the Doris Martin Matrimonial Stakes, and I don't think Tomlin could ever
murder anything but the King's English. It is Siddle's _volte face_ that
bothers me."

"Um!" murmured Mr. Fowler. He was not an uneducated man, but _volte
face_, correctly pronounced, was unfamiliar in his ears.

"The change was so marked," went on the detective. "I gather that Siddle
is a stickler for charity and fair dealing. He didn't abandon the role,
of course. It was the sheer ingenuity of his method that caught my
attention. So I simply catalogue him for research."

"Has Miss Martin promised to meet us?" inquired the other, feeling that
he was on the track of _volte face_.

"No. But there she is!" cried Winter. "She has just heard the car.
Tell your chauffeur to slow up. The road is empty otherwise. By the
way, you help her in. She might be a bit shy of me, and I don't want a
second's delay."

Winter's judgment was not at fault. Doris _was_ feeling a trifle
uncertain, seeing that she was about to encounter a complete stranger.
Moreover, she had come a good half mile from the shop whence the cakes
for tea were to be procured at the back door, and as a favor. Her eyes
were fixed on the slowing car with a timid anxiety that betrayed no
small degree of doubt as to the outcome of this Sunday afternoon
escapade. She was pale and nervous. At that moment Doris wished herself
safe at home again.

"One word," broke in the superintendent hurriedly. "Why are you so sure