“Something fresh about the murder,” said he grimly.
“No; it’s another one,” she shuddered. “Can’t you hear? ‘Another awful murder!’ Now they’re saying something else.”
“It is something about the Park.” Pocket stuck to his idea.
“And something else about some ‘well-known’—I can’t hear what!”
“No more can I.”
“I’ll open the door.”
She opened it on the chain as he had left it. That did not help them. The shouting had passed the end of their quiet road. It was dying away again in the distance.
“I must go out and get one,” said Phillida. “Some well-known man!”
“You’re not thinking of the doctor, surely?”
“I don’t know! I can’t think where he is.”