The Postmaster's Daughter
CHAPTER XIII
CONCERNING THEODOEE SIDDLE
Winter, being a cheerful cynic, had not erred when he appealed to thatlove of mystery which, especially if it is spiced with a hint of harmlessintrigue, is innate in every feminine heart. Indeed, he was so assured ofthe success of his somewhat dramatic move that as he walked to arendezvous arranged with Superintendent Fowler on the Knoleworth road hereviewed carefully certain arguments meant to secure Doris's assistance.
Passing The Hollies, he smiled at the notion that Furneaux wouldundoubtedly have brought Grant to the conclave. It was just the sort ofdifficult situation in which his colleague would have reveled. But theChief Inspector was more solid, more circumspect, even, singularlyenough, more sensitive to the probable comments of a crusty judge ifcounsel for the defense contrived to elicit the facts.
"Anything fresh?" inquired the superintendent, when a smart car drew up,and Winter entered.
Mr. Fowler was in plain clothes, and the blinds were half drawn. No onecould possibly recognize either of the occupants unless the car washalted, and the inquisitor literally thrust his head inside. The motorwas a private one, borrowed for the occasion.
"Yes, a little," said Winter, as the chauffeur put the engine in gear."Your man, Robinson, has been drawing Elkin, or Elkin drew him--I am notquite sure which, but think it matterless either way."
He sketched Robinson's activities briefly, but in sufficient outline.
"A new figure has come on the screen--Siddle, the chemist," he addedthoughtfully.
"Siddle!" Mr. Fowler was surprised. "Why, he is supposed to be a model ofthe law-abiding citizen."
"I don't say he has lost his character in that respect," said Winter."Still, he puzzles me. Elkin is a loud-mouthed fool. The verbal bricks hehurls at Grant are generally half baked, and crumble into dust. Hitherto,Siddle has tried to repress him, with a transparent honesty that ratherworried me. On Friday night, however, Siddle attacked Grant with poisonedarrows. He did more damage in two minutes than Elkin could achieve in asmany months."
"How?"
"He showed very clearly that Grant was guilty of gross bad taste ininviting Mr. Martin and his daughter to dinner that evening. I'm inclinedto agree with him, if the story has been told fairly. But that is besidethe main issue. Siddle aroused the sleeping dogs of the village, and thepack is in full cry again. Grant seems to have been popular here; he hadalmost recovered from the blow of Miss Melhuish's death by thestraightforward speech he made before the inquest. But Siddle threw himback into the mud by a few skillful words. What is Siddle's record? Is hea local man?"
"I think not. Robinson can tell us."
"Robinson says he 'believes' Siddle is a widower. That doesn't argue longand close knowledge."
"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 yearsthan that. But--you'll pardon me, I'm sure, Mr. Winter--may I take itthat you are really interested in the chemist's history?"
The superintendent was perplexed, or he would not have adopted hisprofessional method of semi-apologetic questions with a man fromthe C.I.D.
"I hardly know what I'm interested in," laughed Winter. "Grant didn'tkill the lady. I shall be slow to credit Elkin with being the scoundrelhe looks. Siddle, and Tomlin, if you please, are regarded as starters inthe Doris Martin Matrimonial Stakes, and I don't think Tomlin could evermurder anything but the King's English. It is Siddle's _volte face_ thatbothers me."
"Um!" murmured Mr. Fowler. He was not an uneducated man, but _volteface_, correctly pronounced, was unfamiliar in his ears.
"The change was so marked," went on the detective. "I gather that Siddleis 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 myattention. So I simply catalogue him for research."
"Has Miss Martin promised to meet us?" inquired the other, feeling thathe 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 theway, you help her in. She might be a bit shy of me, and I don't want asecond's delay."
Winter's judgment was not at fault. Doris _was_ feeling a trifleuncertain, seeing that she was about to encounter a complete stranger.Moreover, she had come a good half mile from the shop whence the cakesfor tea were to be procured at the back door, and as a favor. Her eyeswere fixed on the slowing car with a timid anxiety that betrayed nosmall degree of doubt as to the outcome of this Sunday afternoonescapade. She was pale and nervous. At that moment Doris wished herselfsafe at home again.
"One word," broke in the superintendent hurriedly. "Why are you so surethat Grant is innocent, Mr. Winter?"
"I'm sure of nothing with regard to this case. But I have great faith inFurneaux's flair for the true scent. It has never failed yet."
Mr. Fowler wished his companion would not use such uncommon words.However, he got out, and took off his hat with a courteous sweep. Dorishad to look twice at him. Hitherto, she had always seen him in uniform.Winter smiled at the unmistakable expression of relief in her face. Shewas almost self-possessed as she took the seat by his side.
