“I couldn't say, sir. We left ourselves at seven o’clock. Mr. Hassendean and Miss Hassendean were just going out then—they were dining out. And Mr. Ronald was dressing, I think. He was going out to dinner, too.”
Flamborough dismissed them, and they vanished into the hall. Sir Clinton gave them a reasonable time to get out of the way before making any further move. The Inspector occupied himself with writing a note in his pocket-book.
“I think we may as well go into the house again,” the Chief Constable suggested. “Just fasten that front door after us, Inspector, if you please. We may as well have some warning when the family turns up.”
He led the way up the steps, entered the hall, and, after opening one or two doors at random, selected the drawing-room of the house, in which a banked-up fire was burning.
“We may as well wait here. It's to be hoped they won't be long, now. Sit down, doctor.”
Then, noticing the expression on Dr. Ringwood's face, he continued:
“I'm sorry to detain you, doctor; but now we've got you, I think we'll have to keep you until the Hassendeans come in. One never knows what may turn up. They may have something to tell us which might need medical checking and you've been too much of a gift from the gods to part with so long as there's a chance of our utilising you.”
Dr. Ringwood tried to make his acquiescence a cheerful one, though he was thinking regretfully of his bed.
“It's all in the day's work,” he said. “I'm only a bit worried about that case of scarlet next door. I'll have to look in there before I go.”
“So shall we,” Sir Clinton explained. “Once we've got all the evidence from the family, we'll need to ring up and get the body taken off to the mortuary. You say we can telephone from the house next door?”