"Remarkably clever," he said. "Re-markably clever. Dear, dear, dear! A budding genius--quite a bud-ding ge-nius. But time presses. Allow me to explain."
"Won't you take a chair, sir?" said Mrs. Death, wiping one with her apron, and placing it for him.
"Thank you. The explanation is as follows--as follows. A friend of mine reading in the evening papers an account of your application at the Bishop Street Police Court this morning--pray accept my sympathy, my dear madam, my sym-pathy--and of the evident illness of the little girl who accompanied you, has asked me to call and see if I can do anything for you--anything for you." His habit of repeating his words, and of occasionally splitting them into accented syllables, seemed to fit in with his gentle voice and his generally benevolent air.
"May I inquire the name of your kind friend?" asked Mrs. Death.
"Certainly--cer-tainly," replied Dr. Vinsen. "It is Dr. Pye, of Shore Street."
"The scientist," said Dick.
"The scientist," said Dr. Vinsen. "A man of science and a man of heart. The two things are not incompatible--not incom-patible. He asked me also to ascertain whether you have heard anything of your husband."
"I have heard nothing of him, sir," said Mrs. Death, with a sob in her throat.
"Sad, sad, sad! But have hope, my dear madam. There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow, and you may depend upon it that this special providence is watching over you, and will bring your husband back--your husband back." He turned to Dick. "Related to the family, I presume?"
"No," said Dick, "I am here simply as a friend, to assist Mrs. Death in her search for her husband."