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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.
"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."
"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.
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.
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.
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. 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.
"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.
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