e without being seen. None can overhear. I advise both
of you to go thoroughly into this matter here and now."

Furneaux spoke emphatically. Even Doris put in a timid plea.

"Perhaps that would be the best thing to do," she said. "Mr. Furneaux has
been most sympathetic. I am sure he understands things already in a way
that is quite wonderful to me."

The very sound of her voice was comforting. Grant might have argued with
the detective, but could not resist Doris. Without further demur he went
through the whole story, giving precise details of events on the Monday
night. Then the recital widened out into a history of his relations with
Adelaide Melhuish. He omitted nothing. Doris gasped when she heard
Superintendent Fowler's version of the view a coroner's jury might take
of her presence in the garden of The Hollies at a late hour. But Grant
did not spare her. He reasoned that she ought to be prepared for an
ordeal which could not be avoided. He was governed by the astute belief
that his very outspokenness in this respect would weaken the inferences
which the police might otherwise draw from it.

Furneaux uttered never a word. He was a first-rate listener, though his
behavior was most undetective-like, since he hardly looked at Grant or
the girl, but seemed to devote his attention almost exclusively to the
scenic panorama in front.

However, when Grant came to the somewhat strenuous passage-at-arms of
the previous night between Ingerman and himself, the little man broke
in at once.

"Isidor G. Ingerman?" he cried. "Is he a tall, lanky, cadaverous,
rather crooked person, with black hair turning gray, and an absurdly
melodious voice?"

"You have described him without an unnecessary word," said Grant.

Furneaux clicked his tongue in a peculiar fashion.

"Go on!" he said. "It's a regular romance--quite in your line, Mr. Grant,
of course, but none the less enthralling because, as you so happily
phrased Miss Martin's lesson in astronomy, it happens to be true."

Grant was scrupulously fair to Ingerman. He admitted the "financier's"
adroitness of speech, and made clear the fact that if the visit had the
levying of blackmail for its object such a possible outcome was only
hinted at vaguely. Being a novelist, one whose temperament sought for
sunshine rather than gloom in life, he wound up in lighter vein. The ruse
which tricked P.C. Robinson into a breathless scamper of nearly a mile on
a hot day in June was described