Even Fred Elkin, ignorant as yet of his own peril, yielded to the
influences of the moment and bustled through the crowd.

"Mr. Grant," he cried outspokenly, "I ask your pardon. I seem to have
made a d--d fool of myself!"

"Easier done than said," chimed in Hart. "But, among all this
bell-ringing, can anyone tell what has actually happened? Where's
Peters?"

"In the post office."

The two went in, and found the journalist scribbling against time. Hart
coolly grabbed a few slips of manuscript, and commenced reading. Grant
looked about for Doris. She was not visible, but Mr. Martin, pallid and
nervous, nodded toward the sitting-room. The younger man, taking the
gesture as a tacit invitation, entered the room.

Doris was sitting there, crying bitterly. Poor girl! She had seen that
portion of the drama which was enacted in the street, and the shock of it
was still poignant. She looked up and met her lover's eyes. Neither
uttered a word, but Grant did a very wise thing. He caught her by the
shoulders, raised her to her feet, and, after kissing her squarely on the
lips, gave her a comforting hug.

"It will be all right now, Doris," he whispered tenderly. "Such
thunderstorms clear the air."

An eminent novelist might have found many more ornate ways of avowing
his sentiments, but never a more satisfactory one. At any rate, it
served, so what more need be said?

Certain rills of evidence accumulated into a fair-sized stream before
night fell. P.C. Robinson, for instance, scored a point by ascertaining
that Peggy Smith had seen Furneaux dropping from the bedroom window of
the chemist's shop. She was some hundreds of yards away, and could not be
positive that some man, perhaps a glazier, had not been there
legitimately effecting repairs. Still, when she met Siddle hurrying from
the station, she told him of the incident.

"He never even thanked me," she said, "but broke into a run. The look in
his eyes was awful."

The girl had, in fact, confirmed his worst fears, and her neighborly
solicitude had merely hastened the end.

Again, the railway officials showed that Siddle had returned from
Victoria instead of taking train to the asylum. Furneaux had guessed
aright. The discovery that his keys had been left behind drove the man
into a panic of fright.

It took nearly three weeks before the unhappy business was finally
disposed of. A Treasury solicitor was given the chance of his career by
the medico-legal disquisitio