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Tracy, Louis, 1863-1928

"The Postmaster's Daughter"

"
"Nearly."
"Don't take any more. It was decidedly strong. I'll send a boy early
to-morrow morning with a first-rate tonic, and you might give him any old
medicine bottles you possess. I'm running short."
Elkin hesitated a second or two.
"I'll tell my housekeeper to look 'em up," he said. After the inquest he
communicated this episode to Furneaux as a great joke.
"Queer, isn't it?" he guffawed. "A couple of dozen bottles went back, as
I'm always getting stuff for the gees, but those two weren't among 'em.
You took care of that, eh? When will you have the analysis?"
"It'll be fully a week yet," said the detective. "Government offices are
not run like express trains, and this is a free job, you know. But, be
advised by me. Stick to plain food, and throw physic to the dogs."
Another singular fact, unobserved by the public at large, was that a
policeman, either Robinson or a stranger, patrolled the high-street all
day and all night, while no one outside official circles was aware that
other members of the force watched The Hollies, or were secreted among
the trees on the cliffside, from dusk to dawn.
Next morning, however, there was real cause for talk.


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