they will know nothing to draw them your way until the inquest takes
place, and not even then if _I_ can manage it."

"Don't mind me, Mr. Grant. You must not keep anything back on my account.
I'll try and come at four. But I may be very busy in the office. By the
way, you ought to know. Miss Melhuish came here on Sunday evening. She
arrived by the train from London. I--happened to notice her as she passed
in the Hare and Hounds 'bus. She took a room there, at the inn, I mean,
and came to the post office twice yesterday. When I heard her name I
recognized her at once from her photographs. And--one more thing--I
guessed there was something wrong when I saw you, and Robinson, and
Bates, and the other men standing near a body lying close to the river.
That is why I came out. Now I really must go. Good-by!"

She hastened away. Grant stood in the road and looked after her.
Apparently she was conscious that he had not stirred, because, when she
reached the bridge, she turned and waved a hand to him. She was
exceedingly graceful in all her movements. She wore a simple white linen
blouse and short white skirt that morning, with brown shoes and stockings
which harmonized with the deeper tints of her Titian red hair. As she
paused on the bridge for a second or two, silhouetted against the sky,
she suggested to Grant's troubled mind the Spirit of Summer.

Returning to the house by way of the main gate, which gave on to the
highway, he bethought him of Mrs. Bates and Minnie. They must be
enlightened, and warned as to the certain influx of visitors. He resolved
now to tackle a displeasing task boldly. Realizing that the worst
possible policy lay in denying himself to the representatives of the
press, who would simply ascertain the facts from other sources, and
unconsciously adopt a critical vein with regard to himself, he determined