Peters looked slightly surprised, but passed no comment. Then Doris and
her father appeared. They joined the others, shook hands, and, to Grant's
secret perplexity, the whole party moved off down the hill in company.
When the Martins turned with the rest to cross the bridge, Grant began to
suspect his friend.

"Wally," he managed to whisper, "what game have you been playing?"

"Aren't you satisfied?" murmured Hart. "Sdeath, as they used to say in
the Surrey Theater, you're as bad as Furshaw!"

There were others far more perturbed by that odd conjunction of diners
than the puzzled host, who merely expected Mrs. Bates to belabor him with
a rolling pin. Mr. Siddle, for instance, had just closed his shop when
the five met. That is to say, the dark blue blind was drawn, but the
door was ajar. He came to the threshold, and watched the party until the
bridge was neared, when one of them, looking back, might have seen him,
so he stepped discreetly inside. Being a non-interfering, self-contained
man, he seemed to be rather irresolute. But that condition passed
quickly. Leaning over the counter, he secured a hat and a pair of
field-glasses, and went out. He, too, knew of Mrs. Jefferson's weakness
for shopping in Knoleworth, and that good lady had gone there again. Her
train was due in ten minutes. A wicket gate led to a narrow passage
communicating with the back door of her residence. He entered boldly,
reached the garden, and hurried to the angle on the edge of the cliff
next to the Martins' strip of ground.

Yes, a spacious dinner-table was laid at The Hollies. Doris, Mr. Martin,
and Peters soon strolled out on to the lawn. The pedestrians had