these and a
+quantity of gold he found a small, leather-bound book with a lock, which
+no key on the bunch was tiny enough to fit. A bit of twisted wire soon
+overcame this difficulty, and Furneaux began to read.
+
+There were quaint diagrams, and surveyor's sketches, both in plan and
+section, with curious notes, and occasional records of what appeared to
+be passages from letters or conversations. The detective read, and
+read, referring back and forth, absorbed in his task, no doubt, but
+evidently puzzled.
+
+At last, he stuffed the book into a pocket, completed his scrutiny of the
+safe, examined the bottles on the shelf labeled "poisons," and took a
+sample of the colorless contents of one bottle marked "C10H14N2."
+
+Then he went to the kitchen, replaced all catches and the lock of the
+door, and let himself out by the way he had come.
+
+Winter saw him from afar, and hastened upstairs to the private
+sitting-room. Furneaux appeared there soon.
+
+"Well?" said the Chief Inspector eagerly.
+
+"Got him, I think," said Furneaux.
+
+Not much might be gathered from that monosyllabic question and its
+answer, but its significance in Siddle's ears, could he have heard, would
+have been that of the passing bell tolling for the dead.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+THE TRUTH AT LAST
+
+
+Not often did Furneaux qualify an opinion by that dubious phrase, "I
+think," which, in its colloquial sense, implies that the thought contains
+a reservation as to possible error.
+
+Winter looked anxious. Both he and his colleague knew well when to drop
+the good-natured banter they delighted in. They were face to face now
+with issues of life and death, dark and sinister conditions which had
+already destroyed one life, threatened another, and might envisage
+further horrors. Small wonder, then, if the Chief Inspector's usually
+cheerful face was clouded, or that his hopes should be somewhat dashed
+when Furneaux seemed to lack the abounding confidence which was his most
+marked characteristic.
+
+"You've got something, I see," he said, trying to speak encouragingly,
+and glancing at the bundle of clothing which Furneaux had wrapped in a
+newspaper before dropping from the bedroom window of Siddle's house.
+
+"Yes, a lot. What to make of it is the puzzle. We either go ahead on the
+flimsiest of evidence or I carry out another housebreaking job this
+afternoon and restore things in status quo. First, the bundle--an old
+covert-coating overcoat and a pair of frayed trousers which probably
+draped Owd Ben's ghost. They've been soaked in turpentine, which, chemist
+or no chemist, is still the best agent for removing stains. We'll put 'em
+under the glass after we've examined the book. Siddle keeps a sort of
+diary, a series of jumbled memoranda. If we can extract nutriment out of
+that we may have something tangible to go upon. Let's begin at the end."
+
+Opening the leather-bound note-book, Furneaux stood with his back to the
+window. Winter, owing to his superior height, could look over the lesser
+man's shoulder. Many an occult document affecting the famous crimes and
+social or dynastic intrigues of the previous decade had these two
+examined in that way, the main advantage of scrutiny in common being that
+they could compare readings or suggested readings without loss of time,
+and with the original manuscript before both pairs of eyes.
+
+In the first instance, there were no dates--only scraps of sentences, or
+comments. The concluding entry in the book was:
+
+"A tactical error? Perhaps. Immovable."
+
+Then, taking the order backward:
+
+"Scout the very notion of such an infamy. You and every scandal-monger in
+S. may do your worst."
+
+"Free to confess that events have opened my eyes to the truth, so, not
+for the first time, out of evil comes good."
+
+"A prig."
+
+"Visit for such a purpose a piece of unheard-of impudence."
+
+These were all on one page.
+
+"Quite clearly a _precis_ of Grant's remarks when Siddle called on
+Monday," said Winter.
+
+At any other time, Furneaux would have waxed sarcastic. Now he
+merely nodded.
+
+"Stops in a queer way," he muttered. "Not a word about the inquest or the
+missing bottles."
+
+The preceding page held even more disjointed entries, which,
+nevertheless, provided a fair synopsis of Doris's spirited words on the
+Sunday afternoon.
+
+"Malice and ignorance."
