“No. But I know that Mr Smith is in your house, and I mean to see him. I suppose you would prefer my doing it quietly to calling in the police?”
Nothing could have been more cool or determined than his manner, and Elias was evidently uncomfortable.
“I don’t know who your Mr Trent may be,” he growled, “nor Smith neither. There’s an invalid gentleman here by the name of James, and he don’t want no visitors.”
“Which is it to be? Will you admit me, or shall I send for the police?” asked Jack, unheeding.
“I tell you he’s ill.”
“Well, choose for yourself.”
With an oath the man flung open the door and called to his wife—
“Here’s a gentleman forcing his way in to see Mr James. Take him up, take him up. I ain’t a going to have a row here to please the doctor, nor nobody. I dare say it’ll kill him, but that ain’t my affair.”
Jack, glancing at the pale cowed woman, did not put the question he intended, as he followed her up the stairs. At the top she struck a light. “The poor gentleman has been sadly ill,” she said tremulously. “And is still in bed?”
“Oh yes, sir.”