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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.
"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.
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."
Elkin walked slowly up to the basket, and put his nose in it. He found that there were some oats in it; and Rollo’s father poured them out on the grass, and then stood by, patting Elky’s head and neck while he ate them. Rollo thought his head looked beautifully; he wondered how he could have been afraid of it.
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.
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.
"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.
"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.
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.
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.
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