"Huh!" grunted the man without turning.
Milsom shrugged his shoulders.
"We must let him finish what he's doing. He is quite oblivious to the presence of anybody when he has these fits of industry. By the way, the passing of our dear enemy"—he jerked his head to the passage door—"will make no change in your plans?"
"How?"
"You have no great anxiety to marry the widow?"
"None," said the doctor.
"And she isn't a widow yet."
It was not Milsom who spoke, but the man at the bench, the industrious worker whose eye was still at the microscope.
"Keep your comments to yourself," said van Heerden angrily, "finish your work and get out."