+
+"Patient because of years."
+
+"Loyal comrade. Shall remain."
+
+"Code."
+
+"No difference in friendship."
+
+"E. hopeless. Contempt."
+
+"Skipping--good."
+
+On the next page:
+
+"Isidor G. Ingerman. Useful. Inquire."
+
+"E.'s boasts? Nonsensical, surely!"
+
+"Why has D. gone?"
+
+Both men paused at that line.
+
+"Detective?" suggested Winter.
+
+"That's how I take it," agreed Furneaux.
+
+Then came a sign: "+10%."
+
+"Elkin's mixture was not 'as before.' It was fortified," grinned
+Furneaux. "That's the exact increase of nicotine. By the way, I have
+a sample. We can take care of him on that charge, without a shadow
+of doubt."
+
+Winter blew softly on the back of his friend's head.
+
+"You're thorough, Charles, thorough!" he murmured. "It's a treat to work
+with you when you get really busy."
+
+Furneaux ran his thumb across the end of several leaves.
+
+"I can tell you now," he said, "that there's nothing of real value in the
+earlier notes. So far as I can judge, they refer either to a sort of
+settlement with his wife or chance phrases used by Doris Martin which
+might imply that she was heart whole and fancy free. There's not a bally
+word dealing with the murder, or that can be twisted into the vaguest
+allusion to it. But here's a plan and section which have a sort of
+significance. I've seen the place, so recognized it, or thought I did. We
+must check it, of course. Here you are! You know the footbridge across
+the river from Bush Walk?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The eastern end is supported on a hollow pier of masonry, in which one
+might tog up unseen. These drawings would be useful as an _Aide
+Memoire_ on a dark night. A false step, with the river in flood, might
+be awkward."
+
+"What's that on the opposite page?"
+
+"I give it up--at present."
+
+This somewhat rare display of modesty on Furneaux's part was readily
+understandable. A series of straight lines and angles conveyed very
+little hint of their purport; but Winter smiled behind his friend's back.
+
+"I've been prowling about this wretched inn longer than you," he said.
+"Look outside, to the left."
+
+"Don't need to, now," cackled Furneaux. "It's the profile of a wall,
+gate, and outhouse along which one could reach the window of the
+club-room. Would you mind stopping grinning like a Cheshire cat?"
+
+"Anything else?"
+
+"Yes. This one: 'S.M.? 1820.' That beats you, eh?"
+
+"Dished completely."
+
+"Doris Martin, as usual, supplies the answer. An old volume of the
+_Sussex Miscellany_, probably that for 1820, contains the full story of
+Owd Ben. I might have mentioned it to you, but focussed on current
+events. Siddle has it among his books, which, by the way, are made up
+largely of scientific and popular criminal records."
+
+"Is that the lot?"
+
+"I'm afraid so. Have a look."
+
+"Just a minute. I want to think."
+
+Winter turned and gazed through the open window. Seldom had a more
+gracious June decked England with garlands. The hour was then high noon,
+and a pastoral landscape was drowned in sunshine. The Chief Inspector cut
+the end off a cigar dreamily but with care.
+
+"Broadmoor--perhaps," he muttered. "But we can't hang him yet, Charles. A
+couple of knots and a theory won't do for the Assizes. We haven't a
+solitary witness. Hardly a night but he goes home at 9.30. If only he had
+killed Grant! But--Adelaide Melhuish!"
+
+In sheer despair he struck a match.
+
+"Well, let's overhaul these duds," said Furneaux savagely. "I'll chance
+the dinner hour for the return visit. Steynholme folk eat at half past
+twelve to the tick, and you can hardly get up another horse show."
+
+There was a knock at the door.
+
+"Let me in, quick!" came Peters's voice, and the handle was tried
+forcibly.
+
+"Go away! I'm busy!" cried Winter.
+
+"This is urgent, devilish urgent," said Peters.
+
+Furneaux snatched up the note-book, and Winter tore off his coat,
+throwing it over the package which reposed in an armchair. Then the Chief
+Inspector unlocked the door, blocking the way aggressively.
