“Don’t waste any wrath on Elkin,” he soothed her. “The fellow isn’t worth it. But his crude idea might be developed more subtly by an abler man.”
“I think it odd that Mr. Siddle should choose to-day, of all days, for a visit,” she admitted.
Winter relapsed into silence for a while. The car was running through a charming countryside, and a glimpse of the sea was obtainable from the crest of each hill. Mr. Fowler was too circumspect to break in on the thread of his coadjutor’s thoughts. The inquiry had taken a curious turn, and was momentarily beyond his grasp.
“It’s singular, but it’s true,” said the detective musingly when next he spoke, “that I am now going to ask you to act differently than was in my mind when I sought this interview. I should vastly like to be present when Siddle bares his heart to you this afternoon.
“I can invite you to tea.”
“Alas! that won’t serve our ends. But, if you feel you have a purpose, you will be nerved to deal with him. Bring him out into that secluded garden of yours—”
“The first thing he will suggest,” and Doris’s voice waxed unconsciously bitter. “He knows that dad will be busy with the mails for an hour after tea.”
“Good!”
“I think it bad, most disagreeable.”
“You won’t find the position so awkward if you are playing a part. And that is what I want—a bit of clever acting. Lean on those railings, and make Siddle believe that your heart is on Mr. Grant’s lawn. You know the kind of thing I mean. Dreamy eyes, listless manner, inattention, with smiling apologies. You will annoy Siddle, and a cautious man in a temper becomes less cautious. Force him to avow his real thoughts. You will learn something, trust me.”