"A character-sketch or two. Things like that are always useful when one drops like a bolt from the blue into some little circle, as we have to do in cases of this sort. I suppose it’s the same in your own line when you see a patient for the first time: he may be merely a hypochondriac or he may be out of sorts. You’ve nothing to go on in the way of past experience of him. We’re in a worse state, if anything, because you can’t have a chat with a dead man and find out what sort of person he was. It’s simply a case of collecting other people’s impressions of him in a hurry and discarding about half that you hear, on the ground of prejudice."
"At least you’ll get his own impressions this time, if it’s true that he kept a diary," the doctor pointed out.
"It depends on the diary," Sir Clinton amended. "But I confess to some hopes."
As they drew near the door of Heatherfield, Dr. Ringwood’s thoughts reverted to the state of things in the house. Glancing up at the front, his eye was caught by a lighted window which had been dark on his previous visit.
"That looks like a bedroom up there with the light on," he pointed out to his companion. "It wasn’t lit up last time I was here. Perhaps Silverdale or his wife has come home."
A shapeless shadow swept momentarily across the curtains of the lighted room as they watched.
"That’s a relief to my mind," the doctor confessed. "I didn’t quite like leaving that maid alone with my patient. One never can tell what may happen in a fever case."
As they were ascending the steps, a further thought struck him.
"Do you want to be advertised here—your name, I mean?"
"I think not, at present, so long as I can telephone without being overheard."
"Very well. I’ll fix it," Dr. Ringwood agreed, as he put his finger on the bell-push.
Much to his surprise, his ring brought no one to the door.
"That woman must be deaf, surely," he said, as he pressed the button a second time. "She came quick enough the last time I was here. I hope nothing’s gone wrong."
Sir Clinton waited until the prolonged peal of the bell ended when the doctor took his finger away, then he bent down to the slit of the letter-box and listened intently.
"I could swear I heard someone moving about, just then," he said, as he rose to his full height again. "There must be someone on the premises to account for the shadow we saw at the window. This looks a bit rum, doctor. Ring again, will you?"
Dr. Ringwood obeyed. They could hear the trilling of a heavy gong somewhere in the back of the house.
"That ought to wake anyone up, surely," he said with a nervous tinge in his voice. "This is my second experience of the sort this evening. I don’t much care about it."
They waited for a minute, but no one came to the door.
"It’s not strictly legal," Sir Clinton said at last, "but we’ve got to get inside somehow. I think we’ll make your patient an excuse, if the worst comes to the worst. Just wait here a moment and I’ll see what can be done."
He went down the steps and disappeared in the fog. Dr. Ringwood waited for a minute or two, and then steps sounded in the hall behind the door. Sir Clinton opened it and motioned him to come in.
"The place seems to be empty," he said hurriedly. "Stay here and see that no one passes you. I want to go round the ground floor first of all."
He moved from door to door in the hall, switching on the lights and swiftly inspecting each room as he came to it.
"Nothing here," he reported, and then made his way into the kitchen premises.
Dr. Ringwood heard his steps retreating; then, after a short interval, there came the sound of a door closing and the shooting of a bolt. It was not long before Sir Clinton reappeared.
"Somebody’s been on the premises," he said curtly. "That must have been the sound I heard. The back door was open."
Dr. Ringwood felt himself at a loss amid the complexities of his adventures.
"I hope that confounded maid hasn’t got the wind up and cleared out," he exclaimed, his responsibility for his patient coming foremost in the confusion of the situation.
"No use thinking of chasing anyone through this fog," Sir Clinton confessed, betraying in his turn his own professional bias. "Whoever it was has got clean away. Let’s go upstairs and have a look round, doctor."
Leading the way, he snapped down the switch at the foot of the stair-case; but to Dr. Ringwood’s surprise, no light appeared above. Sir Clinton pulled a flash-lamp from his pocket and hurried towards the next flat; as he rounded the turn of the stair, he gave a muffled exclamation. At the same moment, a high-pitched voice higher up in the house broke into a torrent of aimless talk.
