“You’ve aroused my curiosity,” remarked Franklin to Peters, but taking the company at large into the conversation. “This does certainly strike one as a remarkable case. Is there no suspicion yet as to the actual murderer?”
“None whatever,” said Peters.
“That’s what you may call the police opinion,” broke in Elkin. “We Steynholme folk have a pretty clear notion, I can assure you.”
“The matter is still sub judice, and may remain so a long time,” said Siddle. “It is simply stupid to attach a kind of responsibility to the man who happens to occupy the house associated with the crime. I have no patience with that sort of reasoning.”
Hobbs, who did not want to quarrel with Elkin, suddenly championed him.
“That’s all very well,” he rumbled. “But the hevidence you an’ me ’eard, Siddle, an’ the hevidence we know we’re goin’ to ’ear, is a lot stronger than that.”
“I’m sure you’ll pardon me, friends,” said Siddle, rising with an apologetic smile, “but I happen to be foreman of the coroner’s jury, and I feel that this matter is not for me, at any rate, to discuss publicly.”
Out he went, not even heeding Tomlin’s appeal to drink the ginger-ale he had just ordered.
“Just like ’im,” sighed Hobbs. “Good-’earted fellow! Would find hexcuses for a black rat.”
Elkin talked more freely now that the chemist’s disapproving eye was off him. Ultimately, Mr. Franklin elected to smoke a cigar in the open air, and strolled forth. He sauntered down the hill, stood on the bridge, and admired the soft blue tones of the landscape in the half light of a summer evening. Shortly before closing time, Robinson appeared, it being part of his routine duty to see that no noisy revelers disturbed the peace of the village. He noticed the stranger at once, and elected to walk past him.