+
+"Now, I must say--" he began.
+
+But Peters clutched his shoulder with a nervous hand.
+
+"Siddle has just hurried up the street and entered his shop," he hissed.
+
+The journalist had not only kept his eyes open, but excelled in the art
+of putting two and two together, an arithmetical calculation which, as
+applied to the affairs of life, is not so readily arrived at as many
+people imagine.
+
+"Buncoed! He's missed his keys!" shrilled Furneaux.
+
+"Confound the man! He might at least have attended his mother's funeral!"
+stormed Winter, retrieving his coat.
+
+Thus it happened that Furneaux was the first down the stairs, though the
+three emerged from the door of the inn on each other's heels. A stout
+man, in all likelihood a farmer with horses for sale, was mounting the
+two steps which led to the entrance. His head was down, and his weight
+forward, so he successfully resisted Furneaux's impact, but Peters and
+Winter were irresistible, and he tumbled over with a muffled yell.
+
+At that instant Siddle quitted his shop, and headed straight for the post
+office. In his right hand he carried an automatic pistol. The street was
+wide. Furneaux, absolutely fearless in the performance of his duty, ran
+in a curve so as to bar the chemist's path, and it was then that Siddle
+saw him. The man's face was terrible to behold. His eyes were rolling,
+his teeth gnashing; he had bitten his tongue and cheeks, and his
+stertorous breathing ejected from his mouth foam tinged with blood.
+
+"Ha!" he screamed in a falsetto of fury, "not yet, little man, not yet!"
+
+With that he raised the pistol, and fired point-blank at the detective.
+Furneaux ducked, and seized a small stone, being otherwise quite unarmed.
+He threw it with unerring aim, and, as was determined subsequently,
+struck the hand holding the weapon. Possibly, almost by a miracle, the
+blow caused a faulty pressure, because the action jammed, though the
+pistol itself was most accurate and deadly in its properties.
+
+By this time Winter, sweeping Peters aside, was within ten feet of the
+maniac, who turned and ran into the shop. The door, a solid one, fitted
+with a spring lock, slammed in the Chief Inspector's face, and resisted a
+mighty effort to burst it open. A few yards away stood an empty,
+two-wheeled cart, uptilted, and Winter demanded the help of a few men who
+had gathered on seeing or hearing the hubbub.
+
+"I call on you in the King's name!" he shouted. "We must force that door!
+Then stand clear, all of you!"
+
+He raced to the cart, and, when his object was perceived, willing hands
+assisted in converting the heavy vehicle into a battering-ram. The
+gradient of the hill favored the attack, which was made at an acute
+angle, and the first assault smashed the lock. There were a couple of
+seconds' delay while the cart was backed out, and the detectives rushed
+in, Furneaux leading, because Winter gave his great physical strength to
+the shafts. But the Chief Inspector grabbed his tiny friend by the
+collar as the latter darted around the counter and into the dispensary
+in the rear.
+
+"Two of us can't go abreast, and you'll only get hurt," he said, speaking
+with a calmness that was majestic in the circumstances.
+
+"The nicotine is gone!" yelped Furneaux; both saw that the safe
+stood open.
+
+Behind the dispensary was a small passage, whence the stairs mounted, and
+a door led to the kitchen. That door was closed now, though it was open
+when Furneaux ransacked the house. Therefore, they made that way at once.
+No ordinary lock could resist Winter's shoulder, and he soon mastered
+this barrier. But the kitchen was empty--the outer door locked but
+unbolted. Since it is practically impossible for the strongest man to
+pull a door open, the two made for the window, and tore at screws and
+catch with eager fingers. Furneaux, light and nimble-footed, scrambled
+through first, so it was he who found Siddle lying in the orchard beyond
+the wall of the yard. The unhappy wretch had swallowed nearly the whole
+remaining contents of the bottle of nicotine, or enough to poison a score
+of robust men. He presented a lamentable and distressing spectacle. Some
+of the more venturesome passers-by, who had crowded after the detectives
+and Peters, could not bear to look on, and slunk away in horror.
