to dispense with tight corsets, and tall enough to wear
low-heeled shoes, nor did she need to pinch her toes in order to gain the
semblance of small feet.

After her went Robinson, keyed to exultation by this outcome of his
watchfulness. She was going to The Hollies, of course. The road led to
Knoleworth, and no young woman of her age in the village would dream of
taking a lonely walk in the country at ten o'clock at night.

For a man of his height and somewhat ponderous build, the policeman
followed with real stealth. Thus, when she turned in at the gate, he was
there by the time she had reached the front door. He heard her pull the
bell. Curiously enough, to his thinking, Furneaux again appeared.

"Is Mr. Grant at home?" he heard Doris say.

"Yes. Will you come in?" replied the detective.

"Is he--is all well here?"

"Quite, I assure you. But _do_ come in. I'll escort you home. I'm going
to the inn in five minutes."

Doris, after hesitating a little, entered.

Robinson crept on tiptoe over a stretch of gravel, and took to the
shrubbery. It was high time, he thought, that the local constabulary
learnt what was going on in that abode of mystery.

CHAPTER IX

HE WHOM THE CAP FITS--

Several minutes had elapsed between the two unexpected visits. During
those minutes a somewhat acrimonious discussion broke out in the
dining-room. Bates went to reassure his wife, and Hart sauntered back
from the kitchen. He was received by Furneaux and Grant more in sorrow
than in anger, a pose on their part which he blandly disregarded. He
helped himself to the remains of the decanter of port.

"The next point of vital interest in the narrative is to establish, by
such evidence as is available, who Owd Ben is, or was," he said. "I
presume, since he had attained local celebrity as a ghost, he has passed
over, as the spiritists say."

"Sit down!" cried Furneaux savagely.

Hart sat down, and began filling that portentous pipe.

"You fellows merely ran into each other outside, I take it," he said,
apparently by way of a chatty remark. "The crack of the pistol-shot and
the supposed resurrection of Owd Ben threw Mrs. Bates temporarily off her
balance, so I helped in reviving her. Between such a cook and such a
ghost, who would hesitate?"

When Furneaux was really irritated, he swore in French.

_"Nom d'un bon petit homme gris!"_ he almost squealed, "why did you whip
out that infernal revolver? You spoiled everything