--at least, I suppose I really evolved the idea, though my
bulky friend elaborated it" (whereat Winter smiled forgivingly, and
beheaded a fresh Havana) "was the complete noiselessness of the crime.
Here we had Mr. Grant startled by the face at the window, and actually
searching outside the house for the ghostly visitant, while Miss Doris
was gazing at The Hollies from the other side of the river, and not a
sound was heard, though it was a summer's night, without a breath of
wind, and at an hour when the splash of a fish leaping in the stream
would have created a commotion. Now, Miss Melhuish was an active and
well-built young woman, an actress, too, and therefore likely to meet an
emergency without instant collapse. Yet she allows herself to be struck
dead or insensible without cry or struggle! How do you account for it?"

"Go on, Charles; don't be theatrical," jeered Winter. "You've got the
story pat. Even that simile of the jumping fish is mine."

"True," agreed Furneaux. "I only brought it in as a sop. But, to
continue, as the tub-thumper says. Isn't it permissible to assume that
Siddle accompanied the lady, either by prior arrangement or by contriving
a meeting which looked like mere chance? We know that she went to his
shop. We know, too, that he was clever and unscrupulous, and any allusion
to Grant would stir his wits to the uttermost. He would see instantly how
interested Miss Melhuish was in the owner of The Hollies, while she, a
smart Londoner, would recognize in Siddle an informant worth all the rest
of the babblers in Steynholme. At any rate, no matter how the thing was
brought about, it is self-evident that Siddle brought his intended victim
into the grounds, and told her of the small uncovered window through
which she could peer at Grant after Miss Doris had gone. He showed her
which path to use, and undoubtedly waited for her, and stayed her flight
when Grant rose from his chair. She was close to him, and wholly
unafraid, finding in him an ally. They were purposely hidden, in the
gloom of dense foliage, and remained there until Grant had closed the
window again. Then, and not till then, did the murderer strike, probably
stifling her with his free hand. He had the implement in his pocket. The
rope was secreted among the bushes. He could carry through the whole
wretched crime in little more than a minute. And his psychology went far
deeper than Peters gave him credit for. He had weighed up the situation
to