"Is anyone staying here?" asked Roger.
"Yes, the doctor's servant, but he may have gone out."
She rang again; from the distant kitchen they could hear the faint persistent peal.
"The place looks deserted for the moment, at any rate," Roger remarked, gazing up at the closed windows.
With a sudden wry smile, Esther fished in her bag and produced a latch-key.
"Isn't it stupid of me? I'd forgotten I still had it. I've meant daily to give it back to the doctor, but I never think of it at the right moment."
She fitted the key into the Yale lock, and in another moment the two were standing inside the dim and chilly hall, looking about them. A few circulars lay in a heap on the floor, there was a film of dust on the polished parquet. A man's overcoat and hat adorned the rack. From the salon a clock ticked loudly.
"Gloomy place, this," commented Roger, glancing into the cold and orderly salon. "Makes me think of funerals."
"Yes, that room is always like that, only used as a reception-room for patients."
She flung open the door of the salle à manger and entered, then stopped, looking about her.