He glanced sharply at Martin.
"No," he said. "What's wrong with that bee?"
"I don't know. I have my doubts. When I have a moment to spare I'll put
it under the microscope."
Siddle examined the telegram again. The handwriting was that beloved of
Civil Service Commissioners. Unquestionably, it was not Doris's. No
sooner had his friend gone off, still intent on the dead insect, than
Siddle followed. He knew that the bee would undergo scientific scrutiny
at once, so gave Martin just enough time to dive into the sitting-room
before entering the post office.
"Did you receive this telegram a few minutes ago!" he inquired.
The young man became severely official.
"Which telegram?" he said stiffly.
"This one," and Siddle gave him the written message.
"Yes," was the answer.
"Excuse me, but--er--are its contents known to you only?"
"What do you mean, sir? It would cost me my berth if I divulged a word of
it to anyone."
"I'm sorry. Pray don't take offense. I--I'm anxious that my friends,
Mr. and Miss Martin, should not hear of it. That is what I really
have in mind."
The telegraphist cooled down.
"You may be quite sure that neither they nor any other person in
Steynholme will ever see the duplicate," he said confidentially.
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