"
"Do you mean that she was struck, her skull battered?" came the demand,
in an awed and soul-thrilling whisper.
"Yes, sir. An' the wust thing is, none of us can guess who could
ha' done it."
"Lay yer five quid to one, Hobbs, that the police cop the scoundrel afore
this day fortnight," cried Elkin noisily.
Then Mr. Siddle put in a mild word.
"Gentlemen," he said, "let me remind you that we four will probably be
jurors at the inquest."
That was a sobering thought. Elkin subsided, and Hobbs looked critically
at the remains of a gill of beer.
Ingerman took stock of the chemist. He might easily induce the others to
believe that Grant was the real criminal, but the quiet man in the black
morning-coat and striped cloth trousers was of finer metal. He knew
instantly that if he could persuade this one "probable juror" of Grant's
guilt, the remainder would follow his lead like a flock of sheep.
But there was no need to hurry. Next day's inquest would be a mere
formality. The real struggle would begin a week or a fortnight later.
"You have said a very wise thing, sir," he murmured appreciatively. "Even
my feelings must be kept under better control.
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