"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
hill overhanging the river. A triangular strip of turf formed the village
green, and the houses of Steynholme clustered around this and a side road
climbing the hill. From door and windows nearly every shop and residence
in the village proper could be seen. In front of the Hare and Hounds had
gathered a group of men, and it was easy to guess the topic they were
discussing. The superintendent, who did not know any of them, had no
difficulty in identifying Hobbs, who looked a butcher and was dressed
like one, or Tomlin, who was either born an innkeeper or had been coached
in the part by a stage expert. A thin, sharp-looking person, pallid and
black-haired, wearing a morning coat and striped trousers, must surely be
Siddle, while a fourth, the youngest there, and of rather sporting guise,
was apparently a farmer of a horse-breeding turn.
"Who is that fellow in the leggings?" inquired the superintendent
irrelevantly.
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