“Steady, steady!” said Guest, smiling at the girl’s impetuosity. “Don’t let your imagination run away with you. It’s rather bad sometimes.”
He left almost directly, and was half disposed to go straight to the police-station nearest the inn; but it occurred to him that he had stirred Stratton a good deal on the previous night, and that if he could get his friend’s interest full upon this matter it would be a good thing.
“I dare say it will all turn out to be nothing—mere imagination,” he thought; “but, even if it is, it may do something to get the poor fellow out of this morbid state. After all, Brettison may be there.”
But Guest felt so little upon the matter that he did not hurry to his friend’s rooms till after dinner, and, to his surprise, found that he was either not in or obstinately determined not to be interrupted, for there was no reply to his knocking.
“I’ll get him to let me have a latchkey,” he thought, “for he is not fit to be left alone.”
On the chance of Stratton being there he went on to Benchers’ Inn, and, to his surprise and satisfaction, he saw a light in the room.
After a few minutes his knock was responded to, and he was admitted.
“You have come again, then,” said Stratton reproachfully.
“Of course,” replied Guest, and he snatched at the idea again about Brettison. “Look here,” he said, “I have made up my mind that the proper thing to do is to have that room entered. Brettison has been away months, and it ought to be done.”
“But you have no authority,” said Stratton uneasily.