He had an eye for The Hollies, of course, though neither he nor anybody
else could discern more than the bare edge of the lawn from bridge or
road, owing to the dense screen of evergreen trees and shrubs planted by
the tenant who remodeled the property.

But the spot where the body of Adelaide Melhuish was drawn ashore was
visible, and the sight of it started a dim thesis in the policeman's mind
which took definite shape during less than an hour's stroll. Thus, at
four o'clock exactly, he was pulling the bell at The Hollies. Almost
simultaneously, Mr. Siddle knocked modestly on the private door of the
post office, to reach which one had to pass down a narrow yard.

"Mr. Grant at home?" inquired Robinson, when Minnie appeared.

Yes, the master was on the lawn with Mr. Hart. The policeman found the
two there, seated in chairs with awnings. They had been discussing, of
all things in the world, the futurist craze in painting. Hart held by it,
but Grant carried bigger guns in real knowledge of the artist's
limitations as well as his privileges.

Hart was the first to notice the newcomer's presence, and greeted
him joyously.

"Come along, Robinson, and manacle this reprobate," he shouted. "He's
nothing but a narrow-minded pre-Rafaelite. A period in prison will dust
the cobwebs out of his attic."

"Hello, Robinson!" said, Grant. "Anything stirring?"

"Not much, sir. I just popped in to ask if you remembered exactly how the