the entrance to the house from the Knoleworth road was discernible.

Furneaux's dramatic announcement brought the other two to the window. By
this time Peters, gifted with a nose for news like a well-trained
setter's for partridges, had begun to associate the quiet-mannered,
gentle-spoken chemist with the inner circle of the crime, so waited and
watched with the detectives for Siddle's reappearance.

At any rate the visitor must have been admitted, because a long quarter
of an hour elapsed before he came in sight again. He walked out slowly
into the roadway, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and glanced
to right and left. Then, turning abruptly, he stared at the dwelling he
had just quitted. What this slight but peculiar action signified was not
hard to guess. Furneaux, indeed, put it into words.

"Having warned Grant off Miss Doris Martin, and been cursed for his
pains, the foreman of the jury does not trouble to await further
evidence, but arrives at a true and lawful verdict straight off,"
announced the little man.

"We ought to hear things to-night," said Peters.

"We?" inquired Winter.

"Yes. Didn't I make it clear that I shared in the dinner invitation?"

"No, and I'm--"

"Don't say it!" pleaded the journalist. "If I fell from grace to-day,
remember my unswerving loyalty since the hour we met on the platform at