hat he was married, but his
wife died."

"He doesn't speak of her? Is that it? One would have thought that in a
house where he is well known--"

"We don't really know him well. No one does, I think."

"You've invited him to tea, at any rate," laughed Winter.

"No," said Doris. "He invited himself. At least, so I gathered from dad."

"Ah, well. He feels lonely, no doubt, and wishes to chat about recent
strange events in Steynholme. And that brings me to the reason why I
sought this chat under such peculiar conditions. You realize my handicap,
Miss Martin? If I were seen talking to you, or even entering your house
as apart from the post office, people would begin to wonder. You follow
that, don't you?"

Yes, Doris did follow it. What she did not follow was the veiled
admiration in Superintendent Fowler's glance at the detective. Those few
inconsequential questions had shed a flood of light on Siddle's past and
present, yet the informant was blissfully unaware of their real purport.
And the way was opened so deftly. The purchase of a chemist's business
would almost certainly be negotiated through a local lawyer. Let him be
found, and Siddle's pre-Steynholme days could be "looked into," as the
police phrase has it. The superintendent had the rare merit of being
candid with himself. He had no previous experience of Scotland Yard men
or methods, and was inclined to be skeptical about Furneaux. But Winter's
prompt use of a chance opening, and the restraint which cut off the
investigation before the girl could suspect any ulterior motive,
displayed a technique which the Sussex Constabulary had few opportunities
of acquiring.

"Now, Miss Martin," began Winter, "if ever you have the misfortune to
fall ill--touch wood, please--and call in a doctor, you'll tell him the
facts, eh?"

"Why consult him at all, if I don't?" she smiled.

"Exactly. To-day I'm somewhat in the position of a Harley-street
specialist, summoned to assist an eminent local practitioner in Dr.
Fowler. That's a sort of gentle preliminary, leading up to the
disagreeable duty of putting some questions of a personal nature. What
you may answer will not go beyond ourselves. I promise you that. You will
not be quoted, or requested to prove your statements. Such a thing would
be absurd. If I were really a doctor, and you needed my advice, you might
easily describe your symptoms all wrong. It would be my business to
listen, and deduce the truth, and I would ne