“Right. I'll be with you shortly. Good-bye.”
Dr. Ringwood, glancing at his watch, saw that it was twenty minutes past ten.
“They ought to be here about a quarter to eleven, if they can find their way in that fog,” he reflected.
Leaving the cloakroom, he made his way to the nearest sitting-room and rang the bell for the maid.
“The water will be boiling in a minute or two, doctor,” she announced, coming from the back premises. “Will you need it before you go up to see Ina, or shall I bring it up to you?”
“I may not need it at all. Show me the way, please.”
She led him up to the patient's room and waited while he made his examination.
“What is it, doctor?” she demanded when he came out again.
“She's got scarlatina, I'm afraid. Rather a bad attack. She ought to be taken to hospital now, but on a night like this I doubt if the hospital van could get here easily. Have you had scarlet yourself, by any chance?”
“Yes, doctor. I had it when I was a child.”