The Postmaster's Daughter Part 39

Six gla.s.ses were duly filled with champagne. When it was consumed, Hart b.u.t.tonholed Peters.

"A word with you, scribe," he said. "Good-day, gentlemen. I leave you to your nags. Treat Mr. Franklin fairly. The friend of Don Manoel Alcorta must be a true man."

Winter heaved a sigh of relief when the professional revolutionist had vanished.

"He's a funny 'un," commented one of the farmers.

"A bit touched, I reckon," said another. "Wot's 'e doin' now to the other one?"

They looked through the window. The two were standing in the middle of the road, and Wally was shaking Peters violently. The argument was not so fierce as it appeared to be. Peters had been commanded to bring both detectives to dinner that evening; when he demurred, trying to hedge on the question of Winter's ident.i.ty, Hart grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Do as I tell you," he hissed. "Of course, I know now that the big fellow is the man Grant heard of a week ago. I was an idiot to take him seriously about the Argentine. Bring the pair of 'em, I tell you. We'll make a night of it."

"I'll try," said Peters faintly, "but if you stir up that wine so vigorously I won't answer for the consequences."

Winter, wis.h.i.+ng devoutly that would-be sellers of horseflesh were not so numerous in the district, noted the names and addresses of the local men, and promised to write when he could make an appointment. Then he escaped upstairs, whither Furneaux soon followed. Winter had secured an extra bedroom, overlooking the river, which Tomlin had converted into a sitting-room. Thus, he held a secure observation post both in front and rear of the hotel.

"Well, how did she take it!" inquired the Chief Inspector, when he and his colleague were safe behind a closed door.

"Sensible girl," said Furneaux. "By the way, Siddle's mother is dead.

Telegram came this morning. Things should happen now."

"I don't quite see why."

"No. You're still muddled after floundering in the mud of South America.

What possessed you to let that cheerful idiot, Wally Hart, put you in the cart?"

"How could I help it? I was extracting some really helpful facts about Siddle and Elkin from Tomlin and the others when a shock-headed whirlwind blew in, and nearly embraced me because I claimed acquaintance with the El Dorado bar in Buenos Ayres. From that instant I was lost. Like St.

Augustine on the gridiron, no sooner was I nicely toasted on one side than I was turned on to the other. That grinning penny-a-liner, Peters, too, helped as a.s.sistant torturer. Wait till he asks me for a 'pointer'

in this or any other case. He sold me a pup to-day, but I'll land him with a full-sized mastiff."

"No, you won't. He's done you a lot of good. You were simply reeking with conceit when I met you this morning. It was 'Siddle this' and 'Siddle that' until you fairly sickened me. One would have thought I hadn't cleared the ground for you, left you with all lines open and yourself unknown to the enemy. Sometimes, you make me tired."

"Sorry, Charles," said Winter patronizingly. "I had a bit of luck on Sunday, I admit. The chance turn taken by the conversation with Doris, with the result that I was able to occupy a strategic position on the cliff, and hear every word Siddle uttered, was really fortunate. But, isn't that just what men mean when they prate of success? Opportunity knocks once at every man's door, says the old saw. The clever man grabs hold instantly. The indolent one, often a mere gabbler, opens his eyes and his mouth weeks afterwards, and cries, 'Dear me! Was that the much-looked-for opportunity?' Of course, Robinson's by-play with the sack and rope was merely thrown in by the prodigal hand of Fate."

"Stop!" yelped Furneaux. "Another plat.i.tude, and I'll a.s.sault you with the tongs!"

It was the invariable habit of the Big 'Un and Little 'Un to quarrel like cat and dog when the toils were closing in around a suspect. Woe, then, to the malefactor! His was a parlous state.

"Let's cool down, Charles!" said Winter, opening a leather case, and selecting, with great care, one out of half a dozen precisely similar cigars. "We're pretty sure of our man, but we haven't a sc.r.a.p of evidence against him. How, or where, to begin ringing him in I haven't the faintest notion. If only he'd kill Grant we'd get him at once."

"But he won't. He trusts to Ingerman playing that part of the game. He's as artful as a pet fox. I bought soap, and a pound of sal volatile, but he did up each parcel with sealing-wax."

"Sal volatile!" smiled Winter. "I, too, went in for soap, but my imagination would not soar beyond a packet of cotton-wool. It was the lumpiest thing I could think of."

"And perfectly useless!" sneered Furneaux. "I must say you do fling the taxpayers' money about. Now, _my_ little lot will keep the electric bells in my flat in order for two years."

"You forget that constant a.s.sociation with you demands that I should frequently plug my two ears," retorted Winter.

Furneaux would surely have thrown back the jest had not a knock on the door interrupted him.

"Who's there? I'm busy," cried Winter.

"Me-ow!" whined Peters's voice.

"Oh, it's you, Tom. Come in!"

The journalist crept in on tiptoe.

"Hus.h.!.+ We are not observed," he said. "Wally Hart threatens to choke me if you two don't dine with him and Grant to-night."

There was silence for a little while. The detectives looked at each other.

"At what time?" said Winter, at last.

Peters was astonished, and showed it.

"Why, I a.s.sured him it was absolutely imposs.," he cried.

"Well, it isn't. In fact, it suits our plans. I want exercise, and shall walk back from Knoleworth. Furneaux will make his own arrangements. Tell Grant that I shall drop in without knocking."

"And tell him I shall arrive by parachute," added Furneaux.

"In case of accidents, and there is a shoot-up, with myself as the unresisting victim, my front name is James," said Peters.

"The only good point about you," scoffed Winter.

"You're strong on names to-day," t.i.ttered the journalist. "Don Manoel Alcorta was a superb effort as an authority on gee-gees. Wally tells me his dons.h.i.+p is the recognized expert south of the line on seismic disturbances, and spends his days and nights watching a needle making scratches on a sensitive plate."

"He would be useful here in a day or two," said Winter.

"Ah, thanks! Is that a tip?"

"Not for publication. What you must say is that this affair looks like baffling the shrewdest wits in Scotland Yard."

"My very phrase--my own ewe lamb. Pardon. I shouldn't have alluded to sheep."

"The only known representative of the Yard in Steynholme is Furneaux,"

smiled the Chief Inspector.

Furneaux was drumming on a window-pane with his finger-tips.

"True," he cackled. "Just to prove it, he now informs you that Siddle, finding trade slow, has called on Mr. John Menzies Grant!"

CHAPTER XVI