Just before entering the road in which Markfield lived, Sir Clinton drew up his car; and as he did so, a constable in plain clothes stepped forward.
“Dr. Markfield's in his house, sir,” he announced. “He came home just before dinner-time.”
Sir Clinton nodded, let in his clutch, and drove round the corner to Markfield's gate. As he stopped his engine, he glanced at the house-front.
“Note that his garage is built into the house, Inspector,” he pointed out. “That seems of interest, if there's a door from the house direct into the garage, I think.”
They walked up the short approach and rang the bell. In a few moments the door was opened by Markfield's housekeeper. Rather to her surprise, Sir Clinton inquired about the health of her relation whom she had been nursing.
“Oh, she's all right again, sir, thank you. I got back yesterday.”
She paused a moment as though in doubt, then added:
“I'm not sure if Dr. Markfield is free this evening, sir. He's expecting a visitor.”
“We shan't detain him if his visitor arrives,” Sir Clinton assured her, his manner leaving no doubt in her mind as to the advisability of his own admission.
The housekeeper ushered them into Markfield's sitting-room, where they found him by the fire, deep in a book. At the sound of Sir Clinton's name he looked up with a glance which betrayed his annoyance at being disturbed.