against himself. The coroner and the inspector had another little confab and the coroner seemed to say it could do no harm if Ewins were asked a few questions. The doctor had testified to heart disease, but if it were brought about by someone maliciously smashing the machine on which deceased had laid such hope-yes, there was no harm in calling Ewins -the witnesses who saw him in the vicinity might wait and, if necessary, Mr. Tugwell could be

sent for.

"Thomas Ewins."

Ewins was very nervous and pale. The evidence about the stick had upset him. Besides, everybody seemed hostile: he felt that without knowing why or how. He muttered as he held the testament:

"Dunno what you want me for."

Then he took the oath, and hesitated whether he should be very calm' or bluster. His inclination was to bluster, but a kind of prudence whispered "Be calm."

On the whole, he came through the ordeal fairly well. He admitted having heard a hint of the machine, but said he didn't believe it. Higgins had talked like that for years. Did he visit Higgins? No. He'd never set foot in Higgins's house in his life. But he had been seen near there on the evening Higgins died. Well, he'd been a walk-he walked up the New Road nearly every night, but he didn't go to Higgins's.

Had he spoken to Higgins about the machine? Never-never had a word with him about it.

Had he smashed or caused the machine to be smashed?

Not he, why should he? He'd no interest in smashing the machine. In fact, it might have been a good

thing for him if the machine were on the market if it were a good one.

As he went on Ewins felt more and more secure. He was confident now nothing could be done to him and assumed a much easier air. And when he was told that would do, he returned to his place and nodded to the doctor with intense relief.

"Dunno what they wanted to drag me 'ere for," he whispered. "Must do summat, I suppose. But wastin' my time.."

The verdict was "Found dead.”

As Ewins went home he felt lighter and brighter. "Found dead." That disposed of Ralph Higgins. and his patent . . . Aye, and his patent . . . Which of them was flummuxed now?

Ewins chuckled with a complete satisfaction.

CHAPTER XVII

MAN, WOMEN AND A MACHINE

WHEN Lance went about his work on the morn

ing after his visit to the Jupps, he found he lacked concentration. As he looked at his diary to see what fateful events were due to happen in the wide field covered by the Ganton Examiner and Times, he began to see, mingled with his engagements, the face of Miss Whitelaw

He forgot for the moment the momentous entertainment at Hope Chapel Schools and found himself thinking of Mr. Jupp's niece. He recalled her perfectly, with her dark brown eyes (with such depths!) and her luxuriant thick black hair. Miss Whitelaw Lina... how sparkling! She had been earning her own living in Manchester . . . Had that made her so bright? It wouldn't have been a bad idea if Dolly had done that . . . Poor Dolly!

H'm... Hope Chapel Entertainment at 8. Meattea at 4.30. Tickets to be had And Miss Whitelaw's voice . . . a delightful voice, so musical, such a ring in it! . . . But this wasn't business. H'm . The junior could do that: he'd perhaps like the tea. And then there was that prize distribution at 8. . .

And what jolly ideas she had! The three islands and the cannibals-and the point that the people who were put there would have a run for their money!

Ha! Ha! But the way she said it! And her laugh! And what eyes! . . .

He picked up a paper lying on the table in front of him with a languid air. He had to provide "copy" to keep the printers going and there was no local stuff, so he must cut out some of this big jewel robbery case in Manchester and that breach of promise trial. But he had the scissors in one hand and the cutting in the other when one of the compositors came down saying they wanted copy at once; and Lance realised he had forgotten about the business that usually went on in that building, through thinking of a lady with dark brown eyes and black hair. He dashed at the paper, cut out a startling bit of news here and another bit there, gave them other headings, saw the dates were all right and handed them to the boy.

He looked round. A table, two wooden chairs, a book-shelf, the file of the Examiner and Times much wounded and torn, all kinds of notices, drawings, invitation cards, newspaper titles stuck on the walls. H'm... Yes. And she was going to stay in Ganton-Ah! He must get on with his work. He had set the compositors going. .. Now he would er Wonderful eyes-and the voice . . . and the way she talked . . .

He got up. Hang it! This kind of thing would never do. He must do some work: he supposed the junior was running round to see if the police had any special news.

H'm, what was this article in the Guardian? One of G. W. E. Russel's here

It wasn't a bit of good. The Guardian was put down .

She was really a most attractive girl . . . He won

dered if she played might have a game.

tennis . . . in that case they She would look well playing tennis, those bright eyes and black hair . . . and the way she laughed! Such a healthy, hearty laugh, and yet so refined .

H'm . . . He slowly lifted up the Guardian again and caught himself pretending to work and really thinking of a young lady . . . This was preposterous, wasting time like he didn't know what. He might as well get ahead with his novel while he had an hour to spare.

But a lady's face, with brown eyes in it and black hair above it, peeped at him as he tried to think of adventures through which to send his heroes, who were treasure hunting, and the novel made no real progress.

The very noteworthy impression that Lina Whitelaw made on Lance faded a little-a little-with the work and incidents of the next twenty-four hours. With time to dream one can almost succeed in dreaming realistically: but work and dreams won't join hands; a man might as soon think of marrying his grandmother.

One great question is, does love make itself perfectly clear when it first introduces itself? Some people slur names at an introduction we know, and emotions, even if they have feelings, have no tongues. If two people think a great deal about each other after they have met and talked and parted, is that love? . . . Suppose they see each other's faces very clearly the colour of the eyes, shape of the mouth, hear voices (only his or hers, as the case may be) and find themselves very much disturbed, restless, rather