“Where’s my patient?” said the nurse. “I must get to my patient.”
“You’re too late,” said the man, and to Henry: “You two come along with me, sir. I’m going to the telephone.”
They followed him to a small study on the second landing. He sat down to a desk and dialled Whitehall 1212. His fingers shook and his mouth looked stiff.
“… Campbell here on duty at 24 Brummell Street. Mr. Alleyn, please. What’s that? On his way? Right. There’s been a fatality here. We’ll want the divisional surgeon quick. Get him, will you, I’m single-handed.”
He replaced the receiver.
“Look here,” said Henry violently. “What was she doing? You can’t drag us around like a brace of dummies and tell us nothing. What’s happened? What’s this fatality?”
The man Campbell bit his fingers and stared at Henry.
“Who locked the door of the room where the body is?” he demanded.
“ I didn’t,” said Henry.
“But you knew it was locked, sir?”