“We must look into it. Robinson has been stationed here four years. Siddle is not old, but he has been in business in Steynholme more years than that. But—you’ll pardon me, I’m sure, Mr. Winter—may I take it that you are really interested in the chemist’s history?”
The superintendent was perplexed, or he would not have adopted his professional method of semi-apologetic questions with a man from the C.I.D.
“I hardly know what I’m interested in,” laughed Winter. “Grant didn’t kill the lady. I shall be slow to credit Elkin with being the scoundrel he looks. Siddle, and Tomlin, if you please, are regarded as starters in the Doris Martin Matrimonial Stakes, and I don’t think Tomlin could ever murder anything but the King’s English. It is Siddle’s volte face that bothers me.”
“Um!” murmured Mr. Fowler. He was not an uneducated man, but volte face, correctly pronounced, was unfamiliar in his ears.
“The change was so marked,” went on the detective. “I gather that Siddle is a stickler for charity and fair dealing. He didn’t abandon the role, of course. It was the sheer ingenuity of his method that caught my attention. So I simply catalogue him for research.”
“Has Miss Martin promised to meet us?” inquired the other, feeling that he was on the track of volte face.
“No. But there she is!” cried Winter. “She has just heard the car. Tell your chauffeur to slow up. The road is empty otherwise. By the way, you help her in. She might be a bit shy of me, and I don’t want a second’s delay.”
Winter’s judgment was not at fault. Doris was feeling a trifle uncertain, seeing that she was about to encounter a complete stranger. Moreover, she had come a good half mile from the shop whence the cakes for tea were to be procured at the back door, and as a favor. Her eyes were fixed on the slowing car with a timid anxiety that betrayed no small degree of doubt as to the outcome of this Sunday afternoon escapade. She was pale and nervous. At that moment Doris wished herself safe at home again.
“One word,” broke in the superintendent hurriedly. “Why are you so sure that Grant is innocent, Mr. Winter?”
“I’m sure of nothing with regard to this case. But I have great faith in Furneaux’s flair for the true scent. It has never failed yet.”