“Who can that be?” said Mary. “It's past ten o'clock.”
Ransford offered no suggestion. He sat silently waiting, until the parlourmaid entered.
“Inspector Mitchington would be much obliged if you could give him a few minutes, sir,” she said.
Ransford got up from his chair.
“Take Inspector Mitchington into the study,” he said. “Is he alone?”
“No, sir—there's a gentleman with him,” replied the girl.
“All right—I'll be with them presently,” answered Ransford. “Take them both in there and light the gas. Police!” he went on, when the parlourmaid had gone. “They get hold of the first idea that strikes them, and never even look round for another, You're not frightened?”
“Frightened—no! Uneasy—yes!” replied Mary. “What can they want, this time of night?”
“Probably to tell me something about this romantic tale of Dick's,” answered Ransford, as he left the room. “It'll be nothing more serious, I assure you.”
But he was not so sure of that. He was very well aware that the Wrychester police authorities had a definite suspicion of his guilt in the Braden and Collishaw matters, and he knew from experience that police suspicion is a difficult matter to dissipate. And before he opened the door of the little room which he used as a study he warned himself to be careful—and silent.