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Updated: May 16, 2025
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."
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.
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.
"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 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.
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."
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."
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. The girl wrested herself free from his grip. She realized what was coming, and forestalled it.
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.
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?"
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