CHAPTER XIV
ON BOTH SIDES OF THE BIVEE
The sun, transmuted into Greenwich time, exercised an extraordinaryinfluence on the seemingly humdrum life of Steynholme that day. A fewminutes after three o'clock--just too late to observe either Winter orSiddle--P.C. Robinson strolled forth from his cottage. He glanced up thealmost deserted high-street, in which every rounded cobble and whiteflagstone radiated heat. A high-class automobile had dashed past twice inforty minutes, but the pace was on the borderland of doubt, so theguardian of the public weal had contented himself with recording itsnumber on the return journey.
But his thoughts were far a-field from joyriders, stray cattle, hawkerswithout licenses, and other similar small fry which come into theconstabulary net. It would be a feather in his cap if he could onlystrike the trail of the veritable Steynholme murderer. The entrancingnotion possessed him morning, noon, and night. Mrs. Robinson declaredthat it even dominated his dreams. Robinson was sharp. He knew quite wellthat the brains of the London detectives held some elusive quality whichhe personally lacked. They seemed to peer into the heart of a thing sowisely and thoroughly. He did not share Superintendent Fowler's somewhatderogatory estimate of Furneaux, with whom he was much better acquaintedthan was his superior officer, while Chief Inspector Winter's reputestood so high that it might not be questioned. Still, to the best of hisbelief, the case had beaten both these doughty representatives ofScotland Yard; there was yet a chance for the humble police-constable; soRobinson squared his shoulders, seamed his brows, and marchedmajestically down the Knoleworth road.
He had an eye for The Hollies, of course, though neither he nor anybodyelse could discern more than the bare edge of the lawn from bridge orroad, owing to the dense screen of evergreen trees and shrubs planted bythe tenant who remodeled the property.
But the spot where the body of Adelaide Melhuish was drawn ashore wasvisible, and the sight of it started a dim thesis in the policeman's mindwhich took definite shape during less than an hour's stroll. Thus, atfour o'clock exactly, he was pulling the bell at The Hollies. Almostsimultaneously, Mr. Siddle knocked modestly on the private door of thepost office, to reach which one had to pass down a narrow yard.
"Mr. Grant at home?" inquired Robinson, when Minnie appeared.
Yes, the master was on the lawn with Mr. Hart. The policeman found thetwo there, seated in chairs with awnings. They had been discussing, ofall things in the world, the futurist craze in painting. Hart held by it,but Grant carried bigger guns in real knowledge of the artist'slimitations as well as his privileges.
Hart was the first to notice the newcomer's presence, and greetedhim joyously.
"Come along, Robinson, and manacle this reprobate," he shouted. "He'snothing but a narrow-minded pre-Rafaelite. A period in prison will dustthe cobwebs out of his attic."
"Hello, Robinson!" said, Grant. "Anything stirring?"
"Not much, sir. I just popped in to ask if you remembered exactly how thebody was roped?"
"Indeed, I do not. Some incidents of that horrible half hour have goneinto a sad jumble. I recollect you calling attention to the matter, butwhat your point was I really cannot say now. Perhaps it may come back ifyou explain."
"Well, we don't seem to be making a great deal of progress, sir, and Iwas wondering whether you two gentlemen might help. I don't want itmentioned. I'm taking a line of me own."
Grant repressed a smile. He recalled well enough the first "line" thepoliceman took, and the mischief it had caused. Being an even-mindedperson, however, he admitted that his own behavior had not been abovesuspicion on the day the crime was discovered. In allotting blame, asbetween Robinson and himself, the proportion was six of one and half adozen of the other.
"Propound, justiciary," said Hart. "You've started well, anyhow. Theconnection between a line and a rope should be obvious even to ajudge.... As a pipe-opener, have a drink!"
Robinson had removed his helmet, and was flourishing a red handkerchief,not without cause, the day being really very hot.
"Not for a few minutes, thank you, sir," said the policeman. "May I askBates for a sack and a cord?"
He went to the kitchen. Hart was "tickled to death," he vowed.
"We are about to witness the reconstruction of the crime, a procedurewhich the French delight in, and the intellect of France is a hundredyears ahead of our effete civilization," he chortled.
Grant was not so pleased. The memory of a distressing vision wasbeginning to blur, and this ponderous policeman must come and revive it.Yet, even he grew interested when Robinson illustrated a nebulous idea byknotting a clothesline around a sack stuffed with straw, having broughtBates to bear him out in the matter of accuracy.
