“What do I want?” repeated Mrs. Sandow. “I want to come in, that’s what I want. I have something to say to you. It’s important. Let me in at once.”
“You’ll have to wait a moment,” went on the physician.
“Wait? What for, I should like to know? Haven’t I been waiting here, and knocking until I’ve almost worn the skin off my knuckles? Why should I wait any longer?”
But the doctor did not reply. Instead he tiptoed over to where Tom stood, a curious spectator and listener to what was going on.
“Shall I—shall I let her in?” asked the aged physician of the boy.
Tom could not help smiling. This seemed a matter for the doctor alone to settle. Yet he asked advice upon it.
“I suppose you had better,” he replied.
“Yes, I suppose I had better,” repeated Dr. Spidderkins. “She’d get in, anyhow,” he added. “Oh, but she is a woman. There’s no use talking, she certainly is a Tartar. I—I don’t know when I ever met, or heard of, or read of, in all ancient history, for example, one to equal her. Lady Macbeth, perhaps. You recall Lady Macbeth, I presume?”
“Are you going to let me in, Dr. Spidderkins, or shall I have to go and get my duplicate keys, and open the door myself?” interrupted the harsh voice of the housekeeper.
“Did you hear that?” whispered the doctor. “Duplicate keys! I knew she must have some way of getting into this room. Once I found a copy of Dante, which I prized very highly, laid upside down on my table, and I’m almost certain that I left it right side up. But then my wretched memory——”