"Nothing—That is to say I can't tell you. Oh, this is horrible!"
"But pardon me," Mr. Basket insisted. "After travelling all the way from Plymouth!"
"I can't possibly tell you," she repeated.
"But, madam, consider my responsibility! I must really ask you to consider my responsibility."
"If I could only realise it! Oh, give me time, sir!"
"Certainly, certainly; by all means take your time. Nevertheless, when you consider my distress of mind, I appeal to you, madam, to be merciful and relieve it. After travelling all this distance in the dark—"
"In the dark?" queried Miss Marty, with a glance at the window.
"Tormented by a thousand speculations. In my house, too! In good health, and apparently the best of spirits; and then without a word, like the snuff of a candle!"
"His brain must be affected," Miss Marty murmured, gazing at the letter again. The handwriting swam before her. "Excuse me, sir, I will not detain you a minute."
She ran from the room and upstairs to her room, her knees shaking beneath her. Heaven grant that the Doctor was at home! She agitated her window-blind violently and drew it down to the third pane. "You are wanted—urgent," was the message it conveyed.