Hart gave "plume" a French sound, and Robinson was puzzled to know why
Grant bade his friend stop profaning a peaceful Sunday afternoon.

"You'll have a glass of beer now?" went on the host.

"I don't mind if I do, sir, though it's tea-time, and I make it a rule on
Sundays to have tea with the missis. A policeman's hours are broken up,
and his wife hardly ever knows when to have a meal ready."

Minnie was summoned. It took her a couple of minutes to draw the beer
from a cool cellar. So it chanced that when Doris led Mr. Siddle to the
edge of the cliff about twenty-five minutes past four, the first thing
they saw was the local police-constable on the lawn of The Hollies
putting down a gill of "best Sussex" at a draught.

"Well!" cried the chemist icily, "I wonder what Superintendent Fowler
would say to that if he knew it?"

"What is there particularly wrong about Robinson drinking a glass of
beer?" demanded Doris, more alive to the insinuation in Siddle's words
than was quite permissible under the role imposed on her by Winter.

She waved her hand to the party on the lawn. Grant, whose eyes ever
roved in that direction, had seen her white muslin dress the moment
she appeared.

"Who the deuce is that with Miss Martin?" he said, returning her signal.

"Siddle, the chemist," announced Robinson, not too well pleased himself
at being "spotted" so openly. "Well, gentlemen, I'll be off," and he