to go to the other extreme, and receive all comers.

Of course, there would be reservations in his story. That is what every
man decides who faces a legal inquiry as a novice. It is a decision too
often regretted in the light of after events.

Meanwhile, P. C. Robinson was hard at work. In his own phrase, he "took a
line," and the trend of his thoughts was clearly demonstrated when a
superintendent motored over from Knoleworth in response to a telegram. He
told how the body had been found, and then went into details gathered in
the interim.

"Miss Melhuish hadn't been in the village five minutes," he said, "before
she asked Mr. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds, where The Hollies
was, and how long Mr. Grant had lived in the village. She went for a walk
in the direction of his house almost at once. Tomlin watched her until
she crossed the bridge. That was on Sunday evening."

Superintendent Fowler allowed his placid features to show a flicker of
surprise. In that rural district an actual, downright murder was almost
unknown. Even a case of manslaughter, arising out of a drunken quarrel
between laborers at fair-time, did not occur once in five years.

"Oh, she came here on Sunday, did she?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Yesterday, too, she spoke of Mr. Grant to Hobbs, the butcher,
and Siddle, the chemist."

The two were closeted in the sitting-room of Robinson's cottage, which
was situated on the main road near the bridge. It faced the short, steep