"There you are, gentlemen!" he said, puffing after the slight exertion."That's the way of it. How does it strike you?"
"It's what a sailor calls two half hitches," commented Hart instantly."A very serviceable knot, which will resist to the full strength ofthe rope."
"We have no sailors in Steynholme, sir," said the policeman.
"Oh, it's used regularly by tradesmen," put in Grant. "A draper, orgrocer--any man accustomed to tying parcels securely, in fact--willfashion that knot nine times out of ten."
"How about a--a farmer, sir?" That was as near as Robinson dared to go to"horse-dealer."
"I think a farmer would be more likely to adopt a timber hitch, which ismade in several ways. Here are samples." And Grant busied himself withrope and sack.
Robinson watched closely.
"Yes," he nodded. "I've seen those knots in a farmyard.... Well, it'ssomething--not much--but a trifle better than nothing.... All right,Bates. You can take 'em away."
"Have you shown that knot to Mr. Furneaux?" inquired Grant.
"No, sir. I've kept that up me sleeve, as the sayin' is."
"But why?"
Robinson shuffled uneasily on his feet.
"These Scotland Yard men will hardly listen to a uniformed constable,sir," he said. "I'll tell 'em all about it at the inquest on Wednesday."
"In effect, John P. Robinson he sez they didn't know everythin' down inJudee," quoted Hart.
"You've got my name pat," grinned the policeman, whose Christian nameswere "John Price."
"My name is Walter, not Patrick," retorted Hart. Robinson continued tosmile, though he failed to grasp the joke until late that evening.
"Did you make up that verse straight off, sir," he asked.
"No. It's a borrowed plume, plucked from an American quill pen."
Hart gave "plume" a French sound, and Robinson was puzzled to know whyGrant bade his friend stop profaning a peaceful Sunday afternoon.
"You'll have a glass of beer now?" went on the host.
"I don't mind if I do, sir, though it's tea-time, and I make it a rule onSundays to have tea with the missis. A policeman's hours are broken up,and his wife hardly ever knows when to have a meal ready."
Minnie was summoned. It took her a couple of minutes to draw the beerfrom a cool cellar. So it chanced that when Doris led Mr. Siddle to theedge of the cliff about twenty-five minutes past four, the first thingthey saw was the local police-constable on the lawn of The Holliesputting down a gill of "best Sussex" at a draught.
"Well!" cried the chemist icily, "I wonder what Superintendent Fowlerwould say to that if he knew it?"
"What is there particularly wrong about Robinson drinking a glass ofbeer?" demanded Doris, more alive to the insinuation in Siddle's wordsthan was quite permissible under the role imposed on her by Winter.
She waved her hand to the party on the lawn. Grant, whose eyes everroved in that direction, had seen her white muslin dress the momentshe appeared.
"Who the deuce is that with Miss Martin?" he said, returning her signal.
"Siddle, the chemist," announced Robinson, not too well pleased himselfat being "spotted" so openly. "Well, gentlemen, I'll be off," and hevanished by the side path through the laurels.
"Siddle!" repeated Grant vexedly. "So it is. And sh
e dislikes the man,for some reason."
"Let's go and rescue the fair maid," prompted Hart.
"No, no. If Doris wanted me she would let me know."
"How? At the top of her voice?"
"You're far too curious, Wally."
"Semaphore, of course," drawled Hart. "When are you going to marry thegirl, Jack!"
"As soon as this infernal business has blown over."
"You haven't asked her, I gather?"
"No."
"Tell me when you do, and I'll hie me to London town, though in torridJune. You're unbearable in love."
"The lash of your wit cuts deeply sometimes," said Grant quietly.
"Dash it all, old chap, I was talking at random. Very well. I'll dopenance in sackcloth and ashes by remaining here, and applauding yourpoetic efforts. I'll even help. I'm a dab at sonnets."
Meanwhile, Mr. Siddle had regained his poise.
"I meant nothing offensive to the donor of the beer," he said, tuning hisvoice to an apologetic note. "But I take it Robinson is conductingcertain inquiries, and I imagine that his superiors demand a degree ofcircumspection 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 ofSteynholme, Doris," was the guarded answer.