+
+Furneaux soon brought an emetic, which failed to act. Siddle breathed his
+last while the glass was at his lips.
+
+In that moment of crisis only three men did not lose their heads. Winter
+cleared away the gapers, while Furneaux remained with the body. P.C.
+Robinson came up the hill at a run, and was sent for a stretcher,
+bringing from Hobbs's shop the very one on which the ill-fated Adelaide
+Melhuish was carried from the river bank.
+
+But where was Peters? In the post office, writing the first of a series
+of thrilling dispatches to a London evening newspaper. What journalist
+ever had a more sensational murder-case to supply "copy"? And when was
+"special correspondent" ever better primed for the task? He wrote on, and
+on, till the telegraphist cried halt. Then he hied him to London by
+train, and began the more ambitious "story" for next morning. What he did
+not know he guessed correctly. A fagged but triumphant man was Jimmie
+Peters when he "blew in" to the Savage Club at 1 A.M. to seek sustenance
+and a whiskey and soda before going home.
+
+Furneaux was white and shaken when Winter escorted the stretcher-bearers
+to the orchard.
+
+"Poor devil!" he said, as the men lifted the body. "Foredoomed from
+birth! We can eradicate these diseases from cattle. Why not from men!"
+
+The villagers could not understand him. Already, in some mysterious way,
+the word had gone around that Siddle had murdered the actress, and taken
+his own life to avoid arrest, after shooting at the detective who was hot
+on his trail.
+
+Not until Peters's articles came back to Steynholme did the public at
+large realize that the chemist undoubtedly meant to kill Doris Martin. He
+was going straight to the post office when the way was barred by
+Furneaux. The bullet which missed the latter actually pierced the zinc
+plate of the letter-box, and scored a furrow, inches long, in an oak
+counter which it struck laterally.
+
+The village did not recover its poise for hours. Grant and Hart, to whom
+Bates brought the news about one o'clock, rose from an untasted luncheon
+and hurried to the high-street. Knots of people stared at Grant, some
+sheepishly, others with frank relief, because all who knew him liked him.
+One man, a retired ironmonger and an impulsive fellow, came forward and
+wrung his hand heartily. A few prominent residents followed suit. Grant
+was greatly embarrassed, but managed to endure these awkward if
+well-meant congratulations. There could be no mistaking their intent. He
+had been tried for murder at the bar of public opinion, and was now
+formally acquitted.
+
+Even Fred Elkin, ignorant as yet of his own peril, yielded to the
+influences of the moment and bustled through the crowd.
+
+"Mr. Grant," he cried outspokenly, "I ask your pardon. I seem to have
+made a d--d fool of myself!"
+
+"Easier done than said," chimed in Hart. "But, among all this
+bell-ringing, can anyone tell what has actually happened? Where's
+Peters?"
+
+"In the post office."
+
+The two went in, and found the journalist scribbling against time. Hart
+coolly grabbed a few slips of manuscript, and commenced reading. Grant
+looked about for Doris. She was not visible, but Mr. Martin, pallid and
+nervous, nodded toward the sitting-room. The younger man, taking the
+gesture as a tacit invitation, entered the room.
+
+Doris was sitting there, crying bitterly. Poor girl! She had seen that
+portion of the drama which was enacted in the street, and the shock of it
+was still poignant. She looked up and met her lover's eyes. Neither
+uttered a word, but Grant did a very wise thing. He caught her by the
+shoulders, raised her to her feet, and, after kissing her squarely on the
+lips, gave her a comforting hug.
+
+"It will be all right now, Doris," he whispered tenderly. "Such
+thunderstorms clear the air."
+
+An eminent novelist might have found many more ornate ways of avowing
+his sentiments, but never a more satisfactory one. At any rate, it
+served, so what more need be said?
+
+Certain rills of evidence accumulated into a fair-sized stream before
+night fell. P.C. Robinson, for instance, scored a point by ascertaining
+that Peggy Smith had seen Furneaux dropping from the bedroom window of
+the chemist's shop. She was some hundreds of yards away, and could not be
+positive that some man, perhaps a glazier, had not been there
+legitimately effecting repairs. Still, when she met Siddle hurrying from
+the station, she told him of the incident.
