rawing Elkin, or Elkin drew him--I am not
quite sure which, but think it matterless either way."

He sketched Robinson's activities briefly, but in sufficient outline.

"A new figure has come on the screen--Siddle, the chemist," he added
thoughtfully.

"Siddle!" Mr. Fowler was surprised. "Why, he is supposed to be a model of
the law-abiding citizen."

"I don't say he has lost his character in that respect," said Winter.
"Still, he puzzles me. Elkin is a loud-mouthed fool. The verbal bricks he
hurls at Grant are generally half baked, and crumble into dust. Hitherto,
Siddle has tried to repress him, with a transparent honesty that rather
worried me. On Friday night, however, Siddle attacked Grant with poisoned
arrows. He did more damage in two minutes than Elkin could achieve in as
many months."

"How?"

"He showed very clearly that Grant was guilty of gross bad taste in
inviting Mr. Martin and his daughter to dinner that evening. I'm inclined
to agree with him, if the story has been told fairly. But that is beside
the main issue. Siddle aroused the sleeping dogs of the village, and the
pack is in full cry again. Grant seems to have been popular here; he had
almost recovered from the blow of Miss Melhuish's death by the
straightforward speech he made before the inquest. But Siddle threw him
back into the mud by a few skillful words. What is Siddle's record? Is he
a local man?"

"I think not. Robinson can tell us."

"Robinson says he 'believes' Siddle is a widower. That doesn't argue long
and close knowledge."

"We must look into it. Robinson has been stationed here four years.
Siddle is not old, but he has been in business in Steynholme more years
than that. But--you'll pardon me, I'm sure, Mr. Winter--may I take it
that you are really interested in the chemist's history?"

The superintendent was perplexed, or he would not have adopted his
professional method of semi-apologetic questions with a man from
the C.I.D.

"I hardly know what I'm interested in," laughed Winter. "Grant didn't
kill the lady. I shall be slow to credit Elkin with being the scoundrel
he looks. Siddle, and Tomlin, if you please, are regarded as starters in
the Doris Martin Matrimonial Stakes, and I don't think Tomlin could ever
murder anything but the King's English. It is Siddle's _volte face_ that
bothers me."

"Um!" murmured Mr. Fowler. He was not an uneducated man, but _volte
face_, correctly pronounced, was unfamiliar in his ears.