But there was no need to hurry. Next day’s inquest would be a mere formality. The real struggle would begin a week or a fortnight later.
“You have said a very wise thing, sir,” he murmured appreciatively. “Even my feelings must be kept under better control. But this is no ordinary murder. Before it is cleared up there will be astounding revelations. Mark the word—astounding.”
Hobbs, whose heavy cheeks were of a brick-red tint, almost startled the conclave by a sudden outburst which gave him an apoplectic appearance.
“You’re too kind’earted, Siddle,” he cried. “Wot’s the use of talkin’ rubbish. We all know where the body was found. We all know that Doris Martin an’ Mr. Grant were a’sweet-’eartin’ in the garden—”
“Look here, Hobbs, just keep Doris Martin’s name out of it!” shouted Elkin, smiting the table with his fist till the glasses danced.
“Gentlemen!” protested Siddle gently.
“It’s all dashed fine, but I’m not—” blustered Elkin. He yielded to Ingerman’s outstretched hand.
“I seem to have brought discord into a friendly gathering,” came the mournful comment. “Such was far from being my intent. Landlord, the round is on me, with cigars. Now, let us talk of anything but this horror. If I forget myself again, pull me up short, and fine me another round.”
Siddle half rose, but thought better of it. Evidently, he meant to use his influence to stop foolish chatter.