n my business there is no call for hurry."

Elkin looked around.

"Where's our friend, the 'tec?" he said.

"I think you're wrong about 'im, meanin' Mr. Peters," said Tomlin. "'E's
'ere for a noospaper, not for the Yard."

"That's his blarney," smirked Elkin. "A detective doesn't go about
telling everybody what he is."

"Whatever his profession may be," put in Siddle's quiet voice, "I happen
to know that he is dining with Mr. Grant. So are Mr. Martin and Doris. By
mere chance I called at Mrs. Jefferson's. I went to the back door, and,
finding it closed, looked into the garden. From there I couldn't help
seeing the assembly on the lawn of The Hollies."

"Dining at Grant's?" shouted Elkin in a fury. "Well, I'm--"

"'Ush, Fred!" expostulated Tomlin with a shocked glance at Mr. Franklin.
"Wot's wrong wi' a bit of grub, ony ways? A very nice-spoken young gent
kem 'ere twiced, an' axed for Mr. Peters the second time. He's a friend
o' Mr. Grant's, I reckon."

"What's wrong?" stormed the horse-dealer. "Why, everything's wrong! The
bounder ought to be in jail instead of giving dinner-parties. Imagine
Doris eating in that house!"

"Ay! Sweetbreads an' saddle o' lamb," interjected Hobbs with the air of
one imparting a secret.

Elkin was pallid with wrath. He glared at Hobbs.

"What I had in my mind was the impudence of the blighter," he said
shrilly. "That poor woman's body leaves here to-morrow for some cemetery
in London, and Grant invites folk to a small dinner to-night!"

A sort of awe fell on the company. None of the others had as yet put the
two events in juxtaposition, and they had an ugly sound. Even Mr. Siddle
stifled a protest. Elkin had scored a hit, a palpable hit, and no one
could gainsay him. He felt that, for once, the general opinion was with
him, and drove the point home.

"Hobson--the local joiner and undertaker"--he explained for Mr.
Franklin's benefit--"came this morning to borrow a couple of horses for
the job. It's to be done in style--'no expense spared' was Mr. Ingerman's
order--and the poor thing is in her coffin now while Grant--"

He stopped. Mr. Siddle coughed.

"You've said enough, Elkin," murmured the chemist. "This excitement is
harmful. You really ought to be in bed for the next forty-eight hours,
dieting yourself carefully, and taking Dr. Foxton's mixture regularly. He
has changed it, I noticed."

"Bed! Me! Not likely. I'm going to kick up a row. What are the police
doing? A set