The Postmaster's Daughter

Excerpt: ...as one dares when no charge has actually been laid against any particular person." "Ay," said Elkin, with whom sunshine seemed to disagree, because he looked miserably ill. "We know what you mean, Mr. Ingerman. If the police were half sharp they'd have nabbed their man before this . Did you put any water in this gin, Tomlin?" "Water?" wheezed Tomlin indignantly. "Water?" "Well, no offense. I can't taste anything. I believe I could swallow dope and not feel it on my tongue." "You do look bad, an' no mistake, Fred," agreed Hobbs. "Are you vettin' yerself? Don't. Every man to his trade, sez I. Give Dr. Foxton a call." "I'm taking his medicine regular. Perhaps I need a change." "'Ave a week-end in Lunnon," said Hobbs, with a broad wink. "Change of medicine, I mean. I'm not leaving Steynholme till things make a move. My next trip to London will be my honeymoon." "You look like a honeymooner, I don't think," guffawed Hobbs. "You wouldn't laugh if I told you what you really look like," cried Elkin angrily. "Bet you a level fiver I'm married this year. Now, put up or shut up!" Furneaux peeped in, through a door, always open, which led to the stairs. "Can I have my account, Mr. Tomlin?" he said. "I'm going to town by the next train." "You don't mean to say, Mr. Furneaux, that you are abandoning the case so soon?" broke in Ingerman. "Did I say that?" inquired the detective meekly. "No. One can't help drawing inferences occasionally." "Great mistake. Look at our worthy landlord. He's been drawing inferences as well as corks, and he's beat to the world." Tomlin was, indeed, gazing at his smaller guest open-mouthed. "S'elp me!" he gurgled. "I could ha' sworn-" "Bad habit," and Furneaux crooked a waggish forefinger at him. "Even the wisest among us may err. Last night, for instance, I blundered. I really fancied I had a clew to the Steynholme murderer. And where do you think it ended? In the loft of your club-room, Mr. Tomlin. In a box of old clothes at...