"Good day, Mr. Winter," she said.
"Mr. Franklin, please. Better become used to my pseudonym.... Plenty ofroom for your feet, Mr. Fowler? That's it. Now we're comfy. The chauffeurwill bring us back here in half an hour, Miss Martin. Will that suit yourconvenience?"
"Oh, yes. I am free till nearly four o'clock. We have a guest totea then."
"I have a well-developed bump of curiosity these days. Who is it,may I ask?"
"Mr. Siddle, the local chemist."
"Indeed. An old friend, I suppose?"
"We have known him seven years, ever since he came to Steynholme."
"Ah. He is not a native of the place?"
"No. He bought Mr. Benson's business. He's a Londoner, I believe."
"Is there--a Mrs. Siddle?"
"No. I--er--that is to say, gossip has it that he was married, but hiswife died."
"He doesn't speak of her? Is that it? One would have thought that in ahouse where he is well known--"
"We don't really know him well. No one does, I think."
"You've invited him to tea, at any rate," laughed Winter.
"No," said Doris. "He invited himself. At least, so I gathered from dad."
"Ah, well. He feels lonely, no doubt, and wishes to chat about recentstrange events in Steynholme. And that brings me to the reason why Isought this chat under such peculiar conditions. You realize my handicap,Miss Martin? If I were seen talking to you, or even entering your houseas apart from the post office, people would begin to wonder. You followthat, don't you?"
Yes, Doris did follow it. What she did not follow was the veiledadmiration in Superintendent Fowler's glance at the detective. Those fewinconsequential questions had shed a flood of light on Siddle's past andpresent, yet the informant was blissfully unaware of their real purport.And the way was opened so deftly. The purchase of a chemist's businesswould almost certainly be negotiated through a local lawyer. Let him befound, and Siddle's pre-Steynholme days could be "looked into," as thepolice phrase has it. The superintendent had the rare merit of beingcandid with himself. He had no previous experience of Scotland Yard menor methods, and was inclined to be skeptical about Furneaux. But Winter'sprompt use of a chance opening, and the restraint which cut off theinvestigation before the girl could suspect any ulterior motive,displayed a technique which the Sussex Constabulary had few opportunitiesof acquiring.
"Now, Miss Martin," began Winter, "if ever you have the misfortune tofall ill--touch wood, please--and call in a doctor, you'll tell him thefacts, eh?"
"Why consult him at all, if I don't?" she smiled.
"Exactly. To-day I'm somewhat in the position of a Harley-streetspecialist, summoned to assist an eminent local practitioner in Dr.Fowler. That's a sort of gentle preliminary, leading up to thedis
agreeable duty of putting some questions of a personal nature. Whatyou may answer will not go beyond ourselves. I promise you that. You willnot be quoted, or requested to prove your statements. Such a thing wouldbe absurd. If I were really a doctor, and you needed my advice, you mighteasily describe your symptoms all wrong. It would be my business tolisten, and deduce the truth, and I would never dream of rating you forhaving misled me. You see my point?"
"Yes, but Mr. Win--Mr. Franklin, I know nothing whatever aboutthe murder."
"I'm sure you don't. It was a wicked trick of Fate that took you to Mr.Grant's garden last Monday night."
"It was really an astronomical almanac," retorted Doris, who now felt agrowing confidence in this nice-spoken official. "Sirius is a starremarkable for its beautiful changing lights, and on Monday evening wasat its best. I think I ought to explain," and she blushed delightfully,"that the village gossip about Mr. Grant and me is entirely mistaken. Weare not--well, I had better use plain English--we are not lovers. Myfather and I are just on close, friendly terms with Mr. Grant. I--myposition hardly warrants even that relationship with an author of somedistinction. But please set aside any notion of us as likely to becomeengaged. For one thing, it is preposterous. For another, I shall notleave my father."
Poor Doris! She little guessed how accurately this skilled student ofhuman nature read the hidden thought behind that vehement protest. Eventhe note of vague rebellion against social disabilities was pathetic yetilluminating. Of course, he took her quite seriously.
"Let us keep to the hard road of fact," he said. "What you really mean isthat Mr. Grant has never made love to you. But I must be candid, younglady. There is no earthly reason why he shouldn't, though I could nameoffhand half a dozen why he should.... Well, well, I must not paycompliments. My friend, Mr. Furneaux, can manage that with much greaterfacility, being half a Frenchman. And now I'm going to say an unpleasantthing. I ask your forgiveness in advance. Both Mr. Furneaux and I agreein the opinion that your imaginary love affair is indissolubly bound upwith the mystery of Miss Melhuish's death. In a word, I have brought youhere today to discuss your prospective marriage, and nothing else. Thatastonishes you, eh? Well, it's the truth, as I shall proceed to makeclear. There's a Mr. Fred Elkin, for instance--"
Doris uttered a little laugh of dismay. Winter's emphatic words hadastounded her, but the horse-dealer's name acted as comic relief.
