But the old man was shaking in every limb, and refused to do as he was bid.
“Don't you never go in there, doctor,” whispered he, with chattering teeth. “Don't you go for to 'tend no one. You jus' come tell me when you sent for that way. No, I ain't goin' in, doctor, nohow. It ain't part of my duties to go in. That's been stipulated by Mr. Netherton. It's my business to look after the garden.”
Argument was useless. Dr. Block took the bunch of keys from the old man's pocket and himself unlocked the front door and entered. He mounted the steps and made his way to the upper room. There was no evidence of occupancy. The place was silent, and, so far as living creature went, vacant. The dust lay over everything. It covered the delicate damask of the sofa where he had seen the dying woman. It rested on the pillows. The place smelled musty and evil, as if it had not been used for a long time. The lamps of the room held not a drop of oil.
But on the mantel-shelf was the prescription which the doctor had written the night before. He read it, folded it, and put it in his pocket.
As he locked the outside door the old gardener came running to him.
“Don't you never go up there again, will you?” he pleaded, “not unless you see all the Nethertons home and I come for you myself. You won't, doctor?”
“No,” said the doctor.
When he told his wife she kissed him, and said:
“Next time when I tell you to stay at home, you must stay!”