was still poignant. She looked up and met her lover's eyes. Neither
uttered a word, but Grant did a very wise thing. He caught her by the
shoulders, raised her to her feet, and, after kissing her squarely on the
lips, gave her a comforting hug.

"It will be all right now, Doris," he whispered tenderly. "Such
thunderstorms clear the air."

An eminent novelist might have found many more ornate ways of avowing
his sentiments, but never a more satisfactory one. At any rate, it
served, so what more need be said?

Certain rills of evidence accumulated into a fair-sized stream before
night fell. P.C. Robinson, for instance, scored a point by ascertaining
that Peggy Smith had seen Furneaux dropping from the bedroom window of
the chemist's shop. She was some hundreds of yards away, and could not be
positive that some man, perhaps a glazier, had not been there
legitimately effecting repairs. Still, when she met Siddle hurrying from
the station, she told him of the incident.

"He never even thanked me," she said, "but broke into a run. The look in
his eyes was awful."

The girl had, in fact, confirmed his worst fears, and her neighborly
solicitude had merely hastened the end.

Again, the railway officials showed that Siddle had returned from
Victoria instead of taking train to the asylum. Furneaux had guessed
aright. The discovery that his keys had been left behind drove the man
into a panic of fright.