Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 16, 2025
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.
"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.
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 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.
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."
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.
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. Ingerman was a shrewder judge of human nature than the village chemist.
"Mr. Hart's knowledge will be available to-morrow. In his presence, poor Mr. Siddle would be dumb." 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.
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.
"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.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking