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Tracy, Louis, 1863-1928

"The Postmaster's Daughter"

"The fellow isn't worth
it. But his crude idea might be developed more subtly by an abler man."
"I think it odd that Mr. Siddle should choose to-day, of all days, for a
visit," she admitted.
Winter relapsed into silence for a while. The car was running through a
charming countryside, and a glimpse of the sea was obtainable from the
crest of each hill. Mr. Fowler was too circumspect to break in on the
thread of his coadjutor's thoughts. The inquiry had taken a curious turn,
and was momentarily beyond his grasp.
"It's singular, but it's true," said the detective musingly when next he
spoke, "that I am now going to ask you to act differently than was in my
mind when I sought this interview. I should vastly like to be present
when Siddle bares his heart to you this afternoon.
"I can invite you to tea."
Alas! that won't serve our ends. But, if you feel you have a purpose, you
will be nerved to deal with him. Bring him out into that secluded garden
of yours--"
"The first thing he will suggest," and Doris's voice waxed
unconsciously bitter. "He knows that dad will be busy with the mails
for an hour after tea."
"Good!"
"I think it bad, most disagreeable.


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