h Walk.

"Never mind his statement. That must await the adjourned hearing. What
did you do with the body?"

"Took it to the stable of the Hare and Hounds, sir."

"Where it was viewed recently by the jury?"

"Yes, sir."

"It is the body identified by Mr. Ingerman as that of his wife?"

"Yes, sir."

"That will do.... Superintendent Fowler, will this day week at ten
o'clock suit you?"

"Yes, sir," said the superintendent.

"Then the inquest stands adjourned until that day and hour. Gentlemen of
the jury, you must be here punctually."

"Can't we ask any questions?" cried Elkin, in an injured tone.

"No. You cannot," snapped the coroner emphatically.

After a few formalities, which included the reading and signing of the
depositions, the courthouse emptied. The whole thing was over in half an
hour. Grant, determined to have a word with the representative of
Scotland Yard, went openly to Furneaux, and asked him to come to The
Hollies and join him in a cup of tea.

"No," was the curt answer. "I'm busy. I'll see you later."

It was difficult to reconcile the detective's present stand-off manner
with his earlier camaradie, to say nothing of the seemingly friendly hint
conveyed by the signal to pass no comment on Ingerman's interruption.

Rather sick at heart, Grant went out into the sunshine. He was
snap-shotted a dozen times by press photographers. One man, backing
impudently in front of him in order to secure a sharp focus, tripped over
the raised edge of a cartway into a yard, and sat down violently.

The onlookers laughed, but Grant helped the photographer to rise.

"If you want a really good picture of the Steynholme murderer, come to my
place, and I'll give you one," he said.

The pressman was grateful, because Grant's action had tended to mitigate
his discomfiture.

"No one but a fool thinks of you as a murderer, Mr. Grant," he said.
"What I really want is a portrait of 'the celebrated' author in whose
grounds the body was found."

"Come along, then, and I'll pose for you."

The photographer was surprised, but joyfully accepted the gifts the gods
gave. He could not guess that his host was pining for human
companionship. He could not fathom Grant's disappointment, on reaching
The Hollies, at finding no telegram from a trusted friend, Walter Hart.
And he was equally unconscious of the immense service he rendered by
compelling his host to talk and act naturally. He enlightened Grant, too,
in the ma