There had been no reference to the murder during tea, which was servedas soon as the chemist came in. The visitor had tabled a copy of acurrent medical journal containing an article on the therapeuticqualities of honey, so the talk was lifted at once into an atmosphere farremoved from crime. Doris was grateful for his tact. When her father wentto the office she brought Mr. Siddle into the garden solely in pursuanceof her promise to the detective, though convinced that there would be nooutcome save a few labored compliments to herself. And now, by accident,as it were, the death of Adelaide Melhuish thrust itself into theirconversation. 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, itappears 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 andskipping, as the best possible means of exercise."
"He was right. Look how straight and svelte you are! Few, if any, amongour community can have watched your progress to womanhood as closely asI. You see, living opposite, as I do, I kept track of you moreintimately than your other neighbors."
Siddle was trimming his sails cleverly. The concluding sentence robbedhis earlier comments of their sentimental import.
"If we live long enough we may even see each other in the sere and yellowleaf," said Doris flippantly.
"I would ask no greater happiness," came the quiet reply, and Doris couldhave bitten her tongue for according him that unguarded opening. Suddenlyavailing herself of the advice which the detective, like Hamlet, hadgiven to the players, she gazed musingly at the fair panorama of TheHollies and its gardens, with the two young men seated on the lawn. Bythis time Minnie was staging tea, and the picture looked idyllic enough.Doris saw, out of the tail of her eye, that her companion was watchingher furtively, though apparently absorbed in the scene. He moistened histhin lips with his tongue.
"As a study in contrasts, that would be hard to beat," he said, after along pause.
"Contrasts!" she echoed.
"Well, yes. Even an uncontentious man like myself can hardly fail tocompare Sunday afternoon with Tuesday morning."
"Why not Monday night?" she flashed.
"Monday night, in part, remains a mystery yet to be unveiled. I blotMonday night from my mind. I have no alternative, being on the jurywhich has to arrive at a just verdict. Now, if Fred Elkin were here, hewould foam at the mouth."
"Happily, Fred Elkin is _not_ here."
"Ah, I am glad, glad, to hear you say that. You don't like him?"
"I detest him."
"He makes out, to put it mildly, that you are great friends."
"You will oblige me by contradicting the statement. Or--no. One treatsthat sort of man with contempt."
"I agree with you most heartily. I'm sorry I ever mentioned him."
Yet Doris was well aware that the chemist had dragged in Elkin by thescruff of the neck, probably for the sake of getting him disposed ofthoroughly and for all time. Rather on the tiptoe of expectation, sheawaited the next move. It was slow in coming, so again she lookedwistfully at the distant tea-drinkers. She found slight difficulty incarrying out this portion of the stage directions. Truth to tell, shewould gleefully have gone and joined them.
Siddle was not altogether at ease. The conversation was too spasmodic tosuit his purpose. Though slow of speech he was nimble of brain, and,knowing Doris so well, he had anticipated a livelier duel of wits. In alllikelihood, he cursed the tea-party on the lawn. He had not foreseen thisdrawback. But, being a masterful man, he tackled the situation boldly.
"I seized the opportunity of a friendly chat with you to-day, Doris," hewent on, leaning over the fence to inhale the scent of a briar rose. "Thestory runs through the village that you and your father dined at TheHollies on Friday evening. Is that true?"
Now, Doris had it on reliable authority that Siddle himself had been therunner who spread that story, and the knowledge steeled her heartagainst him.
"Yes," she said composedly.
"It was kind and neighborly of you to accept the invitation, but amistake."
She turned and faced him. His expression was baffling. She thought shesaw in his sallow, clean-cut features the shadow of a confident smile.
"You mean that this horrid murder should make some difference in thefriendship between ourselves and Mr. Grant?" she cried.
"Yes. To you, though to no one else would I speak so plainly, I have nohesitation in saying that Mr. Grant is far, very far, from being clearof responsibility in that matter. Three days from now you willunderstand what I mean. Evidence will be forthcoming which will put himin a most unenviable light. I am not alleging, or even hinting, that hemay be deemed guilty of actual crime. That is for the law to determine.But I do tell you emphatically that his present heedless attitude willgive place to anxiety and dejection. It cannot be otherwise. A somewhatsordid history will be revealed, and his pretense that relations betweenhim and the dead woman ceased three years ago will vanish into thin air.Believe me, Doris, I am actuated by no motive in this matter other thana desire to further your welfare. I cannot bear even to think of yourname being associated, in ever so small degree, with that of a man whomust be hounded out of his own social circle, if no worse fate is instore for him."
