He looked severe rather than studious.
He might have been an omnipotent being who had detected a malefactor in
a criminal act. Was Steynholme and its secret felon being regarded in
that way by the providence which, for some inscrutable purpose,
permitted, yet would infallibly punish, a dreadful murder? She was a
girl of devout mind, and the notion was appalling in its direct
application to current events.
In the meantime the chemist, evidently taking a Sunday afternoon
constitutional, came on Winter, who was leaning on a wall of the bridge
and looking down stream--Grant's house being on the left.
He would have passed, in his wonted unobtrusive way, but the detective
hailed him with a cheery "Good day, Mr. Siddle. Are you a fisherman?"
"No, Mr. Franklin, I'm not," he answered.
"Well, now, I'm surprised. You are just the sort of man whom I should
expect to find attached to a rod and line--even watching a float."
"I tried once when I was younger, but I could neither impale a worm nor
extract a hook. My gorge rose against either practice. I am a vegetarian,
for the same reason. If it were not for this disturbing tragedy you would
have heard Hobbs, the butcher, rallying me about my rabbit-meat, as he
calls my food.
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