"No, but I annoyed him, as Mr.----"

"No names!" broke in the detective hastily. "Names, especially modern
ones, destroy romance. Even the Georgian method of using initials, or
leaving out vowels, lend an air of intrigue to the veriest balderdash."

"But no one can overhear us," was the somewhat surprised comment.

"How true!" said Furneaux. "Pardon me, Miss Martin. Tell the story in
your own way."

Doris had a good memory. She was invariably letter-perfect in a play
after a couple of rehearsals, and could prompt others if they faltered.
The detective listened in silence while she repeated the conversation
between Siddle and herself. He took no notes. In fact, he hardly ever did
make any record in a case unless it was essential to prove the exact
words of a suspected person.

"Good!" he said, when she had finished. "That sounds like the
complete text."

"I don't think I have left out anything of importance--that is, if a
single word of it _is_ important."

"Oh, heaps," he assured her. "It's even better than I dared hope. Can you
tell me if Siddle's mother is dead yet?"

The question found Doris so thoroughly unprepared that she blurted out: