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The Postmaster's Daughter by Louis Tracy
page 284 of 292 (97%)

But where was Peters? In the post office, writing the first of a series
of thrilling dispatches to a London evening newspaper. What journalist
ever had a more sensational murder-case to supply "copy"? And when was
"special correspondent" ever better primed for the task? He wrote on, and
on, till the telegraphist cried halt. Then he hied him to London by
train, and began the more ambitious "story" for next morning. What he did
not know he guessed correctly. A fagged but triumphant man was Jimmie
Peters when he "blew in" to the Savage Club at 1 A.M. to seek sustenance
and a whiskey and soda before going home.

Furneaux was white and shaken when Winter escorted the stretcher-bearers
to the orchard.

"Poor devil!" he said, as the men lifted the body. "Foredoomed from
birth! We can eradicate these diseases from cattle. Why not from men!"

The villagers could not understand him. Already, in some mysterious way,
the word had gone around that Siddle had murdered the actress, and taken
his own life to avoid arrest, after shooting at the detective who was hot
on his trail.

Not until Peters's articles came back to Steynholme did the public at
large realize that the chemist undoubtedly meant to kill Doris Martin. He
was going straight to the post office when the way was barred by
Furneaux. The bullet which missed the latter actually pierced the zinc
plate of the letter-box, and scored a furrow, inches long, in an oak
counter which it struck laterally.

The village did not recover its poise for hours. Grant and Hart, to whom
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