ame here yesterday, but your attitude took
me aback, and I was idiot enough to go without a word of explanation. I
was too shaken then to see my clear course, and follow it regardless of
personal feelings. This morning I am master of myself, and I insist that
you listen now while I tell you exactly what occurred on Monday night."

"Surely--these matters--are--for the authorities," stammered the
older man.

"What? Your daughter's good name?"

Mr. Martin reddened. His agitation was pitiful.

"That is hardly in question, sir," he said brokenly.

"I am speaking of the tongue of slander. Heaven help and direct me! I
would suffer death rather than see Doris subjected to the leers and
innuendoes of every lout in the village."

Grant's earnestness could hardly fail to impress his friend. But Martin
had either made up his mind or been warned not to discuss the murder, and
adhered loyally to that line of conduct. He retreated toward the door
leading to the post office proper.

"It is too late to interfere now," he said.

"What on earth do you mean?" demanded Grant, yielding to a gust of anger.

"The whole--of the circumstances--are being inquired into by the police,"
came the hesitating answer.

"Has that prying scoundrel, Robinson, dared to cross-examine Doris?"

"He came here, of course, but Scotland Yard has taken up the inquiry."

"A detective--here?"

"Yes. He is with Doris in the garden at this moment."

Grant knew the topography of the house. Without asking permission, he
tore through yet a third door leading to a kitchen and scullery, nearly
upsetting a tiny maid who had her ear or eye to the key-hole, and raced
into the garden in which the postmaster kept his bees.

Doris, standing with her hands behind her back, was looking at The
Hollies, and deep in conversation with an alert and natty little man who
was evidently absorbed in what she was saying.

Grant, in a whirl of fury, was only conscious that Doris's companion was
slight, almost diminutive, of frame, very erect, and dressed in a
well-fitting blue serge suit, neat brown boots and straw hat, when the
two heard his footsteps.

Doris was flustered. Her Romney face held a look of scare.

"Oh, here is Mr. Grant!" she said, striving vainly to speak with
composure.

The little man pierced Grant with an extraordinarily penetrating glance
from very bright and deeply-recessed black eyes.

"Ah, Mr. Grant, is it!" he chirped pleasantly. "Good morning!