A closed car will be in
waiting, and we can have half an hour's talk without anyone in Steynholme
being the wiser. Remember that this village, like the night, has a
thousand eyes. Naturally, I would not trouble you in this way if the
cause was not vital to the ends of justice. Whether or not you decide to
keep this appointment, I have every confidence that you will respect my
wish that _no one_, other than yourself, shall be informed of my
identity. But I believe you will be wise, and come.
I am,
Yours faithfully,
J.L. WINTER,
Chief Inspector, C.I.D., Scotland Yard, S.W.
A card was inclosed, as a sort of credential. But, somehow, it was not
needed. Doris had seen "Mr. Franklin" more than once, and she had heard
him singing the hymns in church. He looked worthy of credence. His
written words had the same honest ring. She resolved to go.
Her father, sad to relate, had found three dead queens in the hives. He
was busy, but spared a moment to tell her that Mr. Siddle was coming to
tea at four o'clock. Doris was rather in a whirl, and seemed to be
unnecessarily astonished.
"Mr. Siddle! Why?" she gasped.
"Why not!" said her father.
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