“Don’t take any more. It was decidedly strong. I’ll send a boy early to-morrow morning with a first-rate tonic, and you might give him any old medicine bottles you possess. I’m running short.”
Elkin hesitated a second or two.
“I’ll tell my housekeeper to look ’em up,” he said. After the inquest he communicated this episode to Furneaux as a great joke.
“Queer, isn’t it?” he guffawed. “A couple of dozen bottles went back, as I’m always getting stuff for the gees, but those two weren’t among ’em. You took care of that, eh? When will you have the analysis?”
“It’ll be fully a week yet,” said the detective. “Government offices are not run like express trains, and this is a free job, you know. But, be advised by me. Stick to plain food, and throw physic to the dogs.”
Another singular fact, unobserved by the public at large, was that a policeman, either Robinson or a stranger, patrolled the high-street all day and all night, while no one outside official circles was aware that other members of the force watched The Hollies, or were secreted among the trees on the cliffside, from dusk to dawn.
Next morning, however, there was real cause for talk. Siddle’s shop was closed. Over the letter-box, neatly printed, was gummed a notice:
“Called away on business. Will open for one hour after arrival of 7 p. m. train. T. S.”
Everyone who passed stopped to read. Even Mr. Franklin joined Furneaux and Peters in a stroll across the road to have a look.
“I want you a minute,” said the big man suddenly to Furneaux. There was that in his tone which forbade questioning, so Peters sheered off, well content with the share permitted him in the inquiry thus far.