"Good gracious!" cried Doris, genuinely amazed. "How do you come to knowall this?"
"I listen to the words of those qualified to speak with knowledge andauthority. I have mixed in varied company this past week, wholly on youraccount. Don't be led away by the mere formalities of the opening day ofthe inquest. The coroner deliberately shut off all real evidence exceptas to the cause of death. On Wednesday the situation will change, and youcannot fail to be shocked by what you hear, because you will be there."
"I am given to understand that, even if I am called, my testimony will beof no importance."
"Such may be the police view. Mr. Ingerman will press for a verydifferent estimate."
"Has he told you that?"
"Yes."
"So, although foreman of the jury, you have not declined to hobnob witha man who is avowedly Mr. Grant's enemy?"
"I would hobnob with worse people if, by so doing, I might serve you."
Grant, "fed up," as he put it to Hart, with watching the _tete a tete_between Doris and the chemist, sprang to his feet and went through apantomime easy enough to follow save for one or two signs. Doris heldboth hands aloft. Well knowing t
hat anything in the nature of apre-arranged code would be gall and wormwood to Siddle, she explainedlaughingly:
"Mr. Grant signals that he and Mr. Hart are going for a walk; he wants meto accompany them. But I can't, unfortunately. I promised dad to helpwith the accounts."
"If you really mean what you say, my warning would seem to have fallen ondeaf ears."
Siddle's voice was well under control, but his eyes glinted dangerously.His state was that of a man torn by passion who nevertheless felt thatany display of the rage possessing him would be fatal to his cause.
But, rather unexpectedly, Doris took fire. Siddle's innuendoes andprotestations were sufficiently hard to bear without the added knowledgethat a ridiculous convention denied her the companionship of a man whomshe loved, and who, she was beginning to believe, loved her. She sweptround on Siddle like a wrathful goddess.
"I have borne with you patiently because of the acquaintance of years,but I shall be glad if this tittle-tattle of malice and ignorance nowceases," she said proudly. "Mr. Grant is my friend, and my father'sfriend. In the first horror of the crime which has besmirched our dearlittle village, we both treated Mr. Grant rather badly. We know betterto-day. Your Ingermans and your Elkins, and the rest of the busybodiesgathered at the inn, may defame him as they choose, or as they dare. Asfor me, I am his loyal comrade, and shall remain so after next Wednesday,or a score of Wednesdays. I am going in now, Mr. Siddle, and shall beengaged during the remainder of the evening. Your shop opens at six, andI am sure you will find some more profitable means of spending the timethan in telling me things I would rather not hear."
Siddle caught her arm.
"Doris," he said fiercely, "you must not leave me without, at least,learning my true motive. I--"
The girl wrested herself free from his grip. She realized what wascoming, and forestalled it.
"I care nothing for your motive," she cried. "You forget yourself!Please go!"
She literally ran into the house. The chemist, unless he elected tobehave like a love-sick fool, had no option but to follow, and make hisway to the street by the side door.
The only other happening of significance that Sunday was an unheraldedvisit by Winter to the policeman's residence.
He popped in after dusk, opening the door without knocking.
"You in, Robinson?" he inquired.
"Yes, sir. Will you--"
"Shan't detain you more than a minute. At the inquest you said that youpersonally untied the rope which bound Miss Melhuish's body. Here are apiece of string and a newspaper. Would you mind showing me what sort ofknot was used?"
Robinson was nearly struck dumb, and his fingers fumbled badly, but hemanaged to exhibit two hitches.
"Ah, thanks," said Winter, and was off in a jiffy.
From the window of a darkened room Robinson watched the erect, burlyfigure of the detective until it was merged in the mists of night.
"Well, I'm--," he exclaimed bitterly.
"John, what are you swearing about?" demanded his wife from the kitchen.
"Something I heard to-day," answered her husband. "There was a chap of myname, John P. Robinson, an' he said that down in Judee they didn't knoweverything. And, by gum, he was right. They knew mighty little aboutLondon 'tecs, I'm thinking. But, hold on. Surely--"
He bustled into his coat, and hastened to The Hollies. No, neither Mr.Grant nor Mr. Hart had spoken to a soul about the knot. Nor had Bates. Ofcourse, Robinson did not venture to describe Winter. Finally, he put theincident aside as a clear case of thought-reading.