“And your ghost?”
“Not a single howl all the time that Rosamund has been away.”
“There is one thing more,” Caroline began hesitatingly.
That one thing lacked forever the clothing of words. There came a curious, almost a dramatic interruption. Through the silence of the hall there pealed the summons of the great bell which hung over the front door. Dominey glanced at the clock in amazement.
“Midnight!” he exclaimed. “Who on earth can be coming here at this time of night!”
Instinctively they both rose to their feet. A manservant had turned the great key, drawn the bolts, and opened the door with difficulty. Little flakes of snow and a gust of icy wind swept into the hall, and following them the figure of a man, white from head to foot, his hair tossed with the wind, almost unrecognisable after his struggle.
“Why, Doctor Harrison!” Dominey cried, taking a quick step forward. “What brings you here at this time of night!”
The doctor leaned upon his stick for a moment. He was out of breath, and the melting snow was pouring from his clothes on to the oak floor. They relieved him of his coat and dragged him towards the fire.
“I must apologise for disturbing you at such an hour,” he said, as he took the tumbler which Dominey pressed into his hand. “I have only just received Lady Dominey's telegram. I had to see you—at once.”