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Updated: May 16, 2025
"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.
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.
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?"
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Winter bent over, keen to discern the gray-backed fish which must be lurking in those clear depths and rippling shallows. 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.
"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.
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