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Tracy, Louis, 1863-1928

"The Postmaster's Daughter"


"Man, you've had the closest shave of your life! There's a fellow below
there who shoots at sight."
"But I'm on duty, sir."
"You'll be in Kingdom Come if you gaze in at that window. Be off!"
"I--"
"Robinson, you and I will quarrel if you don't do as I bid you. And that
would be a pity, because I want to inform Mr. Fowler that he has a
particularly smart man in Steynholme."
"Very well, sir, if _you're_ satisfied, I _must_ be."
And away went the eavesdropper, crushed, still tingling with that fear of
the supernatural latent in every heart, but far from convinced.
Furneaux tripped downstairs. The routing of Robinson had put him into a
real good humor. He found the three in the dining-room gazing
spell-bound at the felt hat.
"Now, young lady, you're coming with me," he said, grinning amiably. "The
Sussex constabulary is quelled for the hour."
"But, Mr. Furneaux, I recognize that hat!" said Doris, and it was notable
that even Hart remained silent.
The detective looked at her strangely, but put no question.
"I am almost sure it belongs to our local Amateur Dramatic Society," went
on the girl. "It was worn by Mr. Elkin last November.


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