+
+"He never even thanked me," she said, "but broke into a run. The look in
+his eyes was awful."
+
+The girl had, in fact, confirmed his worst fears, and her neighborly
+solicitude had merely hastened the end.
+
+Again, the railway officials showed that Siddle had returned from
+Victoria instead of taking train to the asylum. Furneaux had guessed
+aright. The discovery that his keys had been left behind drove the man
+into a panic of fright.
+
+It took nearly three weeks before the unhappy business was finally
+disposed of. A Treasury solicitor was given the chance of his career by
+the medico-legal disquisition which cleared up an extraordinary record.
+The annals of the disease which predisposed Theodore Siddle to crime
+went back many years. He was a fairly wealthy man by inheritance, and
+adopted the profession of chemistry as a hobby. One fact stood out
+boldly. He was aware of his hereditary taint, and had settled down in
+Steynholme believing that a quiet life, free from care or the
+distractions of a town, would enable him to overcome it. Probably, the
+lawyer held, the man owned two distinct individualities, and the baser
+instincts gradually overpowered the humane ones.
+
+Of course, the whole history of those trying days had to come out in open
+court, and the postmaster's daughter was given a descriptive and
+pictorial boom which many an actress envied. Peters was restored to grace
+when he showed plainly that his articles had kept the fickle barometer of
+public opinion at "set fair," in so far as Grant and Doris were
+concerned.
+
+"But," as Hart drawled during a dinner of reconciliation, "you needn't
+have been so infernally personal about my hat."
+
+Grant and Doris were married before the year was out. Mr. Martin retired
+on a pension, and the young couple decided that they could never
+dissociate The Hollies from the tragic memories bound up with its
+ghost-window and lawn. So the place was sold, and Steynholme knows "the
+postmaster's daughter" no more. Winter and Furneaux week-ended with them
+recently at a pretty little nook in Dorset. Hart, just home from the
+Balkans, traveled from town with the detectives, and Doris, a radiant
+young matron, was as flippant as the best of them.
+
+One evening, when the men were sitting late in the smoking-room, the talk
+turned on the now half-forgotten drama in which the hapless Adelaide
+Melhuish played her last role.
+
+"I met Peters in the Savage Club the other night," said Hart, filling the
+negro-head pipe with care while he talked, "and he was chortling about
+his 'psychological study,' as he called it, of that unfortunate chemist.
+He still clings to the theory that your wife was the intended victim,
+Grant. Do you agree with him?"
+
+"Rubbish!" cried Furneaux, before his host could answer. "At best, Peters
+is only a clever ass. Siddle never had the remotest notion of killing
+Miss Doris Martin, as Mrs. Grant was then. We shall never know for
+certain just what happened, but there are elements in the affair which
+give ground for reasonable guesswork. The first thing that impressed
+Winter and me--at least, I suppose I really evolved the idea, though my
+bulky friend elaborated it" (whereat Winter smiled forgivingly, and
+beheaded a fresh Havana) "was the complete noiselessness of the crime.
+Here we had Mr. Grant startled by the face at the window, and actually
+searching outside the house for the ghostly visitant, while Miss Doris
+was gazing at The Hollies from the other side of the river, and not a
+sound was heard, though it was a summer's night, without a breath of
+wind, and at an hour when the splash of a fish leaping in the stream
+would have created a commotion. Now, Miss Melhuish was an active and
+well-built young woman, an actress, too, and therefore likely to meet an
+emergency without instant collapse. Yet she allows herself to be struck
+dead or insensible without cry or struggle! How do you account for it?"
+
+"Go on, Charles; don't be theatrical," jeered Winter. "You've got the
+story pat. Even that simile of the jumping fish is mine."
