He retreated toward the door leading to the post office proper.
"It is too late to interfere now," he said.
"What on earth do you mean ?" demanded Grant, yielding to a gust of anger.
"The whole--of the circumstances--are being inquired into by the police," came the hesitating answer.
"Has that prying scoundrel, Robinson, dared to cross-examine Doris ?" "He came here, of course, but Scotland Yard has taken up the inquiry." "A detective--here ?" "Yes.

He is with Doris in the garden at this moment." Grant knew the topography of the house.

Without asking permission, he tore through yet a third door leading to a kitchen and scullery, nearly upsetting a tiny maid who had her ear or eye to the key-hole, and raced into the garden in which the postmaster kept his bees.
Doris, standing with her hands behind her back, was looking at The Hollies, and deep in conversation with an alert and natty little man who was evidently absorbed in what she was saying.
Grant, in a whirl of fury, was only conscious that Doris's companion was slight, almost diminutive, of frame, very erect, and dressed in a well-fitting blue serge suit, neat brown boots and straw hat, when the two heard his footsteps.
Doris was flustered.

Her Romney face held a look of scare.
"Oh, here is Mr.Grant!" she said, striving vainly to speak with composure.
The little man pierced Grant with an extraordinarily penetrating glance from very bright and deeply-recessed black eyes.
"Ah, Mr.Grant, is it!" he chirped pleasantly.

"Good morning! So _you're_ the villain of the piece, are you ?".