“You see what I am aiming at. Let us suppose that Miss Melhuish never, in her own mind, abandoned the hope that some day the tangle would straighten itself. Women are constituted that way. If her husband is now dead, and she became free, she might wish to renew the old ties, but, being proud, would want to ascertain first whether or not any other woman had come into your life.” “I follow perfectly,” said Grant, with some bitterness. “She would be consumed with jealousy because my companion in the garden last night happened to be a charming girl of nineteen.” “It is possible.” “So she went off and got someone to kill her, and tie her body with a rope, and arrange a dramatic setting whereby it would be patent to the meanest intelligence that I was the criminal?” Mr. Fowler smiled, and looked fixedly at P. C. Robinson. “No, no,” he said, quite good-humoredly. “That would be carrying realism to extremes. Still, I am convinced, Mr. Grant, that this mystery is bound up in some way with your romance of three years ago. At present, I admit, I am working in the dark.” He rose. Apparently, the interview was at an end. But, while pocketing his note-book, he said suddenly:— “The inquest will open at three o’clock tomorrow. You will be present, of course, Mr. Grant?” “I suppose it is necessary.” “Oh, yes. You found the body, you know. Besides, you may be the only person who can give evidence of identity. In fact, you and the doctor will be the only witnesses called.” “Dr. Foxton?” “Yes.” “Has he made a post-mortem?” “He is doing so now. You see, there is clear indication that this unfortunate lady was struck a heavy blow, perhaps killed, before she was put in the river.” “Good Heavens! Somehow, I was so stunned that I never thought of looking for signs of any injury of that sort.” Grant’s horror-stricken air was so spontaneous that it probably justified the severe test of that unexpected disclosure. He was so unnerved by it that the two policemen had gone before he could frame another question. Once they were in the open road, and well away from _The Hollies_, Robinson ventured to open his mouth. “He’s a clever one is Mr. Grant,” he said meaningly. “You handled him a bit of all right, sir, but he didn’t tell you everything he knew, not by long chalks.” The superintendent walked a few yards in silence. Even when he spoke, his gaze was introspective, and seemed to ignore his companion. “I’m inclined to agree with you, Robinson,” he said, speaking very slowly. “We have a big case in our hands, a very big case. We must tread warily. You, in particular, mixing with the village folk, should listen to all but say nothing. Don’t depend on your memory. Write down what you hear and see. People’s actual words, and the exact time of an occurrence, often have an extraordinarily illuminating effect when weighed subsequently. But don’t let Mr. Grant think you suspect him. There is no occasion for that—yet.”