nd only a week ago from France, my ignorance, though abyssmal, is
pardonable. Moreover, I can say truly that I am far more interested in
pedigree horses than in vulgar criminals."

Peters explained fluently. This was no ordinary crime. A beautiful and
popular actress had been done to death in a brutal way, and the country
was already deeply stirred by the story.

Elkin waited impatiently till the journalist drew breath. Then he broke
in.

"Pedigree horses you mentioned, sir," he said, his rancor against Grant
being momentarily conquered by the pertinent allusion to his own
business. "What sort? Racing, coaching, roadsters, or hacks?"

"All sorts. The Argentine, where I have connections, offers an ever-open
door to good horseflesh."

"Are you having a look round?"

"Yes. There are several decent studs within driving distance of
Steynholme. Isn't that so, landlord?"

"Lots, sir," said Tomlin. "An' the very man you're talkin' to has some
stuff not to be sneezed at."

"Is that so?" Mr. Franklin gazed at Elkin in a very friendly manner. "May
I ask your name, sir?"

Elkin produced a card. Every hoof in his stables appreciated in
value forthwith, but he was far too knowing that he should appear to
rush matters.

"Call any day you like, sir," he said. "Glad to see you. But give me
notice. I generally have an appetizer here of a morning about eleven."

"An' you want it, too, Fred," said Hobbs. "Dash me, you're as thin as a
herrin'. Stop whiskey an' drink beer, like me."

"And you might also follow that gentleman's example," interposed Siddle
quietly, nodding towards Mr. Franklin.

"What's that?" snapped Elkin.

"Don't worry about murders."

"That's a nice thing to say. Why should _I_ worry about the d---d
mix-up?"

The chemist made no reply, but Hobbs stepped into the breach valiantly.

"Keep yer 'air on, Fred," he vociferated. "Siddle means no 'arm. But wot
else are yer a-doing of, mornin', noon, an' night?"

Elkin laughed, with his queer croak.

"If you stay here a day or two, you'll soon get to know what they're
driving at, sir," he said to Franklin. "The fact is that this chap,
Grant, who found the body, and in whose garden the murder was committed,
has been making eyes at the girl I'm as good as engaged to. That would
make anybody wild--now, wouldn't it?"

"Possibly," smiled Franklin. "Of course there is always the lady's point
of view. The sex is proverbially fickle, you know. 'Woman, thy vows are