“Good luck to you, sir,” he said, “but—take no offense—don’t marry an actress. There’s an old adage, ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’ I would go farther, and interpolate the word ‘should.’ If Adelaide Melhuish had never met me, but had married the man who could write her plays, this tragedy in real life would never have been.” “D—n him,” muttered Elkin fiercely. “He’s done for now, anyhow. He’ll turn no more girls’ heads for a bit.” “An’ five minutes since you yapped at me like a vicious fox-terrier for ’intin’ much the same thing,” chortled Hobbs. Siddle stood up. “You ain’t goin’, Mr. Siddle?” went on the butcher. “It’s ’ardly ’arf past nine.” “I have some accounts to get out. It’s near the half year, you know,” and Siddle vanished unobtrusively. Hobbs shook his head, and gazed at Elkin as though the latter was a refractory bullock. “Siddle’s a fair-minded chap,” he said. “He can’t stand ’earin’ any of us ’angin’ a man without a fair trial.” Ingerman had marked the chemist for more subtle treatment when an opportunity arose, or could be made. At present, he was not sorry such a restraining influence was removed. The next half hour should prove a golden one if well utilized. He was right. Before the inn was cleared, what between Elkin’s savage comments and the other men’s thinly-veiled allusions, he knew all that Steynholme could tell with regard to Grant and Doris Martin. Grant’s first thought next morning was of the girl who had been thrust so prominently into his life by the death of another woman. That was, perhaps, the strangest outcome of the tragedy. Doris was easily the prettiest and most intelligent girl in the village, a rare combination in itself, even among young ladies of much higher social position than a postmaster’s daughter. But her father was a self-educated man, whose life had been given to books, whose only hobby was the culture and study of bees. He had often refused promotion, solely because his duties at Steynholme were light, and permitted of many free hours. In his only child he found a quick pupil and a sympathetic helper. Of her own accord she took to poetry and music. In effect, had Doris Martin attended the best of boarding-schools and training colleges, she would have received a smattering of French and a fair knowledge of the piano or violin, whereas, after more humble tuition, it might fairly be said of her that few girls of her age had read so many books and assimilated their contents so thoroughly. From her mother she inherited her good looks and a small yearly income, just sufficient to maintain a better wardrobe than her father’s salary would permit.