There had been no reference to the murder during tea, which was served as soon as the chemist came in. The visitor had tabled a copy of a current medical journal containing an article on the therapeutic qualities of honey, so the talk was lifted at once into an atmosphere far removed from crime. Doris was grateful for his tact. When her father went to the office she brought Mr. Siddle into the garden solely in pursuance of her promise to the detective, though convinced that there would be no outcome save a few labored compliments to herself. And now, by accident, as it were, the death of Adelaide Melhuish thrust itself into their conversation. Perhaps it was her fault. “No,” she said candidly. “No one who has known you for seven years, Mr. Siddle, could possibly accuse you of spreading scandal.” “Seven years! Is it so long since I came to Steynholme? Sometimes, it appears an age, but more often I fancy the calendar must be in error. Why, it seems only the other day that I saw you in a short frock, bowling a hoop.” “A tom-boy occupation,” laughed Doris. “But dad encouraged that and skipping, as the best possible means of exercise.” “He was right. Look how straight and svelte you are! Few, if any, among our community can have watched your progress to womanhood as closely as I. You see, living opposite, as I do, I kept track of you more intimately than your other neighbors.” Siddle was trimming his sails cleverly. The concluding sentence robbed his earlier comments of their sentimental import. “If we live long enough we may even see each other in the sere and yellow leaf,” said Doris flippantly. “I would ask no greater happiness,” came the quiet reply, and Doris could have bitten her tongue for according him that unguarded opening. Suddenly availing herself of the advice which the detective, like Hamlet, had given to the players, she gazed musingly at the fair panorama of The Hollies and its gardens, with the two young men seated on the lawn. By this time Minnie was staging tea, and the picture looked idyllic enough. Doris saw, out of the tail of her eye, that her companion was watching her furtively, though apparently absorbed in the scene. He moistened his thin lips with his tongue. “As a study in contrasts, that would be hard to beat,” he said, after a long pause. “Contrasts!” she echoed. “Well, yes. Even an uncontentious man like myself can hardly fail to compare Sunday afternoon with Tuesday morning.” “Why not Monday night?” she flashed. “Monday night, in part, remains a mystery yet to be unveiled. I blot Monday night from my mind. I have no alternative, being on the jury which has to arrive at a just verdict. Now, if Fred Elkin were here, he would foam at the mouth.” “Happily, Fred Elkin is _not_ here.” “Ah, I am glad, glad, to hear you say that. You don’t like him?” “I detest him.” “He makes out, to put it mildly, that you are great friends.”