satisfaction in regarding Doris as a hostess.

The next day being Saturday, or market day, the village was busy. At
eleven o'clock there was a somewhat unnecessary display of nodding
plumes and long-tailed black horses at the removal of the coffin to the
railway station. For some reason, the funeral arrangements had not been
bruited about until Elkin made that envenomed attack on Grant in the Hare
and Hounds the previous night. Ingerman had sent a gorgeous wreath, the
only one forthcoming locally. This fact, of course, invited comment,
though no whisperer in the crowd troubled to add that the interment was
only announced in that day's newspapers.

Peters, meeting Mr. Franklin on the stairs of the inn, put a note into
his hand. It read:

"Why don't you have a chat with Grant? The public mind is being inflamed
against him. It's hardly fair."

Mr. Franklin, meeting Peters in the passage, winked at him, and the
journalist tortured his brains to turn out some readable stuff which
should grip the million on Sunday yet not to be damaging to the man whose
hospitality he enjoyed over night.

In a word, the passing of Adelaide Melhuish was exploited thoroughly as
an indictment of her one-time lover, and the only two in Steynholme not
aware of the fact were Grant, himself, and Wally Hart.

By a singular coincidence, not ridiculously beyond the ken of a verger,
when Doris went to church on Sunday morning, she found herself beside
Mr. Franklin.