“Next?” he cried.
“They say that Mr. Siddle is a widower.”
“The chemist? Foreman of the jury?”
“Yes, sir.”
“From appearances, he is a likelier candidate than either Elkin or Tomlin. Anybody else?”
“I shouldn’t be far wrong if I gave you the name of most among the young unmarried men in the parish.”
“Dear me! I must have a peep at this charmer. But I want those names, Robinson.”
Winter produced a note-book, so he was evidently taking the matter seriously. The policeman, however, was flustered. His thoughts ran on Elkin, whereas this masterful person from London insisted on discussing Doris Martin.
“My difficulty is, sir, that she has never kep’ company with any of ’em,” he said.
“Never mind. Give me the name of every man who, no matter what his position or prospects, might be irritated, if no more, if he knew that Miss Martin and Mr. Grant were presumably spooning in a garden at a rather late hour.”