Fortunately for her the street-door had been opened by the maid in answer to a gentle rap, and Mr. Wrench, hearing a noise in the front parlour, entered without any ceremony.
The detective was awe-struck at beholding Mrs. Bourne purple in the face, and her husband grasping her remorselessly by the throat.
“Mr. Bourne—doctor!” ejaculated Wrench, dragging at the same time the man he was addressing from his wife, and thrusting him forcibly into one corner of the room.
When this had been done, he said, “How is this, sir? You are sadly forgetting yourself, it would seem.”
“Leave me alone. Don’t you interfere between man and wife,” exclaimed Bourne. “I know what I am about.”
“Do you? Well, and so do I.”
“There is good reason for all this. You don’t know the provocation I have had.”
“I have nothing to do with that. I will not allow an assault of this nature to take place in my presence without interfering. I know my duty, Mr. Bourne, and am surprised at you.”
“You would not be if you knew all.”
“I know a great deal more than you imagine,” said Wrench, with admirable coolness.