The Postmaster's Daughter Part 27

Peters bustled off. He had the reputation of being the smartest "writer up" in London of mystery cases. The Steynholme affair had interested both him and a shrewd news-editor.

The pair arrived at the Hare and Hounds within a few minutes of each other. The big man registered as "Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina." Peters ordered a chop, and went off at once to interview the local policeman.

Mr. Franklin took more pains over the prospective meal.

"Have you a nice chicken?" he inquired.

Yes, Mr. Tomlin had a veritable spring chicken in the larder at that moment.

"And do you think your cook could provide a _tourne-dos_?"

"A what-a, sir?" wheezed Tomlin.

The visitor explained. He liked variety, he said. Half the chicken might be deviled for breakfast. The two dishes, with plain boiled potatoes and French beans, would suit him admirably. He was sorry he dared not try Tomlin's excellent claret, but a dominating doctor had put him on the water-cart. In effect, Mr. Franklin impressed the landlord as a man of taste and ample means.

Peters had gobbled his chop before Franklin entered the dining-room, but they met later in the snug, where Elkin was being chaffed by Hobbs anent his carryin's on in Knoleworth the previous night.

Siddle came in, but the chatter was not so free as when the habitues had the place to themselves.

Now, Peters had marked the gathering as one that suited his purpose exactly, so he gave the conversation the right twist.

"I suppose you local gentlemen have been greatly disturbed by this sensational murder?" he said.

Hobbs took refuge in a gla.s.s of beer. Siddle gazed contemplatively at his neat boots. Tomlin meant to say something; Elkin, eying the stranger, and summing him up as a detective, answered brusquely:

"The murder is bad enough, but the fat-headed police are worse. Three days gone, and nothing done!"

"What murder are you discussing, may I ask?" put in Franklin.

Peters turned on him with astonishment in every line of a peculiarly mobile face.

"Do you mean to say, sir, that you haven't heard of the Steynholme murder?" he gasped.

"I seldom, if ever, read such things in the newspapers, and, as I landed in England only a week ago from France, my ignorance, though abyssmal, is pardonable. Moreover, I can say truly that I am far more interested in pedigree horses than in vulgar criminals."

Peters explained fluently. This was no ordinary crime. A beautiful and popular actress had been done to death in a brutal way, and the country was already deeply stirred by the story.

Elkin waited impatiently till the journalist drew breath. Then he broke in.

"Pedigree horses you mentioned, sir," he said, his rancor against Grant being momentarily conquered by the pertinent allusion to his own business. "What sort? Racing, coaching, roadsters, or hacks?"

"All sorts. The Argentine, where I have connections, offers an ever-open door to good horseflesh."

"Are you having a look round?"

"Yes. There are several decent studs within driving distance of Steynholme. Isn't that so, landlord?"

"Lots, sir," said Tomlin. "An' the very man you're talkin' to has some stuff not to be sneezed at."

"Is that so?" Mr. 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."

"An' you want it, too, Fred," said Hobbs. "Dash me, you're as thin as a herrin'. Stop whiskey an' drink beer, like me."

"And you might also follow that gentleman's example," interposed Siddle quietly, nodding towards Mr. Franklin.

"What's that?" snapped Elkin.

"Don't worry about murders."

"That's a nice thing to say. Why should _I_ worry about the d---d mix-up?"

The chemist made no reply, but Hobbs stepped into the breach valiantly.

"Keep yer 'air on, Fred," he vociferated. "Siddle means no 'arm. But wot else are yer a-doing of, mornin', noon, an' night?"

Elkin laughed, with his queer croak.

"If you stay here a day or two, you'll soon get to know what they're driving at, sir," he said to Franklin. "The fact is that this chap, Grant, who found the body, and in whose garden the murder was committed, has been making eyes at the girl I'm as good as engaged to. That would make anybody wild--now, wouldn't it?"

"Possibly," smiled Franklin. "Of course there is always the lady's point of view. The s.e.x is proverbially fickle, you know. 'Woman, thy vows are traced in sand,' Lord Byron has it."

"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. The landlord made a clatter of gla.s.ses, and the threatened storm pa.s.sed.

"You've aroused my curiosity," remarked Franklin to Peters, but taking the company at large into the conversation. "This does certainly strike one as a remarkable case. Is there no suspicion yet as to the actual murderer?"

"None whatever," said Peters.

"That's what you may call the police opinion," broke in Elkin. "We Steynholme folk have a pretty clear notion, I can a.s.sure you."

"The matter is still _sub judice_, and may remain so a long time," said Siddle. "It is simply stupid to attach a kind of responsibility to the man who happens to occupy the house a.s.sociated with the crime. I have no patience with that sort of reasoning."

Hobbs, who did not want to quarrel with Elkin, suddenly championed him.

"That's all very well," he rumbled. "But the hevidence you an' me 'eard, Siddle, an' the hevidence we know we're goin' to 'ear, is a lot stronger than that."

"I'm sure you'll pardon me, friends," said Siddle, rising with an apologetic smile, "but I happen to be foreman of the coroner's jury, and I feel that this matter is not for me, at any rate, to discuss publicly."