Dr. Block and his wife lived next door to the Nethertons, and he and his wife, who were so absurd as to be very happy in each other's company, had the benefit of the beautiful yard. They walked there mornings when the leaves were silvered with dew, and evenings they sat beside the lily pond and listened for the whip-poor-will. The doctor's wife moved her room over to that side of the house which commanded a view of the yard, and thus made the honeysuckles and laurel and clematis and all the masses of tossing greenery her own. Sitting there day after day with her sewing, she speculated about the mystery which hung impalpably yet undeniably over the house.
It happened one night when she and her husband had gone to their room, and were congratulating themselves on the fact that he had no very sick patients and was likely to enjoy a good night's rest, that a ring came at the door.
“If it's any one wanting you to leave home,” warned his wife, “you must tell them you are all worn out. You've been disturbed every night this week, and it's too much!”
The young physician went downstairs. At the door stood a man whom he had never seen before.
“My wife is lying very ill next door,” said the stranger, “so ill that I fear she will not live till morning. Will you please come to her at once?”
“Next door?” cried the physician. “I didn't know the Nethertons were home!”
“Please hasten,” begged the man. “I must go back to her. Follow as quickly as you can.”
The doctor went back upstairs to complete his toilet.
“How absurd,” protested his wife when she heard the story. “There is no one at the Nethertons'. I sit where I can see the front door, and no one can enter without my knowing it, and I have been sewing by the window all day. If there were any one in the house, the gardener would have the porch lantern lighted. It is some plot. Some one has designs on you. You must not go.”
But he went. As he left the room his wife placed a revolver in his pocket.