“That seems to be inexplicable.”
“It’s all inexplicable. There’s Doctor Davenport himself—talk to him.”
Prescott blessed his luck that the doctor came in just then, and eagerly began to question him.
“I was at Mrs Ballard’s,” the doctor said; “up on Ninetieth Street, near Fifth Avenue. After I got the nurse’s message, I hurried down to the Gleason place as fast as I could. I didn’t know the exact number——”
“You didn’t!” Prescott felt sure this was meant as a blind, to indicate the doctor’s slight acquaintance with Gleason.
“No; I didn’t. I had to telephone some one to find out. I tried the Lindsays first, but the wire was busy, so I called up Manning Pollard.”
“And he told you?”
“Yes, I didn’t get the call, but the Ballards’ butler did, and Pollard gave him the address. Of course, the man told Pollard I wanted it.”
“I see. Then you went right down there?”
“Yes; and the rest is public knowledge. Look here, Prescott, what are you getting at?”