"It's a queer international stew all the same," muttered H.M. shaking his head. "And while we're on the subject, Charters, who's this Dr. Antrim?"
"No more foreigners. And," said the Chief Constable, "if you're looking for suspicious characters near at hand, I think you can safely forget it." He chuckled. "Antrim is a big Irishman. You'll like him. His wife is a dashed pretty girl: much too pretty to be a trained nurse, which I believe she was before they were married. She helps him with his work. Of course, the life of a country G.P. isn't very exciting, any more than the rest of our lives are…."
He stopped, rather guiltily, as we heard heavy footfalls clumping through the main hall of the house. H.M. swept up the kit of the Compleat Burglar, and had just snapped shut the catch of the little bag when a tall figure lumbered out on the veranda.
"I say, Charters-" the newcomer began excitedly, and stopped when he saw us. "Sorry," he added. "Didn't know you had visitors. Excuse me. Some other time."
I thought, correctly, that this must be Dr. Antrim. He was a lean, rather awkward young man with hair the colour of mahogany, some freckles, a long jaw, and a brown eye like a genial cow: but he conveyed, nevertheless, an impression of competence. His hands were quiet and strong if his man
ner was not. His dark clothes were neat to the point of primness, as though a woman had pulled at his tie and steadied all points like somebody putting up a tent, before he was allowed to go out. Evidently he had just come in from a round of calls, for there was the bulge of a stethoscope in his breast-pocket and he looked dusty. Also, something appeared to be worrying him badly. Charters called him back, and began to introduce us.
What prompted H.M. - whether it was his elephantine sense of humour, or some genuine purpose — I did not know. But H.M. cut in. "This," he said, pointing to me, "is Mr. Butler. He's drivin' back to London to-night."
"Yes, certainly," observed Antrim, without relevancy. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen — er — supper. I didn't get any tea to-day, and I'm pretty well starved. Yes." Then he spoke to Charters, smiling with a bad assumption of ease. "I seem to have mislaid my wife. You haven't seen Betty anywhere about, have you, Colonel?"
Charters looked at him curiously. "Betty? No: not since this morning. Why?"
"Mrs. Charters said she thought she saw her getting on a bus. Er "