Enid Henson hesitated. David's quick perception prompted him.
"Besides, it is my suggestion," he said. "When I had the pleasure of seeing you before—"
"Pardon me, you have never had the pleasure of seeing me before."
"Ah, you would make an excellent Parliamentary fencer. I bow to your correction and admit that I have never seen you before. But your voice reminds me of a voice I heard very recently under remarkable circumstances. It was my good fortune to help a lady in distress a little time back. If she had told me more I might have aided her still further. As it is, her reticence has landed me into serious trouble."
Enid grasped the speaker's arm convulsively.
"I am deeply sorry to hear it," she whispered. "Perhaps the lady in question was reticent for your sake. Perhaps she had confided more thoroughly in good men before. And suppose those good men had disappeared?"
"In other words, that they had been murdered. Who by?"
There was a snarl from one of the hounds hard by, and a deep, angry curse from Henson. Enid pointed solemnly in his direction. No words of hers would have been so thrilling and eloquent. David strode along without further questions on that head.
"But there is one thing that you must tell me," he said, as they stood together in the porch. "Is the first part of my advice going to be carried out?"
"Yes. That is why you are here now. Stay here one moment whilst I get you pencil and paper… There! Now will you please write what I suggest? Dr. Bell is with my sister. At least, I suppose he is with her, as Dr. Walker desired to have his opinion. My sister is dying—dying, you understand?"