Then he got up and went to the telephone.
"Four—red," he called to "Central."
Mr. Batholommey betook himself to the vestibule and began to put on his rubbers with methodical care.
"However, I regret," (he went on as easily as if the doctor had not grunted) "that Frederik has left the house without offering some sort of explanation."
"Four—red?" pursued the doctor. "That you, Marget? I'm at Peter's. I mean—I'm at the Grimms'. No, don't wait up for me. Send me my bag here. I'll stay the night with Willem. Bye."
He put up the receiver and began to collect his scattered papers.
"Good-night, Doctor," said the clergyman. "Good-night, Rose."
He started toward the door, but the doctor called him back.
"Hold on, Mr. Batholommey!" he interposed. "I'm writing an account of all that's happened here to-night—from the very beginning. I've an idea it's going to make a stir. It's just the sort of thing the Society has been after——"
"Indeed!" said Mr. Batholommey in a doubtful tone.