Furneaux was white and shaken when Winter escorted the stretcher-bearers
to the orchard.
"Poor devil!" he said, as the men lifted the body. "Foredoomed from
birth! We can eradicate these diseases from cattle. Why not from men!"
The villagers could not understand him. Already, in some mysterious way,
the word had gone around that Siddle had murdered the actress, and taken
his own life to avoid arrest, after shooting at the detective who was hot
on his trail.
Not until Peters's articles came back to Steynholme did the public at
large realize that the chemist undoubtedly meant to kill Doris Martin. He
was going straight to the post office when the way was barred by
Furneaux. The bullet which missed the latter actually pierced the zinc
plate of the letter-box, and scored a furrow, inches long, in an oak
counter which it struck laterally.
The village did not recover its poise for hours. Grant and Hart, to whom
Bates brought the news about one o'clock, rose from an untasted luncheon
and hurried to the high-street. Knots of people stared at Grant, some
sheepishly, others with frank relief, because all who knew him liked him.
One man, a retired ironmonger and an impulsive fellow, came forward and
wrung his hand heartily.
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