he scene. He moistened his
thin lips with his tongue.

"As a study in contrasts, that would be hard to beat," he said, after a
long pause.

"Contrasts!" she echoed.

"Well, yes. Even an uncontentious man like myself can hardly fail to
compare Sunday afternoon with Tuesday morning."

"Why not Monday night?" she flashed.

"Monday night, in part, remains a mystery yet to be unveiled. I blot
Monday night from my mind. I have no alternative, being on the jury
which has to arrive at a just verdict. Now, if Fred Elkin were here, he
would foam at the mouth."

"Happily, Fred Elkin is _not_ here."

"Ah, I am glad, glad, to hear you say that. You don't like him?"

"I detest him."

"He makes out, to put it mildly, that you are great friends."

"You will oblige me by contradicting the statement. Or--no. One treats
that sort of man with contempt."

"I agree with you most heartily. I'm sorry I ever mentioned him."

Yet Doris was well aware that the chemist had dragged in Elkin by the
scruff of the neck, probably for the sake of getting him disposed of
thoroughly and for all time. Rather on the tiptoe of expectation, she
awaited the next move. It was slow in coming, so again she looked
wistfully at the distant tea-drinkers. She found slight difficulty in
carrying out this portion of the stage directions. Truth to tell, she
would gleefully have gone and joined them.

Siddle was not altogether at ease. The conversation was too spasmodic to
suit his purpose. Though slow of speech he was nimble of brain, and,
knowing Doris so well, he had anticipated a livelier duel of wits. In all
likelihood, he cursed the tea-party on the lawn. He had not foreseen this
drawback. But, being a masterful man, he tackled the situation boldly.

"I seized the opportunity of a friendly chat with you to-day, Doris," he
went on, leaning over the fence to inhale the scent of a briar rose. "The
story runs through the village that you and your father dined at The
Hollies on Friday evening. Is that true?"

Now, Doris had it on reliable authority that Siddle himself had been the
runner who spread that story, and the knowledge steeled her heart
against him.

"Yes," she said composedly.

"It was kind and neighborly of you to accept the invitation, but a
mistake."

She turned and faced him. His expression was baffling. She thought she
saw in his sallow, clean-cut features the shadow of a confident smile.

"You mean that this horrid murder should