With a mind full of doubt he followed the slender black-clad figure out into the hall.
"The other door, please," he ordered, feeling uncomfortably a brute, as she was about to go through the boudoir.
With a slight shrug she walked on and entered her own bedroom, closing the door behind her. He hesitated, then opened the door again, transferred the key to the outside, and turned it in the lock. He was putting the key in his pocket, with a rather guilty feeling, when Chalmers approached him.
"I may have done wrong, sir," he whispered; "if so I am willing to suffer for it. I followed my instinct, sir, if you understand what I mean, and there wasn't much time to think."
A look passed between them.
"You needn't say any more, Chalmers, I know you would never have acted as you did without a strong reason. I take it you heard something from Miss Rowe when you let her in."
"I did, sir, and I was fair paralysed with what she told me. What's more, I could take my oath she's as sensible as you or me, let them say what they will."
The old man's habitually wooden face showed deep emotion.
"See here, Chalmers, lock the door of my room and bring me the key. We'll see that no one gets in there to tamper with that bottle, just in case there's anything wrong."
"Yes, sir, and if you'll take my advice, sir, you'll keep an eye on that doctor. I don't think we can trust him, sir."