A grim expression settled on his face as the journey proceeded, yet it was not altogether unmixed with pity. He was a man of ready sympathy. The doctor's story had evidently moved him to view his task with a new compassion.
As his car turned into De Vere Terrace, he became alert, and scrutinized the houses closely. They were small semi-detached villas. He alighted in front of number 35, passed up the carefully kept front garden, and knocked at the door.
There was no response. He knocked again, several times, but the silence of the house remained undisturbed. He left the door, and glanced in at the front windows, but the room was so dark that he could discern nothing. He walked round to the back. Through the uncurtained kitchen windows he saw a fire in the range. It had almost burnt itself out. There were cooking utensils on the table. Some pastry was rolled out on a board. Apparently the household operations had been somewhat rudely interrupted, and very hastily abandoned. The back door and windows were securely fastened. Returning to the front, he carefully closed the gate, and knocked at the door of the adjoining house.
The name of the house was "Sans Souci," and the door was opened by a lady in rich purple, with a string of pearls.
Monsieur Dupont swept off his hat.
"Madame, I make a thousand apologies! Can you tell me when I shall find Miss Masters at home."
His extreme bulk and the fact that he was not an Englishman seemed to cause the lady considerable amusement.
"I'm sure I don't know," she said engagingly. "I think she's gone away."
"Away?" Monsieur Dupont echoed.