"I can't bear the man," she protested.
"I have no doubt. But you ought to know that he is loudly proclaiming hisdetermination to marry you before the year is out."
The girl's face reddened again, and her eyes sparkled.
"I wouldn't marry him if he were a peer of the realm," she saidindignantly.
"Quite so. But he is an avowed suitor. Now don't be vexed. Has he neverdeclared his intentions to _you_?"
"He would never dare. I sing and act a little, at village concerts anddramatic performances, and he has annoyed me at times by an officiouspretense that he was deputed by my father to see me home. I came herequite a little girl, so people learnt to use my Christian name. I don'tobject to it at all. But I simply hate hearing it on Mr. Elkin's lips."
"Exit Fred!" said Winter solemnly. "Next!"
Doris, after a period of calm, was now profoundly uncomfortable. Thiskind of prying was the last thing she had expected. She had come preparedto defend Grant, but, beyond one exceedingly personal reference, thedetective had studiously shut him out of the conversation.
"What am I to say?" she cried. "Do you want a list of all the young menwho make sheep's eyes at me?"
"No. I can get that from the Census Bureau. Come, now, Miss Martin. _You_know. Has any man in the village led you to suspect, shall we put it?that sometime or other, he might ask you to become his wife?"
Lo, and behold! Doris's pretty eyes filled with tears. SuperintendentFowler was so pleased at hearing Scotland Yard introducing aparenthetical query into its sentences that he, sitting opposite, wastaken aback when Winter said in a fatherly way:
"I've been rather clumsy, I'm afraid. But it cannot be helped. I must goblundering on. I'm groping in the dark, you know, but it's a thousandpities I shall have to tread on _your_ toes."
"It isn't that," sobbed Doris. "I hate to put my thoughts into words.That's all. There _is_ a man whom I'm--afraid of."
"Siddle?"
She turned on Winter a face of sudden awe.
"How can you possibly guess?" she said wonderingly, and sheerbewilderment dried her tears.
"My business is nine-tenths guesswork. At any rate, we are on firm groundnow. If you could please yourself, I suppose, Mr. Siddle would not cometo tea to-day!"
"He certainly would not," declared the girl emphatically.
"You believe he is coming for a purpose?"
"Yes."
"Elkin--I must drag him in again for an instant--pretends that thecommotion aroused in the village by this murder would incline youfavorably to a proposal of marriage. Mr. Siddle may have discovered somevirtue in the theory."
"Did Mr. Elkin really hint that I needed _him_ as a shield?"
Doris was genuinely angry now. She little imagined that Winter wasplaying on her emotions with a master hand.
"Don't waste any wrath on Elkin," he soothed her. "The fellow isn't worthit. 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 avisit," she admitted.
Winter relapsed into silence for a while. The car was running through acharming countryside, and a glimpse of the sea was obtainable from thecrest of each hill. Mr. Fowler was too circumspect to break in on thethread 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 hespoke, "that I am now going to ask you to act differently than was in mymind when I sought this interview. I should vastly like to be presentwhen 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, youwill be nerved to deal with him. Bring him out into that secluded gardenof yours--"
"The first thing he will suggest," and Doris's voice waxedunconsciously bitter. "He knows that dad will be busy with the mailsfor 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. Andthat is what I want--a bit of clever acting. Lean on those railings, andmake Siddle believe that your heart is on Mr. Grant's lawn. You know thekind of thing I mean. Dreamy eyes, listless manner, inattention, withsmiling apologies. You will annoy Siddle, and a cautious man in a temperbecomes less cautious. Force him to avow his real thoughts. You willlearn something, trust me."
"About what?"
There were no tears in Doris's eyes. They were wide open in wonderment.
"About his attitude to this tragedy. Do this, and you will be giving Mr.Grant the greatest possible help. He needs it. Next Wednesday, at theadjourned inquest, he will be put on the rack. Ingerman will fee counselto be vindictive, merciless. Such men are to be hired. Their reputationis built up on the slaughter of reputations. I want to understand Siddlebefore Wednesday. By the way, what's his other name?"
"Theodore."
"Theodore Siddle. Unusual. Well, your half hour is nearly up. Will you dowhat I ask?"
"I'll try. May I put one question?"
"Yes."
"You said you had something altogether different in view before we met.What was it?"
"I'll tell you--let me see--I'll tell you on Thursday."
"Why not now?"
