Then he awoke to a fresh aspect of the affair. The Hassendean family would be coming home again shortly, or else the maids would put in an appearance. The sooner the police were on the premises, the better. In the meanwhile, it seemed advisable to prevent any disturbance of things, if possible.
Dr. Ringwood left the smoke-room, locked the door after him, and removed the key, which he slipped into his pocket. Then, making sure that the front door could be opened from the outside when he returned, he went down the steps and out into the fog once more.
Chapter II.
The House Next Door
The box edging of the drive gave Dr. Ringwood sufficient guidance through the darkness down to the gate; and by following the garden wall thereafter, he had little difficulty in making his way to the entrance of No. 26. By the light of a match he read the name Heatherfield on the gate-pillar, but here also there was no distinguishing number. This time, however, there could be no mistake and he groped his way cautiously up the drive until the light over the front door shone faintly through the fog.
As he went, a fresh complication in the situation presented itself to his mind. What would be the effect if he blurted out the news of the tragedy at Ivy Lodge? If the maid at Silverdale's happened to be of a nervous type, she might take fright when she heard of the murder and might refuse to be left alone in the house with only a sick companion. That would be very awkward. Dr. Ringwood decided that his best course would be to say nothing about the affair next door, and merely make some simple excuse for going to the telephone. If he could shut himself up while he telephoned, she would learn nothing; if not, then he would need to invent some pretext for getting her out of the way while he communicated with the police.
He climbed the steps and pressed the bell-button. This time he was not kept waiting, for almost immediately the door opened and a middle-aged woman, apparently a cook, peered nervously out at his figure framed in the fog. Seeing a stranger before her, she kept the door almost closed.
“Is that Dr. Ringwood?” she asked.
Then, as he nodded assent, she broke into a torrent of tremulous explanation:
“I thought you were never coming, doctor. It's such a responsibility being left with Ina upstairs ill and no one else in the house. First of all, she was headachy; then she was sick; and her skin's hot and she looks all flushed. I think she's real ill, doctor.”
“We'll see about it,” Dr. Ringwood assured her. “But first of all, I have to ring up about another patient. You've a 'phone, of course? It won't take me a minute; and it's important.”