nd a degree of
circumspection in such conditions. That is all."

"Surely you do not rank with the stupid crowd in its suspicions of Mr.
Grant?" said the girl.

"I'm pleased to think you refuse to class me with the gossip-mongers of
Steynholme, Doris," was the guarded answer.

There had been no reference to the murder during tea, which was served
as soon as the chemist came in. The visitor had tabled a copy of a
current medical journal containing an article on the therapeutic
qualities of honey, so the talk was lifted at once into an atmosphere far
removed from crime. Doris was grateful for his tact. When her father went
to the office she brought Mr. Siddle into the garden solely in pursuance
of her promise to the detective, though convinced that there would be no
outcome save a few labored compliments to herself. And now, by accident,
as it were, the death of Adelaide Melhuish thrust itself into their
conversation. Perhaps it was her fault.

"No," she said candidly. "No one who has known you for seven years, Mr.
Siddle, could possibly accuse you of spreading scandal."

"Seven years! Is it so long since I came to Steynholme? Sometimes, it
appears an age, but more often I fancy the calendar must be in error.
Why, it seems only the other day that I saw you in a short frock,
bowling a hoop."

"A tom-boy occupation," laughed Doris. "But dad encouraged that and
skipping, as the best possible means of exercise."

"He was right. Look how straight and svelte you are! Few, if any, among
our community can have watched your progress to womanhood as closely as
I. You see, living opposite, as I do, I kept track of you more
intimately than your other neighbors."

Siddle was trimming his sails cleverly. The concluding sentence robbed
his earlier comments of their sentimental import.

"If we live long enough we may even see each other in the sere and yellow
leaf," said Doris flippantly.

"I would ask no greater happiness," came the quiet reply, and Doris could
have bitten her tongue for according him that unguarded opening. Suddenly
availing herself of the advice which the detective, like Hamlet, had
given to the players, she gazed musingly at the fair panorama of The
Hollies and its gardens, with the two young men seated on the lawn. By
this time Minnie was staging tea, and the picture looked idyllic enough.
Doris saw, out of the tail of her eye, that her companion was watching
her furtively, though apparently absorbed in t