The Postmasters Daughter | Page 7

others to
observe as well. Then he and the villagers went away with their sad
burden, the rug being requisitioned once more to hide that wan face
from the vivid sunshine.
Bates had a trick of grasping a handful of his short whiskers when
puzzled; he did so now; it seemed to be an unconscious effort to pull
his jaws apart in order to emit speech.
"I've a sort of idee, sir," he said slowly, "that Robinson saw Doris
Martin on the lawn with 'ee last night."
Grant turned on his henchman in a sudden heat of anger.
"Miss Martin's name must be kept out of this matter," he growled.

But Sussex is not easily browbeaten when it thinks itself in the right.
"All very well a-sayin' that, sir, but a-doin' of it is a bird of another
color," argued Bates firmly.
"How did you know that Miss Martin was here?"
"Bless your heart, sir, how comes it that us Steynholme folk know
everythink about other folk's business? Sometimes we know more'n
they knows themselves. You've not walked a yard wi' Doris that the
women's tittle-tattle hasn't made it into a mile."
No man, even the wisest, likes to be told an unpalatable truth. For a few
seconds, Grant was seriously annoyed with this village Solon, and
nearly blurted out an angry command that he should hold his tongue.
Luckily, since Bates was only trying to be helpful, he was content to
say sarcastically:
"Of course, if you are so well posted in my movements last night, you
can assure the coroner and the Police that I did not strangle some
strange woman, tie a rope around her, and throw her in the river."
"Me an' my missis couldn't help seein' you an' Doris a-lookin' at the
stars through a spyglass when us were goin' to bed," persisted Bates.
"We heerd your voices quite plain. Once 'ee fixed the glass low down,
an' said, 'That's serious. It's late to-night.' An' I tell 'ee straight, sir, I
said to the missis:--'It will be serious, an' all, if Doris's father catches
her gallivantin' in our garden wi' Mr. Grant nigh on ten o'clock.' Soon
after that 'ee took Doris as far as the bridge. The window was open, an'
I heerd your footsteps on the road. You kem' in, closed the window, an'
drew a chair up to the table. After that, I fell asleep."
Perturbed and anxious though he was, Grant could hardly fail to see
that Bates meant well by him. The mental effort needed for such a long
speech said as much. The allusion to Sirius, amusing at any other time,
was now most valuable, because an astronomical almanac would give
the hour at which that brilliant star became visible. Other
considerations yielded at once, however, to the fear lest Robinson and

his note-book were already busy at the post office. Without another
word, he hurried away by the side-path through the evergreens, leaving
Bates staring after him, and, with more whisker-pulling, examining the
rope and staple, which, by the policeman's order, were not to be
disturbed.
Grant reached the highroad just as Robinson and the men with the
stretcher were crossing a stone bridge spanning the river about a
hundred yards below The Hollies. A slight, youthful, and eminently
attractive female figure, walking swiftly in the opposite direction, came
in sight at the same time, and Grant almost groaned aloud when the
newcomer stood stock still and looked at the mournful procession. He,
be it remembered, was somewhat of an idealist and a poet; it grieved
his spirit that those two women, the quick and the dead, should meet on
the bridge. He took it as a portent, almost a menace, he knew not of
what. He might have foreseen that unhappy eventuality, and prevented
it, but his brain refused to work clearly that morning. A terrible and
bizarre crime had bemused his faculties. He seemed to be in a state of
waking nightmare.
He was stung into impetuous action by seeing the policeman halt and
exchange some words with the girl. He began to run, with the quite
definite if equally mad intent of punching Robinson into reasonable
behavior. He was saved from an act of unmitigated folly by the girl
herself. She caught sight of him, apparently broke off her talk with the
policeman abruptly, and, in her turn, took to her heels.
Thus, on that strip of sun-baked road, with its easy gradient to the
crown of the bridge, there was the curious spectacle offered by two
men jogging along with a corpse on a stretcher, a young man and a
young woman running towards each other, and a discomfited
representative of the law, looking now one way and now the other, and
evidently undecided whether to