A few fleeting hours passed over, the night waned and passed away, the second hour of the morning arrived. All the inhabitants of the house had retired to rest—all save the master of the establishment.
There was a violent ring at the night bell, which was unanswered; a second summons was given, whereupon the servant, Amy—who had hastily slipped on her things—descended the stairs and opened the door. A man servant stood on the steps outside.
He informed the doctor’s maid that his mistress was seriously ill, and desired Doctor Bourne’s attendance immediately. The doctor had been retained as accoucheur to the lady in question, and the man said that not a moment was to be lost.
“I will tell Doctor Bourne,” said the girl, “and am quite sure he will be with your mistress in less than a quarter of an hour, or perhaps before that.”
“The messenger upon this assurance took his departure. Amy closed the street door gently, and made direct for her master’s bedroom. She knocked at the door, but received no answer. She called him by his name, and then knocked louder, but still no answer. In cases of this sort ceremony could be dispensed with. She opened the door, and entered the room, which she found tenantless.
“Perhaps he’s gone there,” she murmured. “He knows Mrs. Curtis is near her time. It is possible he may have gone there.”
She paused for a moment, and pressed one hand to her side as a troubled expression passed over her countenance.
She looked at the bed. It was just the same as she had made it in the morning. It was evident enough that no one had occupied it since then.
“I did not hear him go out,” she murmured, “and I believe he was in the surgery when I went to bed.”
She crept downstairs without awaking her mistress, and made direct for the surgery.