"Go on, Charles; don't be theatrical," jeered Winter. "You've got the
story pat. Even that simile of the jumping fish is mine."

"True," agreed Furneaux. "I only brought it in as a sop. But, to
continue, as the tub-thumper says. Isn't it permissible to assume that
Siddle accompanied the lady, either by prior arrangement or by contriving
a meeting which looked like mere chance? We know that she went to his
shop. We know, too, that he was clever and unscrupulous, and any allusion
to Grant would stir his wits to the uttermost. He would see instantly how
interested Miss Melhuish was in the owner of The Hollies, while she, a
smart Londoner, would recognize in Siddle an informant worth all the rest
of the babblers in Steynholme. At any rate, no matter how the thing was
brought about, it is self-evident that Siddle brought his intended victim
into the grounds, and told her of the small uncovered window through
which she could peer at Grant after Miss Doris had gone. He showed her
which path to use, and undoubtedly waited for her, and stayed her flight
when Grant rose from his chair. She was close to him, and wholly
unafraid, finding in him an ally. They were purposely hidden, in the
gloom of dense foliage, and remained there until Grant had closed the
window again. Then, and not till then, did the murderer strike, probably
stifling her with his free hand. He had the implement in his pocket. The
rope was secreted among the bushes. He could carry through the whole
wretched crime in little more than a minute. And his psychology went far
deeper than Peters gave him credit for. He had weighed up the situation
to a nicety. No matter who found the body, Mr. Grant was saddled with a
responsibility which might well prove disastrous, and was almost sure to
affect his relations with the Martin household. For instance, nothing
short of a miracle could have stopped Robinson from arresting him on a
charge of murder."