“Evidently cars are not expected here,” John Steadman remarked as he and the inspector alighted and walked up to the front door.
There was apparently no bell, but there was a shining brass knocker. Inspector Furnival applied himself to it with great energy.
The door was opened by a pleasant-looking woman, who was hastily donning a white apron.
“Mr. Hoyle?” the inspector queried.
“Not at home,” the woman said at once.
The inspector hesitated. “Can you tell me when he will be at home?”
The woman shook her head. “I cannot indeed. He is away on a sketching expedition, and one never knows when he will be back. It may be a week or a month or longer.”
“Oh, dear!” The inspector looked at Mr. Steadman. “This is most unfortunate! I was particularly anxious to see him to-day. However, I suppose I must write. I wonder if you would let me just scribble a line here? I should esteem it a great favour if you would.”
For a moment the woman looked doubtful, then after a keen glance at the two men she led the way to a sitting-room that apparently ran from back to front of the house. She indicated a writing-table.
“You will find pens and ink there, sir.”