"Because it is the hardest thing in the world for a woman to besingle-minded, in the limited sense of concentration, I mean. Focus yourwits on Siddle to-day. I don't suggest any plan. I leave that to your ownintelligence. Vex him, and let him talk."
"Vex him!"
 
; "Yes. What man won't get mad if he notices that his best girl is thinkingabout a rival."
This time Doris did not blush. She was troubled and serious, veryserious.
"I'll do what I can," she promised. "When shall I see you again?"
"Soon. There's no hurry. All this is preparatory for Wednesday."
"Am I to tell my father nothing?"
"Please yourself. Not at present. I recommend you."
The car had stopped. It sped on when Doris alighted. She would be homewith her cakes at three o'clock, and Mr. Martin would never have noticedher absence.
"A fine bit of work, if I may say so," exclaimed Fowler appreciatively."But I am jiggered if I can imagine what you're driving at."
Winter was cutting the end off a big cigar. He finished the operation tohis liking before answering earnestly:
"We stand or fall by the result of that girl's efforts. Furneauxthinks so, and I agree with him absolutely. After five days, where arewe, Mr. Fowler? In the dark, plus a brigand's hat and hair. But there'sa queer belief in some parts of England that a phosphorescent gleamshows at night over a deep pool in which a dead body lies. That's justhow I feel about Siddle. The man's an enigma. What sort of place isSteynholme for a chemist of his capacities? Dr. Foxton has the highestregard for him professionally, and I'm told he doctors people for milesaround. Yet he lives the life of a recluse. An old woman comes by dayto prepare his meals, and tidy the house and shop. His sole relaxationis an hour of an evening in the village inn, his visits there beinguninterrupted since the murder. He was there on the night of themurder, too. For the rest, he is alone, shut off from the world.Without knowing it, he's going to fall into deep waters to-day, andhe'll emit sparks, or I'm a Chinaman.... I'll leave you here. Good-by!See you on Tuesday, after lunch."
The superintendent drove on alone. He pondered the Steynholme affair inall its bearings, but mostly did he weigh up Winter and Furneaux. Atlast, he sighed.
"London ways, and London books, and London detectives!" he muttered."We're not up to date in Sussex. Now, if I could please myself, I'd behot-foot after Elkin. I see what Winter has in his mind, but surely Elkinfills the bill, and Siddle doesn't.... What was that word--volt what!"
Doris was lucky. She met Mr. Siddle as she emerged from the back passageto the cake-shop. Resolving instantly that if an unpleasant thing had tobe done it should at least be done well, she smiled brightly.
"See what you have driven me to--breaking the Sabbath," she cried,holding up the bag of cakes.
"Tea and bread-and-butter with you would be a feast for the gods,"said Siddle.
"Now you're adapting Omar Khayyam."
"Who's he?"
"A Persian poet of long ago."
"I never read poetry. But, if your tastes lie that way, I'll accomplishsome more adaptation."
"Oh, no, please. Cakes for you, Mr. Siddle; poets for giddy youngthings like me."
There was a sting in the words. Doris preened herself on having carriedout the detective's instructions to the letter thus far.
Arrived in the house she found her father still in the garden, examiningsome larvae under a microscope. He looked severe rather than studious.He might have been an omnipotent being who had detected a malefactor ina criminal act. Was Steynholme and its secret felon being regarded inthat way by the providence which, for some inscrutable purpose,permitted, yet would infallibly punish, a dreadful murder? She was agirl of devout mind, and the notion was appalling in its directapplication to current events.
In the meantime the chemist, evidently taking a Sunday afternoonconstitutional, came on Winter, who was leaning on a wall of the bridgeand looking down stream--Grant's house being on the left.
He would have passed, in his wonted unobtrusive way, but the detectivehailed him with a cheery "Good day, Mr. Siddle. Are you a fisherman?"
"No, Mr. Franklin, I'm not," he answered.
"Well, now, I'm surprised. You are just the sort of man whom I shouldexpect to find attached to a rod and line--even watching a float."
"I tried once when I was younger, but I could neither impale a worm norextract a hook. My gorge rose against either practice. I am a vegetarian,for the same reason. If it were not for this disturbing tragedy you wouldhave heard Hobbs, the butcher, rallying me about my rabbit-meat, as hecalls my food."
"Well, well!" laughed Winter. "Your ideas and mine clash in somerespects. I look on a well-grilled steak as a gift from Heaven, and afterit, or before it--I don't care which--let me have three hours whipping agood trout stream. With the right cast of flies I could show a fine bagfrom this very stretch of water."
"Why not ask Mr. Grant's permission? It would be interesting to learnwhether he will allow others to try their luck."
Mr. Siddle strolled on. Winter bent over, keen to discern the gray-backedfish which must be lurking in those clear depths and rippling shallows.