+
+"True," agreed Furneaux. "I only brought it in as a sop. But, to
+continue, as the tub-thumper says. Isn't it permissible to assume that
+Siddle accompanied the lady, either by prior arrangement or by contriving
+a meeting which looked like mere chance? We know that she went to his
+shop. We know, too, that he was clever and unscrupulous, and any allusion
+to Grant would stir his wits to the uttermost. He would see instantly how
+interested Miss Melhuish was in the owner of The Hollies, while she, a
+smart Londoner, would recognize in Siddle an informant worth all the rest
+of the babblers in Steynholme. At any rate, no matter how the thing was
+brought about, it is self-evident that Siddle brought his intended victim
+into the grounds, and told her of the small uncovered window through
+which she could peer at Grant after Miss Doris had gone. He showed her
+which path to use, and undoubtedly waited for her, and stayed her flight
+when Grant rose from his chair. She was close to him, and wholly
+unafraid, finding in him an ally. They were purposely hidden, in the
+gloom of dense foliage, and remained there until Grant had closed the
+window again. Then, and not till then, did the murderer strike, probably
+stifling her with his free hand. He had the implement in his pocket. The
+rope was secreted among the bushes. He could carry through the whole
+wretched crime in little more than a minute. And his psychology went far
+deeper than Peters gave him credit for. He had weighed up the situation
+to a nicety. No matter who found the body, Mr. Grant was saddled with a
+responsibility which might well prove disastrous, and was almost sure to
+affect his relations with the Martin household. For instance, nothing
+short of a miracle could have stopped Robinson from arresting him on a
+charge of murder."
+
+"You, then, are a miracle?" put in Hart, pointing the pipe at the
+little man.
+
+"To the person of ordinary intelligence--yes."
+
+"After that," said Winter, "there is nothing more to be said. Let's see
+who secures the pocket marvel as a partner at auction."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As a fitting end to the strange story of wayward love and maniacal frenzy
+which found an unusual habitat in a secluded hamlet like Steynholme, a
+small vignette of its normal life may be etched in. The trope is germane
+to the scene.
+
+On a wet afternoon in October Hobbs and Elkin had adjourned to the Hare
+and Hounds. Tomlin was reading a newspaper spread on the bar counter. He
+was alone. The day was Friday, and the last "commercial" of the week had
+departed by the mid-day train.
+
+"Wot's yer tonic?" demanded the butcher.
+
+"A glass of beer," threw Elkin over his shoulder. He had walked to the
+window, and was gazing moodily at the sign of the "plumber and decorator"
+who had taken Siddle's shop. The village could not really support an
+out-and-out chemist, so a local grocer had elected to stock patent
+medicines as a side line.
+
+Tomlin made play with a beer-pump.
+
+"Where's yer own?" inquired Hobbs hospitably.
+
+Elkin came and drank. After an interlude, Tomlin ran a finger down a
+column of the newspaper.
+
+"By the way, Fred, didn't you tell me about that funny little chap,
+Furno, the 'tec, buyin' some pictures of yours?" he said.
+
+"I did. Had him there, anyhow," chuckled Elkin.
+
+"How much did you stick 'im for?"
+
+"Three guineas."
+
+"They can't ha' bin this lot, then, though I've a notion it wur the same
+name, 'Aylesbury Steeplechase.'"
+
+"What are you talking about?"
+
+"This."
+
+Tomlin turned the paper, and Elkin read:
+
+At their monthly art sale on Wednesday Messrs. Brown, Jenkins and Brown
+disposed of an almost unique set of colored prints, by F. Smyth, dated
+1841. The series of six represented various phases of the long defunct
+Aylesbury Steeplechase, "The Start," "The Brook," "The In-and-Out," and
+so on to "The Finish." It is understood that this notable series,
+produced during the best period of the art, and at the very zenith of
+Smyth's fame, were acquired recently by a Sussex amateur at a low price.
+Bidding began at fifty guineas, and rose quickly to one hundred and
+twenty, at which figure Messrs. Carnioli and Bruschi became the owners.
+
+Elkin read the paragraph twice, until the words burnt into his brain.
+
+"No," he said thickly. "They're not mine. No such luck!"
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER ***
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