James Kentworthy, who was now standing close to the writing-table, heard the answer: “Miss Bower is already on the line, sir; we told her you didn’t want to be disturbed—shall I put her through?”
“Yes, please.”
And then, unmindful of the presence of a stranger, more unmindful no doubt because James Kentworthy was still so entirely a stranger to him, Harry Garlett put his whole heart into the question he breathed into the receiver.
“Is that you, my dearest?” And then—“I want to speak to the doctor.”
The other heard, as from afar off, a bright, happy voice exclaim: “He’s in the meadow with Aunt Jenny! I’ll run along and get him. But you’d better hang up the receiver, for I’m afraid it’ll be full five minutes.”
Garlett hung up the receiver, and again faced his visitor.
“I should like to tell you, Mr. Kentworthy, that I am just about to be married.”
“Just about to be married?”
The police inspector wondered if he had kept out of his voice, not only the surprise, but the dismay which he felt at this to him astounding disclosure.
“My fiancée is the niece of Dr. Maclean. She was on the telephone just now.”