Near Mr. Franklin sat a few village notabilities, who, since they had not the remotest connection with anyone concerned in the tragedy, have been left hitherto in their Olympian solitude. He listened to their comments. “As usual, the police are utterly at sea,” said one. “Yes, ‘following up important clews,’ the newspapers say,” scoffed another. “It’s a disgraceful thing if a crime like this goes undetected and unpunished.” “Which is the Scotland Yard man!” “The small chap, in the blue suit.” “What? _That_ little rat!” “Oh, he’s sharp. I met a man in the train and he told me—” Mr. Franklin grinned amiably; Hobbs, the butcher, intercepting his eye, grinned back. It is not difficult to imagine what portion of the foregoing small talk reached Furneaux subsequently. Oddly enough, both detectives had missed a brief but illuminating incident which took place in the Hare and Hounds the previous night, while Winter was finishing a cigar with Peters, and Furneaux was bludgeoning Ingerman into compliance with his wishes. Elkin’s remarkable improvement in health was commented on by Hobbs, and Siddle took the credit. “That last mixture has proved beneficial, then?” he said, eying the horse-dealer closely. “Top-hole,” smirked Elkin. “But it’s only fair to say that I’ve chucked whiskey, too.” “Did you finish the bottle?” “Which bottle?” “Mine, of course.” “Nearly.” “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.