The detective nodded.
"I am his secretary and his doctor—Doctor Fall," the other introduced himself, "and it may mean trouble for me—perhaps you will tell me your business?"
"My business is with Mr. Moole."
The doctor bowed.
"Come this way," he said, and he led the detective across the broad hall. He opened a plain door, and disclosed a small lift, standing aside for the other to enter.
"After you," said T. B. politely.
Dr. Fall smiled and entered, and T. B. Smith followed.
The lift shot swiftly upward and came to a rest at the third floor.
It was not unlike an hotel, thought T. B., in the general arrangement of the place.
Two carpeted corridors ran left and right, and the wall before him was punctured with doorways at regular intervals. His guide led him to the left, to the end of the passage, and opened the big rosewood door which faced him. Inside was another door. This he opened, and entered a big apartment and T. B. followed. The room contained scarcely any furniture. The panelling on the walls was of polished myrtle; a square of deep blue carpet of heavy pile was set exactly in the centre, and upon this stood a silver bedstead. But it was not the furnishing or the rich little gilt table by the bedside or the hanging electrolier which attracted T. B.'s attention; rather his eyes fell instantly upon the man on the bed.