The Postmaster's Daughter Part 32

"Ah. He is not a native of the place?"

"No. He bought Mr. Benson's business. He's a Londoner, I believe."

"Is there--a Mrs. Siddle?"

"No. I--er--that is to say, gossip has it that he was married, but his wife died."

"He doesn't speak of her? Is that it? One would have thought that in a house where he is well known--"

"We don't really know him well. No one does, I think."

"You've invited him to tea, at any rate," laughed Winter.

"No," said Doris. "He invited himself. At least, so I gathered from dad."

"Ah, well. He feels lonely, no doubt, and wishes to chat about recent strange events in Steynholme. And that brings me to the reason why I sought this chat under such peculiar conditions. You realize my handicap, Miss Martin? If I were seen talking to you, or even entering your house as apart from the post office, people would begin to wonder. You follow that, don't you?"

Yes, Doris did follow it. What she did not follow was the veiled admiration in Superintendent Fowler's glance at the detective. Those few inconsequential questions had shed a flood of light on Siddle's past and present, yet the informant was blissfully unaware of their real purport.

And the way was opened so deftly. The purchase of a chemist's business would almost certainly be negotiated through a local lawyer. Let him be found, and Siddle's pre-Steynholme days could be "looked into," as the police phrase has it. The superintendent had the rare merit of being candid with himself. He had no previous experience of Scotland Yard men or methods, and was inclined to be skeptical about Furneaux. But Winter's prompt use of a chance opening, and the restraint which cut off the investigation before the girl could suspect any ulterior motive, displayed a technique which the Suss.e.x Constabulary had few opportunities of acquiring.

"Now, Miss Martin," began Winter, "if ever you have the misfortune to fall ill--touch wood, please--and call in a doctor, you'll tell him the facts, eh?"

"Why consult him at all, if I don't?" she smiled.

"Exactly. To-day I'm somewhat in the position of a Harley-street specialist, summoned to a.s.sist an eminent local pract.i.tioner in Dr.

Fowler. That's a sort of gentle preliminary, leading up to the disagreeable duty of putting some questions of a personal nature. What you may answer will not go beyond ourselves. I promise you that. You will not be quoted, or requested to prove your statements. Such a thing would be absurd. If I were really a doctor, and you needed my advice, you might easily describe your symptoms all wrong. It would be my business to listen, and deduce the truth, and I would never dream of rating you for having misled me. You see my point?"

"Yes, but Mr. Win--Mr. Franklin, I know nothing whatever about the murder."

"I'm sure you don't. It was a wicked trick of Fate that took you to Mr.

Grant's garden last Monday night."

"It was really an astronomical almanac," retorted Doris, who now felt a growing confidence in this nice-spoken official. "Sirius is a star remarkable for its beautiful changing lights, and on Monday evening was at its best. I think I ought to explain," and she blushed delightfully, "that the village gossip about Mr. Grant and me is entirely mistaken. We are not--well, I had better use plain English--we are not lovers. My father and I are just on close, friendly terms with Mr. Grant. I--my position hardly warrants even that relationship with an author of some distinction. But please set aside any notion of us as likely to become engaged. For one thing, it is preposterous. For another, I shall not leave my father."

Poor Doris! She little guessed how accurately this skilled student of human nature read the hidden thought behind that vehement protest. Even the note of vague rebellion against social disabilities was pathetic yet illuminating. Of course, he took her quite seriously.

"Let us keep to the hard road of fact," he said. "What you really mean is that Mr. Grant has never made love to you. But I must be candid, young lady. There is no earthly reason why he shouldn't, though I could name offhand half a dozen why he should.... Well, well, I must not pay compliments. My friend, Mr. Furneaux, can manage that with much greater facility, being half a Frenchman. And now I'm going to say an unpleasant thing. I ask your forgiveness in advance. Both Mr. Furneaux and I agree in the opinion that your imaginary love affair is indissolubly bound up with the mystery of Miss Melhuish's death. In a word, I have brought you here today to discuss your prospective marriage, and nothing else. That astonishes you, eh? Well, it's the truth, as I shall proceed to make clear. There's a Mr. Fred Elkin, for instance--"

Doris uttered a little laugh of dismay. Winter's emphatic words had astounded her, but the horse-dealer's name acted as comic relief.

"I can't bear the man," she protested.

"I have no doubt. But you ought to know that he is loudly proclaiming his determination to marry you before the year is out."

The girl's face reddened again, and her eyes sparkled.

"I wouldn't marry him if he were a peer of the realm," she said indignantly.

"Quite so. But he is an avowed suitor. Now don't be vexed. Has he never declared his intentions to _you_?"

"He would never dare. I sing and act a little, at village concerts and dramatic performances, and he has annoyed me at times by an officious pretense that he was deputed by my father to see me home. I came here quite a little girl, so people learnt to use my Christian name. I don't object to it at all. But I simply hate hearing it on Mr. Elkin's lips."

"Exit Fred!" said Winter solemnly. "Next!"

Doris, after a period of calm, was now profoundly uncomfortable. This kind of prying was the last thing she had expected. She had come prepared to defend Grant, but, beyond one exceedingly personal reference, the detective had studiously shut him out of the conversation.

"What am I to say?" she cried. "Do you want a list of all the young men who make sheep's eyes at me?"

"No. I can get that from the Census Bureau. Come, now, Miss Martin. _You_ know. Has any man in the village led you to suspect, shall we put it?

that sometime or other, he might ask you to become his wife?"

Lo, and behold! Doris's pretty eyes filled with tears. Superintendent Fowler was so pleased at hearing Scotland Yard introducing a parenthetical query into its sentences that he, sitting opposite, was taken aback when Winter said in a fatherly way:

"I've been rather clumsy, I'm afraid. But it cannot be helped. I must go blundering on. I'm groping in the dark, you know, but it's a thousand pities I shall have to tread on _your_ toes."

"It isn't that," sobbed Doris. "I hate to put my thoughts into words.

That's all. There _is_ a man whom I'm--afraid of."

"Siddle?"

She turned on Winter a face of sudden awe.

"How can you possibly guess?" she said wonderingly, and sheer bewilderment dried her tears.

"My business is nine-tenths guesswork. At any rate, we are on firm ground now. If you could please yourself, I suppose, Mr. Siddle would not come to tea to-day!"

"He certainly would not," declared the girl emphatically.

"You believe he is coming for a purpose?"

"Yes."

"Elkin--I must drag him in again for an instant--pretends that the commotion aroused in the village by this murder would incline you favorably to a proposal of marriage. Mr. Siddle may have discovered some virtue in the theory."

"Did Mr. Elkin really hint that I needed _him_ as a shield?"

Doris was genuinely angry now. She little imagined that Winter was playing on her emotions with a master hand.

"Don't waste any wrath on Elkin," he soothed her. "The fellow isn't worth it. But his crude idea might be developed more subtly by an abler man."

"I think it odd that Mr. Siddle should choose to-day, of all days, for a visit," she admitted.

Winter relapsed into silence for a while. The car was running through a charming countryside, and a glimpse of the sea was obtainable from the crest of each hill. Mr. Fowler was too circ.u.mspect to break in on the thread of his coadjutor's thoughts. The inquiry had taken a curious turn, and was momentarily beyond his grasp.

"It's singular, but it's true," said the detective musingly when next he spoke, "that I am now going to ask you to act differently than was in my mind when I sought this interview. I should vastly like to be present when Siddle bares his heart to you this afternoon.

"I can invite you to tea."

Alas! that won't serve our ends. But, if you feel you have a purpose, you will be nerved to deal with him. Bring him out into that secluded garden of yours--"