"I think I shall, thank you."
Bubbles seemed to be looking beyond her visitor—not at him. She seemed to be gazing at something at the other end of the room.
"You've brought someone in with you," she said suddenly. There was a curious tone—almost a tone of exultation—in her voice. "Who is it?" she asked imperiously. "Tell me who it is—Lionel."
She very rarely called Varick "Lionel."
He wheeled round with a startled look. "There's no one here," he answered, "but Dr. Panton and myself."
"Oh yes, there is." Bubbles spoke very positively. "There's a woman here. I can see her quite distinctly in the firelight. She's got a fat, angry face, and untidy grey hair. Hullo, she's gone now!"
Bubbles fell back on to her pillow and closed her eyes. It was as if she was dismissing them.
Varick turned uneasily to the doctor. "Is she delirious?" he whispered.
The doctor shook his head. He also was startled—startled more than surprised. For in just Bubbles' words would he have described the odious woman who had come to see him last spring, and whose voice he had heard within the last few minutes.
He now had no doubt that Miss Pigchalke had been in the corridor, or, more likely, in some room opening out of it, and that she had followed Varick into this darkened room and then, noiselessly, slipped out again.