The church clock struck two-thirty.
Ten minutes later, while Sharpless was recalling an interminable childhood and a game called Little Wars, the back door of the house opened.
"Captain Sharpless!" called Mrs. Propper's voice. It poured with acid. "Captain Sharpless!"
With Courtney following him, Sharpless ran.
"They think you'd better go in," said Mrs. Propper gravely.
"Steady, Frank!"
"I can't face it," said Sharpless. "I can't!"
"You've got to. Damn it, don't turn into a weak sister now! Go on."
Sharpless walked slowly through the kitchen, past a blubbering Daisy. He stumbled over a chair in the dining room, and only found his way out when Courtney switched on the lights.
In the downstairs hall, a little group was stumping down the stairs: with many pauses, as though nobody could drag himself away from the room above. First came little Dr. Nithsdale, then Sir Henry Merrivale, and then a man in a white coat. But what struck Courtney like a blow across the skull was the expressions on their faces.