The Postmasters Daughter | Page 9

of a well-known actress.
Was she really murdered? Robinson said so when I met him on the
bridge."
"I'm afraid he is justified in that belief, at any rate."
"Well, Mr. Grant, what have we to conceal? I was in your garden at a
rather late hour, I admit, but one cannot watch the stars by day, and a
big telescope with its tripod is not easily carried about. Of course,
father will be vexed, because, as it happens, I did not tell him I was
coming out. But that cannot be helped. As it happens, I can fix the time
you opened your window almost to a minute, because the church clock
had chimed the quarter just before you appeared."
Grant, however, was not to be soothed by this matter-of-fact reasoning.
"I am vexed at the mere notion of your name, and possibly your portrait,
appearing in the newspapers," he protested. "Miss Melhuish was a
celebrated actress. The press will make a rare commotion about her
death. Look at the obvious questions that will be raised. What was she
doing here? Why was she found in the river bordering the grounds of
my house? Don't you see? I had to decide pretty quickly whether or not

I would admit any previous knowledge of her. I suppose I acted
rightly?"
"Why hide anything, Mr. Grant? Surely it is always best to tell the
truth!"
He looked into those candid blue eyes, and drew from their limpid
depths an element of strength and fortitude.
"By Jove, Doris, small wonder if a jaded man of the world, such as I
was when I came to Steynholme, found new faith and inspiration in
friendship with you," he said gratefully. "But I am wool-gathering all
the time this morning, it would seem. Won't you come into the house?
If we have to discuss a tragedy we may as well sit down to it."
"No," she said, with the promptitude of one who had anticipated the
invitation. "I must hurry home. There are accounts to be made up. And
Robinson and others will be telegraphing to Knoleworth and London. I
must attend to all that, because dad gets flustered if several messages
are handed in at the same time."
"Come and have tea, then, about four o'clock. The ravens will have fled
by then."
"The ravens?"
"The police, you dear child, and the reporters, and the
photographers--the flock of weird fowl which gathers from all points of
the compass when the press gets hold of what is called 'a first-rate
story,' By midday I shall be in the thick of it. But, thank goodness, 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 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